Fiction Poems

I had always wondered If fiction is wrought Only in books and on celluloid. I know now, that fiction is when one by one the layers are pulled off. and the shadows that remain Is fiction. So when the boundary

Is it fiction or reality? Called the end of life or is birth’s wife. Death, is a dreadful reality, But, why don’t we accept it wisely. For fiction, it is the easiest way to frighten, But about death, it does

Oft have I heard the preachers say “Time and Tide waits for none” This is false, quite untrue; ‘Coz time and tide do wait for some. The days of day-dreaming and fairytales have passed away, Responsibilities and tensions have made

What is this entity that’s entered my body? Day by day now I feel myself slipping away Slowly fading into a memory… I fight tooth and nail to overcome this alien Attack so I can warn the world of this

Let’s take a walk Just you and me and none of our goddamn pretensions None of the constant editing of words and phrases in our daily interactions Let’s say things as they come to mind Hell, let’s just not say

10 ways to write a poem! No sentence in the glory of English language has hit me as hard as this one did. I started writing poetry when I was in class 7th. I still remember the day when this

On a lonely day, I stare at the shaking trees, And falling leaves. Deciduous leaves leave the boughs, And a stream flows and stirs about Like a lovely lough. A scene so beautiful, I looked and adored nature’s manoeuvre, What

The world’s a big place, big place with large number of lives resting, amongst them lives the mixture of feelings, for time is money and not an element to live, air is just a source to exist not to breathe

Their gossip is a debauched addiction, Aided by an imagination, so absurd… The borders amid actuality and fiction; Whizzes away, swift as an agile bird! They are uncaring for infliction caused, Or for the aftermath of tears and turmoil… For

He put on a tie for the appointment, carefully knotted it though while rounding up his necessaries from the scarred top of the old, painted dresser he dropped his keys twice and decided to take the bus His feet were

If you weren’t a lie I’d eat you whole, Maybe wisen up to the days you stole, But your consciousness is dripping south, So sit up straight and spit the fiction from your mouth, You’re so effortless to behold and

Ends did not meet, like beginnings, fact was insulted by fiction: the newborn stuns the God. Drop by drop life drips from ankles. Desolation takes advantage, forgets the path, becomes self-centered. Dialect changes, to taste the foul heritage, cadaver breaks

Before you Know and in despair Humankind do hear my prayer As deep within my mind I scream In witnessing this nightmare dream Humanity it seems is blind Forgetting that to love is kind When did decay begin to start?

What were the lies in a truth of the buried day? Fabulous cries? Tears? It was a tremble down in the standing crop of men ready to be genetically modified. Each walk in the city exhausts you to an innocent

Time passes by The birds flew high Grass is never greener on the other side They lied They lied Controlling your mind You’re being watched And they’re inside Your split mind Comedy and tragedy What is this horrid travesty The

When darkness dampens your devotion, The will is there but devoid of emotion; Remember to hold your head high And kiss every violent wind which passes by. That violent wind takes you to places unknown, Places of future palaces and

A tie of life full of affection With a common dream for eternal continuation. Building a haven filled with passion Along comes a gift with a task of attention. A pensive journey through the long duration The whole nine months

Well and you say I am one of a kind it’s you that legends are made of you say I’m always on your mind it’s you that suspends me in time it cannot be forbidden now if it takes a

You say it is lovely the rumination of what is gone by! I say it is graceful to put the past away! You ask how can I build a harmonious collocation?! I say with a simple fiction combination! You say

Once upon a sinful past, temptation to trade the soul. Riches beyond that can be perceived andcvulnerable with lust for control. What is a soul if not old, mine is shiny and new and a souls cost, a pretty penny

Feeding me heroic tales I call drunken fiction, he is still pouring zinfandel down my throat gawking at me the same way he does gazing into the mirror Inching forward with lingering fingers, he pleads. Indifferent, I acknowledge. It’s a

While the last hours set in motion I lend my memories for praising The moments of the year for dazing Much as I was stumped in my action. It isn’t the best I’ll ever come across; I bet, it’s the

They say poetry doesn’t pay , A hobby for slacker’s bay , Frost projected it as condition , Far from being called ‘ real profession’ . Advised to bring out the writer , Write pages, words , Ensure some monetary

Tracing the primordial culture of truth in its oneness, we find the ultimate answer. Still the negative effect prevails increasing the confusion. Existence in now, has a travesty of truth. Can we breakaway from our past? Can we exist between

She smiles in your face so pretty, But her intentions are dirty, Because behind your back it’s another story, And she talks out your business like it was history, So stop telling her things about you that are confidential, Because

About the book – Ray Mootrey, first time author and poet has captured elements of new-age spirituality in an exciting post-apocalyptic science fiction fantasy. HARRY THE MOLE is an epic poem; the story of a reluctant hero who overcomes his

As the tram runs on the rails, Weather bitten houses emerge telling tales, Revolutionaries’ urge for freedom, Idealism in poetry and fiction, Reminiscent of immortal singers, Dancers in their grace, Tears trickle down in claustrophobia; yearning for a home which

They stand stiffly before his milky contrail thought of tittering, a fiction, flying across an evening sky once a giggle mash, now a distant funerary memory. Imagine it, a flounder flopping in deadly malodorous silence. Truth rips at his empty

What if love was free What if the sky were the sea Would that be better for you or me What if there was no doubt What if we understood what life was all about Would we all laugh and

That magical high, Flying up to the sky, But when it’s time to say bye, And you are no longer fried, You feel like you want to die. An evil pill shall kill, It can be legally filled, But don’t

I woke up, got hit by a rock No wait, feels more like a truck It doesn’t matter I’m broken and my heart is scattered Listen closely friend; LOVE does not matter Those empty promises, shallow vows The memories, the

Heart breaks.. A topic that rules the world of fiction. The cinema loves it, the writers give it so much of stardom and center stage. Be it the classics or the contemporary, tragedies out stand the happy endings. It’s also

Hope in the determinism of love Choosing sides Scallop prayers in the masses Electric angels crossing the war Free will Numbered days Her streets are the labyrinths of regret We meet in a science fiction gun show Minds are weapons

What if love was free What if the sky were the sea Would that be better for you or me What if there was no doubt What if we understood what life was about Would we all laugh and shout

She smiles in your face so pretty,   But her intentions are dirty,   Because behind your back it’s another story,   And she talks out your business like it was history,   So stop telling her things about you

The road breaks here. Give me something to heal the fractured earth. Angels are too much for me, the gash turns inward ripping apart eternal vigil. They head into the burning books and then explode themselves on wet sands, generating

Inheriting the dust of street something of a lofty ideal in politics of poverty, I want to get back to my native moon.There are too much wounds here. My green blessings came from the dark. Sun was altering the geometry

I used to run far from reading, School didn’t dispel that feeling. Until your words worked open that door Hogwarts, I could never have explored. Your words were already read by them all I was curious but careless most of

Sitting here by the fireside in the shadow of a golden light I reflect on my life and once again the poet writes… Just like a sacred journey back to The Temple of The Heart these are ancient times somewhere

A shrub has matured, acidic earth at the base. Evergreen growing with sun on its face. A journey so long, plucked with craft. With finger and thumb, then lovingly packed. Chosen with vision, experience of structure. The leaf so revered,

Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…mountain highs-valley lows, bus routes to homes of the white affluent, scrubbing dirty mosaic tiles, shadowed by stale late night celebrations of new deals… our raw deal. Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…Daddy’s