Gory poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of gory poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on gory are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
A silent war with oneself devouring all the cells, the gory remains of words and grainy kisses of tears. A curved hook in the mouth to start a prayer for the freedom from whispers of brand and labels: liberation from
Time goes by. As slowly as a grain of sand. Excruciatingly so, as I lie Awaiting you to understand. The colours filling the horizon, Are not just pretty sights. To some they are, The path of dream lights. To some
Vane glorious and absolutistic, though I defiantly, cavalierly, and blithely attest Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy mine acidic breast houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic, barbaric, and bubonic cannibalistic demons within thy safely guarded Pandora chest atomic cesium clock timed to
Page 1. the celebrated sailing frog from Montgomery County went a court’n, or so the tale iz toad to a grand ole mansion built around 1910, and e’en ‘pon being razed ~2012 ah no dummy sea worthiness still plainly showed,
She was born in Spain, and he arrived from Egypt, for Centuries those two were inseparable, a perfect couple they dance in tune although, with time their apparel changed, but the duo still attune. They could not live one without
Where the tide line of reality and dreams appear We stand. Uncertainty and reassurance walking hand in hand. Enjoying the kisses of the salty breeze, at the same time feeding the wind it’s flavour. Unable to indulge in our creation.
Unfolding the lust, do not ask for the olden love. The crowd has hijacked the halo of spotted survivor. A fish swims in your eyes. Trembling like a love song, while pulling the bucket out of a well of tears,
So many nightmares too many nights where I’ve woken gasping grabbing at something anything to tether me to reality to prove I’m no longer dreaming knowing I’ll soon have to fall asleep again slipping back into the grasp of rapists,
In the deep dark woods lived a great brown bear, he was seven feet tall but the townsfolk didn’t care for although the bear was huge and had fangs and long sharp claws, all the people would make fun of
Being in love is a funny term An uncomfortable, constant squirm. Life, longing, touch and pain Everything at once, goes in vain You can’t see this, you won’t do that And all of a sudden, what are you looking at?
Sometimes I drift away crossing the time limits following the rivers’ way or climbing the higher summits Happily with the birds I fly or join the wolves while they cry Sometimes I like to be the sun sole and aloof
M portrays my feeling of MISSING something that I never had, and could never see; The feeling that people were always MOVING away from me; The feeling that MONEY would never come my way, but only flee. I is for
A hand without fingers draws a self-portrait. Faceless, only eyes glaring like bucketfull of burning coals. Was it not enough to call ‘wolf’. The pain scorches the compound where the blood of innocent flowed because somebody was burning woods. The
I’ve been lazy. Listening to one side over and over. In constant rewind, traveling to a better time. I realized so much more. Flipping the tape over. Following the sound of your voice. I smiled so much. It’s not that
Thankfully I was never bullied at school but for this poem I tried to put myself in the shoes of someone who was. Bullying hurts and leaves a permanent scar! Laughed at, taunted, left all alone, You tell me to
Energy falls down It fills the town It becomes matter One kind and another Some of us are aware Others don’t care We are flesh and bones We are matter like stones Some of us are kings And queens wearing
Every little flower that blooms, Every day the sun when rise, Every night the moon when shines, Give you the wish to fly high! When in the darkness yiu fall, When in the crowd yiu get lost, Just close your
The poet in cornucopian Singapore Is an ergonomic misadventure; He’s little less and little more The definitive backbencher; He cannot sit easy At his table or in his chair Without wondering where He fits in the economy! Poet! When asked
You break the rules, with your sly stupid smile. Your unforgiving dark bold eyes and your tousled hair. You’re driving her normal. Normal as painful as it sounds, normal like a woman. Who never felt like a woman. Who never
The memories’ hands embrace me suffocating, I feel like dying and the sadness’ body revives- Phantasm haunting my territories… It’s raining and I’m seeping through the grass, Abandoning myself to a waiting of a sun That might not rise for
Majestic is the setting Sun, Lighting the entire horizon, Crimson rays so cosily warm, Dazzling with a strange charm. Its flames are leaping high, Engulfing earth and the sky, All ablaze with red fire, Like a bedecked pyre. The dying
lucky are those women, who are married to someone they love. lucky are those women, who are free to be themselves lucky are those women, who are told YOU ARE SPECIAL lucky are those women, who are told YOU ARE
The flowing water from up-streams Carried my hopes towards the sea On currents, swift, bundled my dreams To float like branch that has broke free As trickles that started from brooks Like small things from which greats begin, They gathered
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.
She wants to be remembered, A chant, a whisper, a name, She thinks to herself that if she really shut her eyes, Would the world notice she is gone? All the she hears are raindrops against the roof The rustling
Smoke billows and mingling with the dust rises, a solid choking mass that coats with dirty grey the shapes that lie so still. The silence, broken only by a tearful moan, uneasy on the waiting ears of those who stand
Lucid, abusive Tongue in cheek divine Stupid, elusive Lost soul of mine A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator Loveless, acquiesce Arpeggio flutter ripples Convalesce, Fancy dress Breasts
How wonderfully great it is to be human, This phenomenal thinking godlike specie, With the potential to explore the universe Yet with intentions of being mostly sleazy. Living in a garden of land, water, and sky, A living vessel so