Farce poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of farce poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on farce are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Dense deep and dark… what does it mark? Think the eyes speak? What do they really seek? Quiet and calm, as if darkness is like a balm.. No shimmer, no shine… is everything fine?? Dark though it be.. Seek search
We have many levels of beautiful Some are clear and visible, We may touch an adorableness, Skins depth though questionable of beauty. Imagine all the colours see the silhouette, Lustrous smooth and adorable, Blush fullness of the lips, Yet still
An irritable child of six, the targeted television set, screaming mindlessly for their selfish wants. Sickly subdued female hands, male regulated, sans rest, roll dough in the damp kitchen. Cool expanse of fresh air where mind swims free at its
Want skin as clear as the pearls you wear Garnier’s Blemish Balm shall be your savior Pull down those dark spots, marks and repair Every skin problem with a dab of BB cream Dreams dance in your mind of lips
We’ll settle by the bar and watch the women dance, then split a likely pair when we think we stand a chance. I’ve one eye on the bridesmaid with the skirt that’s riding high, showing off the daisy, tattooed upon
Overturned, years of stasis Paralysis by mental blockade A political metamorphosis. Afoot at the general election; Vengeance of the Manifesto. The interregnum, the entrenched vote Tranches appear, on Revised Register Deceased coded, in numbers resurrect. Beyond the grave, claim their
The lubricant of all human interactions Calming the storm brewing in my teacup Hurling me out of the dangerous explosions That will tear me into a million little shards “Excuse me, what did you say?” Is the caution phrase Something
…..the studies go to marketplace….. STABILITY – TRIANGLE ……He …… he ……. and …She……. He …….. She …….His pride possession …… Was in her …..Prime….. His symbol …of Power …of Wealth….. She was …..Manifestation of His Time……. He saw in
Shylock and Portia, in a court-scene, One to shed blood, and the other Not to shed blood, on one and the same condition, To be true to the court, in favor of justice, On rules and regulations, against Antonio, A
That intense desire to avoid physical contact counteracted by the desire to kill – the boy who harassed everyone in the locker room scourge of rat-tail towel and barbs about holey underwear or a lack of hair down there the
And while I walk, I can hear those words, Being echoed time and again, “From this moment, Here shall I declare that we are free, From those colonial chains”. He was a good speaker, he moved the nation, On his
Graffiti foretold the new beginning Rubble in the streets A telling story of political decay A girl crosses the street Is there a new way on the other side An outstretched hand Calling for Democracy Vestiges of propaganda, Imprisoned dissidents
Release from your own skin Soul is in shreds and leaks poison while wasting valuable Plasma on the pavement End result sub-par / sub-human No existence cruel than this Maybe… No. Yes… To exist without challenge Opposition does not exist
Titles, titles, titles, all she won was titles Lengthening her debuts at piano recitals Lengthening the doctor’s verification of her vitals Narrowing her gape Her cosmopolitics tightening ‘Til all was television and art-deco sex Her untangling the day’s trinkets from
I saw the scene full of flowers and I saw the Actor choking, drowned in petals, leaves, which entered his mouth, nostrils, ears, covering him until nothing was left of him. Poor Actor. What a death! Smothered by the flowers
Silhouettes more real than bodies degenerating into the dungeons of secrecy talking with mustaches seeing with fingers ignorant of colors refugees in their own land bereft of fun stars peep out during the day time to see the tangled twigs
Let us go then, you and I… Let us go then… Tired? Surprisingly, we have been saying this a hundred years. It haunts. The hallucination continues. No, it leap-frogs. Eliot was dead before I was born, before we were born.
To slice a hope in stark terror he thought to bid holy goodbye to destiny, and let himself go in the shadow of weeping deads. The orange moon looked mutilated. Quietly stood a suicide bomber, ready to get killed for
I stand alone gulping the lazy sun Slouching in sky, avoiding everyone A chaotic day, finally descending Darkness sprouts an intoxicated ending A quiet little leaf falls from a tree You sigh at its fall, I am glad it’s free
It was bound to slip away, revealing more than you would have them know The farce so painstakingly layered to present a you even you wouldn’t recognise, A you, that you never intended to show. There is too much covered
What implorations do they trace? These crooked legs in convulsion These crawly things in deathly grace What feeling evoke, what compulsion? The crushed mass on concrete floor In pasty death mocks my wisdom Should I act, or do I ignore
It was inheritance of age before the mirrors for the language of windows. The high rise buildings always cast a pall of gloom.earth seems to slide and I cannot reach the sky. I want to say what I did not
Looked at the outside of steel window Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air What the news was brought in the feelings! Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor. Waiting for the light in
Oh Lord Jesus, lover of my soul, He that shineth upon my poor heart. Cleanse me of every ungodly role that pierces thee like a fiery dart. Deliver my soul I beseech thee, from the deceiver’s ravenous jaws. Cause me
I’m scrunched in partially obscured view seating, hands at my temples, elbows pressed to the balcony rail. Look up, Sherman Alexie! I squint through borrowed glasses, willing your signature pen to drop, your writer’s eyes to find me. I’m cheap.
The pettiness of people is pervasive. Those who feel better when others fail. Feeling contempt and envy when others succeed. Reflecting ugliness behind their backs. Makes them feel better , superior somehow. People sniping at those after leaving the room.
There are nightmare dreams that haunt the sky From minds hard anchored to the earth And deadened thoughts from dead ones eyes Who’s living failed them at their birth. No Lovers touched by lovers thoughts Nor Eros arrows piercing hearts
Moth against-the screen flitting at the light-repeatedly being blind- to the source it seeks- reacting over and over-to strive live and beat-long as it can more over- a thousand times-with wings kept moving-relentless-ly until it fails- in it’s attempt to
Left in fuchsia, left awful, never happen, smiled and gazed, waited until twilight, never came, , left solo, left naught, left heartbroken, no place to be found. ran, barefoot and red, eyes blurry with pain. left me, escaped passed strangers,
A rose bloomed in my garden a solitary, pink rose. Solitary, but for the inimical companion the thorn. my fingers twitched to pluck the rose for my only love… my fingers stretched to embrace the sharp thorn… in a thorn