Joe poems bring the best collection of short and long joe poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great joe rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these joe poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on joe are here for you.
I live an ordinary life, In an ordinary home Built from ordinary bricks Made from ordinary stone. Each ordinary day I wake, Go down the ordinary stairs, Take a deep long breath and smell The ordinary air. At my ordinary
Photo by The Cleveland Kid I must admit, I have a good life. I go to a good college, I have pretty good grades, And every day I can look forward To socialising with my many friends, Talking about whatever
Driving my car across the country, numerous years ago, going to a new place, Changing who I’d know A loud bang broke the boredom and blue smoke filled the air, engine was A ’knocking, a sound beyond compare I rolled
When comfortably placed in life why make yourself uncomfortable by worrying Unnecessarily While an orphan who has nothing in life seldom worries , what makes you worry then ? When you can’t even share your worries who else can better
Writing on my sleeves, I visualize an invisible coupling of grassroots with starless sky, when I walk on the wailing earth. Hails big as sparrow eggs smash the bougainvillea blossoms. The wrestling clouds begin a storm. Witchcraft of the moon
Allow his thoughts to enter your mind, Allow his feelings to merge with yours; Allow his emotions to mingle with yours; Allow his soul to be one with you. So what he is much much younger to you, So what
He walks down cobbles and blows bubbles for a pilgrimage of constant troubles, closing doors to tax men, running for milk floats, shunning almighty bible bashers, paints the flags of east London fascists Charlie chicken soup with a head like
My Contingency Measure in case of…Armageddon Aisle putt ta ma head but tween these skinny legs and kiss thine braying ass good-bye asper ma person, thine gluteus maximus a boot the size of a hand held palm pilot cell phone,
An outcast, stripped and beaten up, the sickle moon smears the clouds with blood. I hate to wait for – the sun to undo this mess, an ethnic mutilation will bring a chaos. Nursing the peripheries, tribes were in pursuit
In some secluded corners of my heart, the blood turns cold, I feel a chill, in this warmed breeze, I am turning cold, lifeless, no emotions I’m left with, The voices I hear are just cracked up sound. In the
Our age is a deciduous tree, sheds yellow desires every year makes room for new ones in the spring of opportunity. Some desires resemble oak leaves, cramped and brown- still cling in mothers’ bosoms like our plans, albums, possessions. Alas,
Take these hot pavements To my horizon of unborn secrets Beating down like a drum Never mind that scorching sun Together, we’ll run. The proliferation we seek Like a soft photosynthesis Blooming in this parched desert What do you think?
It’s been a long time, I haven’t heard from you, And I’m just not fine, Because its midnight, & I’m still waiting for you…! I’ve never met you, Yet I had the fall, I said everything, But not the words,
– Rise sun, oh, brightest star of them all. Take pity on the weary, for your power, intense heat and consistancy, can be exhausting; bringing high climaxes, and sweat upon one’s brow and often times showing no mercy. – Cast
i get tired of the people red yellow black white you are precious but not mine i dont know the people you’re young are you married you’re old is there passion what is your preferred toothpaste rich or poor, can
O light, where liveth thee? O light, darkness kills me. O light, will you ever come? O light, you only seek some. O light, why does dark haunt me in your presence? O light, go away, you have no essence.
Age is the only expand, Where joy-sorrow go hand in hand, Joy of moving towards the new, Sorrow of leaving behind a few Awakening of morbid senses, Those laze passive in tenses. Dying off of that innocence, That once is
your voice across the wire says ‘a new situation’s developed while you’ve been away…’ when we first made love you wrote poems about crocuses, spring and new beginnings now autumn’s come so hard your voice across the wire says ‘a
Tan riding pants, old big strong leather boots, Wears the man who sits staring at ashes and coals, A look of confusion, of loss and of grief, Written on his face for generations to come. Barren ground, in a drought
I was standing by the beach, Staring at the ocean When I saw a small boat Which was trying hard to stay afloat. I started to notice it with attention My face expressed tension It was fluttering left and right
The house is quiet Now you’ve gone No more music No love song Emptiness rings out loud Where we would dance Without a crowd The house is quiet No more laughter Just memories Gathering dust Shadows that used to be
The show is on. Sedition will play with death now. Deceitful black knives, white gloves. No hope, battle lines are drawn. The wasps are whirring at a furious speed stings ready to inject venom. Bronzed body, huge turbaned skull. Eyes
Is fleeting, is flighty Is forever, is mighty Is calming, is exciting Is grounding, is intoxicating Makes you smirk, makes you cry Makes you gasp, makes you sigh Makes you swoon, makes you cling, Makes you glide, makes you sing
You descended Into my being Like a pixie Had mesmerized Me and bestowed Me with vivacity. You met me Mingled with Shared secrets Suddenly left Shocked and Stunned Couldn’t discern Causes of your outset! Life is a mystery We keep
I remember telling my mother (this was a lifetime ago) “It asked me to let it go: it had something important to do.” There was that look on her face, the deep frown of accountancy, another couple of dollars doled
Just like mantises, hurrying to finish his last embrace, so to be taken by the husks of his beloved; Like a butterfly, flying to the sun, but hunted by a pale lamb hanging on the dust of the road; Like
This road will not take you to a theme. In wind, a pebble was making different strokes. Hanging stones were hiding the music of poppies. To fill in my glass of silver I place the stitches in images of naked
Don’t look deep into my eyes, who knows what you find inside? Is it the dreams that I lovingly hide, or are some demons residing inside. Am too afraid to let you know, Even too scared to make the show.
Flipping pages inhaling words Like open arms and fluttering birds. A clay pot, a blue sky. Paddy fields passing by. Just touch each word, it comes to life With laughter, anger, pleasure and strife I travel with people living in