Fruit-loop poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of fruit-loop poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on fruit-loop are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
A preacher was shedding dirty tears for burning hills. Pinned up on tongue was a slogan. Death for all sunflowers. Draped in blood who was trespassing the sickle moon? I cannot raise the mist where you stand naked in sunlight.
My love sent me a song so soft and sweet, Like melody that lulls babies to sleep, Hinting of angels in their dreams to meet, Assured in cradle of a mother’s keep; Like breeze that wafts, each note would float
Ah, let come this stifling breeze now to ye all! Such sweet sap envelops my every pore, Shall I await for the ever fresh rainfall? For I fear the amber of daylight no more. Dormant they recline on fields of
Into the bowels of my being I go, searching for who I am. Far out into the Universe I search, as far as the eye can see. So many questions I have, but true answers a rare commodity. Frustrations mount,
Of all the songs I never wrote only the trash remains. Memories of a yellow room the morning after, A foggy winter Delhi high a disarray of rooftops and some garbled music; An orange coffee cup, A piece of sky
Cruel winter winds and snowy storms have almost reached their end, and country roads all topped with slush, an ice and water blend. I see the thawed cold earthen roads all sprouting shoots of green, and garden gates long frozen
Ouroboros is its own meal The same is true with Those from own country that steal! To hamstrung the incumbent Most party members are not hesitant. Ouroboros,they adore their party, Which they obliviously or Otherwise sully with A rent-seeking identity.
“I am pure blue-blood”, said he, “as pure as it can get.” of the tall, fair, handsome varieties. Twice over I despised him but managed but a smile, as he deviously managed to convey his derision for us darker-skinned commoners.
It seems like rain is thinking something. Everything will be washed away, But will open a new day. Every bit of sadness will flow away, So let’s go. We will find heaven somewhere, Let’s walk on the god’s way. At
Was that a non-devil effort to hide the language from cultural onslaughts? The anger splits the opinion about hurting goodness. An isolated insult will spur the words against the flight over the answer, before the brush with picketing fear, showing
Crashing lives Flashing lights Living rights Leaving by night I am coming straight from the pages like your favorite author I am coming alive a sculpture from the hands of your favorite sculptor People asking for things that are impossible
The trees give us water and fresh air, We shouldn’t be destructive that isn’t really fair; They give us oxygen and food, We shouldn’t kick them or break their leaves whether in a rage or in a bad mood; To
True friends stand by your side and don’t ever leave you, They will fill your life with love make sure you’re never left blue. Friends mold your life and make it so much better than it already is, They flood
Epochs// (1) Sometimes, time does interchange. But my grandma, who’d moved from her poor house to live inside my skull, is still throwing seven stones at the cellular phone, wakes me up each time a light emerges from the end
When the facts and figures did not add up When the bank account was empty, and also the cup When I was tired, weary, and worn, feeling all washed up From Illinois to Wisconsin, from Mississippi to California You have
“Why don’t we go to the park, father,” Asked the little boy, slipping his little palm into his father’s, “Like we used to every day Till a month back?” “Why don’t we walk around the park, father,” He asked, tugging
The surface rippled, Three pairs of feet plopped in And the tadpoles scurried To hide in caverns. Sighs of relief Brushed over the tiny rock pool As cool water Soothed sore feet. The tadpoles gambolled again, Silence drawing them out;
Matters of heart Are for it to know only, At crossroads sometimes We are indecisive and lonely. No rescue can redeem What the heart loses after, No stranger can sense The catch in our laughter. Morphed into a weird world
When I look into the mirror I see an unknown person There ain’t a gleeful smile Happiness evades him for a while The eyes were happy sometime ago A different person I used to know A satiated soul, was on
Butterflies emerge from unraveling cocoons Raising up, flying away like hot air balloons Traveling the world from calm meadows to isolated lagoons Harmonious living with the squirrels and raccoons Soaring above endless ocean until treacherous typhoons Relentless digging uncovered a
It oftentimes comes to pass Amid the thorns and briars of our earthly being That we do fail to comprehend the genuine meaning Of the celestial signs of a mass, Or of the words engraved upon the plates of brass…
Of sweet moments we make remembrances, Such that by time the love object departs, We will be left to reminisce glances, Of times in which we have indulged our hearts; For hardly last the charm of fleeting things: The hug,
Inside me, I take a turn. By tightening the noose hangman feels liberated. In the grave, charred mistakes waking under the massive ashes of slaughtered sun, grieve for the light. Time was death. Every lovely tree was time, leaving footprints
Last night I dreamed but not of Manderlay. It was instead of the Oak Ridge Cemetery, in Springfield where death evokes life. The moon bathed everything with its silvery beams making it easy to find my way through row upon