Grouse poems bring the best collection of short and long grouse poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great grouse rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these grouse poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on grouse are here for you.
Grouse not for what you don’t have Enough you have which others don’t have when you can’t assess the value of what you have what is the use desiring things which you don’t have Value the life you have already
The Imitation Sounds- Their Sounds: Like lion he roars, growls like a male tiger warning intruder or a bear on prowl for vengeance. He gibbers like an ape, chatter as a monkey, screams like a chimpanzee. Do you bark like
I do not want to take you, either the road ahead, or lovely gyrations on low stage of voicelessness. The swoop of eagle on a little bundle, of chromatic fever: was it unbirdy? The tree of death grows taller than
Drop by drop they follow to shower, Sometimes heavy and sometimes slower. From the high to the low, Feeling the earth and to flow. Sounding in a delightful drizzle, Healing the land dry to mizzle. Little children way to home,
“What is truth? said jesting pilate, and would not stay for an answer.” Bacon, my greetings I report, of his greatness though, he couldn’t be the cleanser” Man never understands and accepts the sense revealed to him beforehand, Experience, they
My love, wake up, the drums are coming near, Our army waits, their catapults are drawn, The gate is sealed, the moat’s bridge hoisted clear, Our seers have warned about this blood drenched dawn: Should fate be worst, your asp
Green earth, blue sky, sapphire sea Longtime a home for life to be Mother of all a vibrant womb Her children awry seal her doom Vast oceans the life-blood of all From its depths the first life did crawl What’s
Come morning I battle with flight or fright The start of righting wrongs, The splatter among these trees And fields that have been driven passed up In search of more than sugarcanes I still feel the butterflies How lithe things
Well have you ever wondered why they give Columbus the credit for finding North America when he never set a foot on the promised land, no it was the Vikings that came here first and we have proof after finding
A nebula rises unfazed after fission: after a fractured debate, greed crouching on the wrinkled noses of rugged bouncers. In remote history someone was burning itself out. A black eye surges forward, sings an ode to championship. Ankles swell up.
Its different how the sky is blue, the layman never had a clue. How beautifully the flowers bloom, and the bright setting sun calls for the day’s doom. Little children, smiles innocent, who knew what actually they meant.. Until one
Sleep is an everlasting wealth that never enchants a highway man who seldom fails to snatch anyone’s heavenly sound sleep. Sleep is a miracle that soothes the one who is deprived of worry the one whose life style is systematic
Written by: Mario Vitale Shades of pine grafted in again resign Shattered pine in elm certain grove alone My meadow had a thorn certain credit The factual harm of its heartless swarm Featured within in the created design with pine
On a tapestry of alpine wildflowers A variety of butterflies,from big Monarch To tiny mauve colored and dainty,flit about From flower to flower. Wild roses creating an aromatic boundary Around this pristine alpine wildflower carpeted Meadow. Truly enhancing! Sunshine, flooding
Do you long to be kissed like a wayward girl Full of passion, ardour, fire? Do you yearn for pushing, pouting lips To kindle more than desire? Of touching faces, skin on skin And breath a mingling swirl? Do you
This life has snubbed the bloom like a thick brown sac thrown on the sod. An octogenarian tries to slice the hope indulgingly to achieve immortality! Was it a virile snarl? A rose bud wrenched open in a fatherless home.
What shall I say to those with pride who too live at the edge with their backs against the fact! Just because you are hurt it doesn’t mean you will become violent! Just because you are shut it doesn’t mean
His soft smile a spike testing the blind ledge of her as-yet unlined forehead. she saw it in every stranger’s face even in the reflection of her wide brown eyes as they considered the amber lens at the bottom of
Soul like the angel, Eyes like the devil, A twizted brain burned like metal. She turns her head from left to right, She knows she has the beauty of night They shine like stars They tell a tale, They hide
Each day brings a new turmoil unfazed i stand it pricks me like a needle and i keep standing tall don’t even acknowledge the sting am becoming numb another threshold another day am waiting for the moment when i finally
Oh, selfie! who art thou? neither a ruler nor a pauper is spared from thy charm besotted are they with you in perpetuum forgetting tormenting woes even if for a blink alluring them as no one can! But I shudder
Something impossible would happen. Truth was too much to operate, life was easy with fakes. Neither mortal pain, nor needles would mend the wounds. The chasm was deepening. And I stitch the orange lights with the kisses of green tears.
I was not capable of contradicting the quietness. A silent emotion was insulting me. Forgetting the self-denial I went for choosing the impossible. Am I sick of myself? The agony overwhelms me with mystic relief. Here and now I feel
Ciao Lecce, dolce Lecce Pink flowers cascade down from baroque rooftops past the watchful eyes of permanent guards Sunny streets the home of artists capturing the beauty to be carried home At the city center a pole surrounded by locks
nothing more frightning than waiting for an uncertain arrival, but then that uncertainty seems but a minor prick under the skin, one overtaken and masked by the uncertainty within. the answers very slick and sly which is why we have
She sat by the fireplace waiting, For her husband’s returning. It was Christmas Eve, He would get an early leave. She had laid the table, Switched on the light cable. The fire was warm, There was a quiet charm. The
Putting the fire in mouth as a last rite he readied himself for the onslaught of questions, who will attack like leeches, the blood sucking parasites. It was a bizarre coalition of love between kissing cousins. The knifing will continue
A poem writes my name. I am trembling on paper like salt. Flowing like moon on the black wound. The lamb and the skull. I know the saint invented by masses. You need a fresh awakening. A vastness from nothing
Revive thee the sun of home, REVIVE THEE the son of Tome.. where casteth thee thy piping rays where goest thee thy solid shadows mama’s only son and pride of Tom” that one strong , once bold ,young man adored