Hog poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of hog poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on hog are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
it bleeds in thin sunset strands filters through within sunlight congealing in layers every day a fat ripeness that makes old folks sob for the urges their bodies no longer answer the pig died like prejudice you can learn about
Unhappy man I am! I can’t tell Why I dread the gods of heaven, The purgatorial demons of hell, The truths I need but haven’t; Happy pig in a philosopher wig! Apprentice me earnest and true – Which to embrace,
Living in and roaming through a rugged domain east of Princeton, above the Old Hedley Road, this elusive cougar’s domain is to be admired. In the solitude of Nature. Elisa, with her three kits precariously strolling across a rocky precipice
Words I write, sentiments in print. Statements of my heart, daydreams on a sheet! The world outside is an impersonal act, The abode I built on a magic carpet takes me to heights, Of soaring kites, to gaze at star
I wrote about him, They instantly recognized him. I wrote about her, They immediately traced her. I talked about them They felt relieved, This time it was a plural. If a face is needed for each pronoun, Let it be!
Far away from mankind and society, far I wandered. Through bleak plains and screeching drums, Dragging along my body, weary from the residues of development, My eyes are sore from enduring all this mortal architecture that’s slowly diminishing in my rear
With all the affliction I lie here with my eyes closed And tears rolling down cheeks. My head throbbing with atrocious heeds and my heart burning with hatred for her. I want to forget all the pain she had left
Modernity. Technology. Racing head long helter-skelter into the future. Like a runaway train speeding out of control. Historic societal norms breaking apart. What to think, what to believe losing resonance. Explosion of information barraging our senses. Overload. Current institutions clueless
In culture of counterfeits a snip of intelligent gene brings the pink tears for the brown eyes. A virgin goes for a spade in the naked sun. Let me think of polymorphism. Can there be an answer- for oblique questions?
Our society, I believe, has its own twisted definition of Darwin’s “Survival of the fittest”, For it clearly reminds us time and again, about how it wants to be impressed – “He owns a two-storey apartment, he drives to office
Stone A gust alive; a redwood dead Sleep softwood your peaceful breath A gust dies Stone in stillness; still, revealed From emptiness a gust begins, like water, carving the stone around A grain of sand, unknown, found Reach for the
People are like apples picked from a tree, The beautiful ones with no imperfections are picked first, but that makes them bitter and unripe. The bruised and dented are picked last, but that makes them sweet and delicious. But beauty
Sever The strings Heart Stuffed and stitched Black as the crow A wooden figurine In a one man puppet show The audience Seated Indian style In front of the stage Their laughter And cheers Eat away at Him Like a
Hope and dreams Fill Schemes. Slippery as soap Both dreams and hope. My dreams have seen The things that might have been. The sweat it seems Is a part of my dreams. I sit by the streams With moonlight dreams.
The pain in my brain and eyes, Is nothing compared to the torture of hearing your incessant cries. Nor me having to invent lies to hear your swooning sighs. How depraved I must be to repent this on a keyboard Rather than your holy
A day of clouds scudding across a production-line sky, vaporous dreadnaughts, caravels lumber by above, never disturbing, the ocean’s surface they defy. The sun becomes a signal lamp speaking in poetry to the static lands of the earth whispering: not
By the moon I drink you again. The night is trembling; ruffles the colossal tears. The terrible ache of the illegitimate mercy. I am not accepting any poem half-dead under my pen. The invisible force, bribing the tears was a
I love… Paris in the summer, Bombay in the rains Cotton candy clouds, trees drooping over river bends Rickety trains, Topsy-turvey roller coasters Mountain mists, seeing the ocean meet the sky Rainbows (even without the pot of gold), loud thunder
Again the Sorrow Coming like a crawling thief. By stealing joy and all what was the dearest It leaves me in the hollowness of grey No sun, no stars and neither blue, blue sky I don’t see anything, and I
The hawk was always hatching a pacer, to spin the surveillance, tampering the tracks of violence. The haul was heavy. Moon and fishes went on to spread the dragnet striking gold from the liquid denials. The sovereignity was violated of
I forgot to tie her to the dock Now I’m forced to sit here, I can’t swim Watching her drift away one last time. Memories flood my mind The storms she and I survived The bountiful seasons we had together
The girl at the river with folding mountains and shaggy trees Watched two white swans swaying with the moody breeze She watched as they danced and ruffled their feathers In a way they were separate but always together She sat
Drop by drop the water falls down, Down on earth with a giggling sound. It makes the ground cool and soft, And nourishes the life on earth, The patter and dripping sound of rain, Brought joy and pleasure in me.
upon porcelain goddess, most brilliant ideas in me mind lit sole seasoned bugs bunny car tune character of kit car son ridding imagination fired fast as fleeting thoughts softly hit attempting with futility to net ideas in mind that flit
You are the girl that make my stars collide. You are my heart’s desire, and also my lovely bride. Your smile moves evil people’s mind, into offering needy civilians a gift of a ride. You sometimes split your emotions into
Circles abound Clouds unbroken in high sky Sun pounds down Patterns quilted to my eyes Legs quaking Muscle sinews shaking Metal missiles passing Broken glass refracting The bloody image drowns my mind My foot gone numb steps the edge and
The ocean breeze blew through my hair On it, a hint of magnolias Or was that the incense you were burning At the altar of your daily prayer Filled my lungs with the dusks’ freshness The dance of the chimes