Heatwave poems bring the best collection of short and long heatwave poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great heatwave rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these heatwave poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on heatwave are here for you.
I remember well that sweltering summer. Sky bright at 1 am, no breeze to blow the dark in, blackout blinds and fans whispering. Still sleep was difficult, years before whale-song tapes and Victor Meldrew. Though we had our own versions.
You are golden Like the mysteries Of a lost, lonely jungle, A photographed crowd At a Victorian ball, A heatwave in spring, The laughter of wild animals, A winding ancient path That leads to a fortified town – The clown
Your cheeks, in red ochre rouged In dimples, the scarab dew slurps Eyes and teeth, a white flash sleight Stretch marks, varicose crossed, like The Anaconda’s swallowing strains. Your life restless, the nose suffocates Dawn disrupts as the feathers ruffled.
The coming of a that to dismantle the comb, unstilling trees under tracer bullets swaying in embrace for moonmilk. The unzipped planktons in sea open their mouth to supermoon for a night dive in a green passion. Does it need
Autumn is our conscience. Vast expanse of blue sky nurses it, white clouds occasionally cover it up, cool air quickly cleans the blockade. Autumn is short lived. It wears peaceful colors. Monk like contemplation wraps it up by logic and
A dialogue with fear, to end the thought, was walking alone on the edge of death. All the mercy of life was with it. Gone were the waves, whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities. The sky and the
And so ’tis done – drench is gone Salted spray no longer flies the wild air That grim Tempest, that did wax and surge deep, now makes only whispered remembrance of its fury and troubles not the delicate house of
There are brightened screens on lazy afternoons, Queue up for a weekend getaway from our dull bedrooms, What’s your age, sex and location? Are you here for rendezvous or recreation? Thirty Sally whose a housewife, is looking for illusions, to
Walking through the orchards and dreaming as the soft summer wind comes lifting the scent of orchids in the air… well I’m all smiles today as last night keeps repeating its self in my mind I can still hear you
Everythin’s spinning. Leaves flying. Round and round. Sadness floating. Still here. Damn good it was. Real lucky I was. Now scares me. Forget it ! Remember the funky happy song! What are you waiting for ? F**k you all off,
The girl Was so hurt and confused that she let her Own mistakes become her best friend They would do everything together And never let go of each other Through good and bad they somehow Found themselves at ease with
You were my second chance or so I thought I was fragile and scarred when we crossed paths Emerging from a Summer of anguish and regret you caught me off guard Love was not on my list of healing remedies
The red-gold heaven of stormy autumn leafy-misty lights this late October dawn recalling to me, curiously, the design hidden in words, swirls of the wood-smoke of ages time-ridden, missing things: a fleeting meeting with the past: something else that does
There I stood between the door and the hallway And I chose to listen to the echo Of the sound my tired feet made Through the two eternal walls Which kept caving in Sometimes it’s not better to keep moving
And so in darkness shines the light That pierces through those fears. And fights The beat of doubting pangs that plagues This passionate heart. Our souls are quenched when you are here In warmth, in love In Eucharistic prayer. So
Lists of listlessness Lay piled Along with linen Waiting to be washed, dried and ironed. And I just did. Found my list clean And crisp without creases Just plain white paper For my scribbled squiggly dreams painted in varied hues.
Well and some scholars say we are The genetic offspring of Rock 84001 From Mars…Well I believe we were Born out of Gods’ very own heart and Mind still they say Mars was a dying Planet and the inhabitants there
Are angelic neurons fleshing inside a trans-Inquisition tavern? Another kind of speaking, pontificating globe? Can we feel the burning and sexing of the four seasons with the four elements, recycling earth, water, air, fire, to produce the quintessence of your
From dawn to dusk The great beggar used to move from door to door, He was tireless in his motion, People poured plenty of corns into his big bowl And offered their spontaneous love and affection, The journey never seemed
Upon her bedroom wall she wades Serene in Homers blue waters Past the dormant white hulls at dry dock, She smiles Before autumn’s sienna strokes of the harbor flats She feels the tides’ hands bathe her. From beneath her comforter
A fickle thing these words can be Vessels for hopes and expectations The building blocks for dreams How smoothly they slip off a tongue Fall on fertile ground and They will grow roots far and deep They stay with you
When we met at love point in the last spring To make our amazing dreams come true Together we made promises never to separate And vowed to our everlasting relationship We painted our dreams with wonderful colors Never to forget
Here I Am Again In This Same Predicament. Maybe I Need Some Self Improvement, Because When It Comes To Relationships I’m Always Picking The Wrong Type Of Guys. You Know, The Ones That’s Always Cheating And Telling Lies. I Want
The depression, human brand was trapped. They were talking about the nukes. To annihilate the earth. It was elemental, I said. An ardent fan of moon. A lark asks who will survive? ————————————— The depression, human brand was trapped. They
In the quiet room, I was all alone. On the laptop screen, the onslaught of Primitive memories was making me cool. The lamps were not lighting the streets. While deleting the texts, I felt as if Some people were murmuring
In a starry night an adolescent thought starts a rivalry. A baby moon squirms. No hour was safe from terror in dark. I climb the stairs breathlessly. The great divide deepens in hearts. Incisors bite the tongue, grey cells bleed
Before sinking to knees. I will talk to flowers. Day of arrival has come. In death, wisdom of trees will eject the seeds of fire on hip-locked roots. A miracle will raise the bones from the rage of crowd. The
Bent tree, drooping branches, wilting leafs aged from time Knurled fingered, hands wrinkled much like mine. Skin browned and aged spots, Face cracked and crevassed, Sagging skin from sun and time. We are old and that is fine, we’ve aged
After a while, the world moves on. Bodies crumble like ancient statues, memories fade into the void of oblivion and time. We look at our lives closely, and see they are like winter snow. Every moment of our lives unique
When life begins all anew When all battles seem new A new life has taken birth A new journey on the same old earth. Then crawling and creeping all around Making a fuss with all that is found The little