Groom poems bring the best collection of short and long groom poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great groom rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these groom poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on groom are here for you.
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,
loving male, natural of pleasure, quintessentially rendered suitable to us via way ova our darling daughter. tis the blessing of this average, contemplative damn ejected flotsam globular human impish jokester kooky lamb misunderstood nonestablishmentarian outlier praises quality ram rod sterling
‘Twas on the eve of St Agnes’ Day, When young virgin’s minds fly astray; Stacey lay her body bare To January’s freezing air. She cast her liquid ebon eyes, Up to the boundless starry skies, Hoping to find in that
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
Moon was wandering in the dim sunlight, Incomplete and looking for a charming Miss Right, His father sun, recollecting his own lovely days, His mother earth, still wet with his rays, Beyond the ocean an aurora appeared, Sun kissed the
It started with us the two of us, involving everyone around us, We dream to share the love within We dare to become one, keeping in mind each others priorities first, We wish to live with the spirit and guide
A pretty damsel clad in her White Wedding Gown, As if a heavenly Hoori from paradise is coming, With her jewelled crown. The white transparent veil can’t conceal her beauty, The moon-faced bride is looking extremely pretty. Her midnight eyes
At Sarnath the deer park where Gautama the Buddha first taught the dharma FROM THE HEART –A BHIKSHU’S SUPPLICATION Enlightened lord your wisdom is our knowledge , sufficient is that knowledge to ensure our covenant with wisdom in its turn
Seeking a bride at my ripe age Getting married amidst near and dear feeling as a special person in the groom’s attire Humming those romantic tunes holding her hand experiencing the heavenly feeling at our honeymoon decorating our little hamlet
Casuarina! I miss you a lot. Why don’t you reclaim this drab century by your drooping branches, off from the poetry of water? The words are dried up. No rustling sounds, the winged creatures broke the mirrors, a black moon.
I could see him leave, leaving me alone. I weep and cry, not showing it at all. I think about him, every minute, every second, every moment. Where is he now? I wonder… Has he found someone better, than me?
Play a cheerful note Chant a joyful thought Be in love with butterflies With silkworms And the starry skies ….. With beetles With a cockroach song With rivers running all along…. With seas and oceans and the moon With a
After a grand design there was a white leap to find a boat in darkness. Time was dusting the frame of memory, and the age will grieve for the lost vision. The pace of assaults will increase over the burning
The crowd buzzed like a hornet’s nest The cacophony too loud The girl on stage was all alone Staring beyond the crowd The colours around All red and yellow meant to reflect The bridal glow Spectators sitting Speculations were rife
The full Moon is on wane Shedding her last attic glory on Earth And every aspects of Earth’s being Scorched too much in blazing Sun, Enjoying the Moonshine bath like budding spinsters Drenching in swelling teenage mirth. The air is
Dot maketh a man blind, beware of the outcome ’tis a drought, fandangle dingus maketh a relationship, acerbic as rum ’tis not an espousal, ’tis a fungus Humans , worshipers of everything Gods, demons or a fane find occurrences to
With no mother to groom you, you grew as a wild child. with no gardener to prune you, you grew as a wild shrub. as a stone, you rolled on riverbeds, rolled down mountains, rolled in the hands of strangers,
The last bit of cigarette from his hand drops into the ashtray. So does mine. Are they making love to each other, As we are? Love, need, passion, kisses, skin, climax. Are their thoughts like ours, burnt and spent? As
I thought I knew what was best. I walked away as Jesus was calling instead of granting his request. I closed my eyes and ears to what was taking place. I felt there was no reason for running this race.
Come!Come My soul traveler tired and weary Come, sit with me under this ancient tree. unburden and rest your journey’s over Come lie down under this spreading tree. Ah!you tell me you were too young and the days were short
For everything, there is a season, it has been foretold. When I was young and green, securely clinging to the branches of my family Sugar Maple tree, I thought it was the best I would ever be. But here, now,
Driving green fire out of melodies. It was not make-believe not mannerism but smell of autopsy. A pseudo-elegy starts at burial site. Frugality of dust first decides to go to god and then die. Race, religion, tribe and their foot-soldiers
It was a tall and white door with the knob at the level of my heart. I knocked discreetly to enter in audience at the cross spiders tamer. A fat and redhead man, chewing his whiskers minutely. I was wet
Punished for being irregular, Is when I met someone similar. Caught for late submission, Sat next to me, a wonderful person. The first guy in college, Whom I spoke to, with lot of courage. There felt a spontaneous connection, That
Humankind has been grasping for knowledge from the beginning, fear of the unknown was always forbidding. Why does the wind blow? Why does the sky crack open with light sound and fury? Why do the oceans roil with such anger?
Poetic misfortune, justice, and timing, at times fall flat on their faces, The beautifully cruel climate of the world, at times, Stomps on the head of logic and then turns around, Only to error on the side of tenderness, Dust
index finger of left hand (likened to Michelangelo meticulously chiseling away at marble block), this poe whit attempts to coax (zealously tap into his latent indivisible quo shunt, sans self imposed quotidian literary endeavor slow lee witnessing, an emergent reasonably
Jealousy has grown like fruitless trees It has spread like width of seven seas It can’t be justified with very many pleas Life is condensed cocoon of humming bees Humans are no more, but hollowness remains Losses have crossed the
Their fingers gently interlocking, each clasped the other’s hand. In silence whilst they slowly walked, on the soft, warm, evening sand. Just an occasional inquiring glance, into the other’s eyes. Spirits in a romantic waltz, such depth of feeling a
Life was never so full Full of enthusiasm And sadness at the same time Enthusiasm for what is un-conquered The virgin territory waiting for me All the heights I have to rise to And saddened I am When I see
The door closes behind me with a snap. My footsteps echo strangely on the street’s pavement. I feel the urge to go back. A pale sun is struggling hard to escape the cloud’s clutches. The smell of incense covers the