Jurat poems bring the best collection of short and long jurat poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great jurat rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these jurat poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on jurat are here for you.
When did we become this? When did it change? When did “I love you” Start feeling so strange? When did “I’m sorry” Just turn into words? When did the feelings Just turn into hurt? How did this happen? I ask
Inside my prose poem is happiness, happiness for all. Even the juicy parts don’t lack think material. I have it on good authority. My autistic Aunt says I should stop writing. Where are the beans? I was told in my
In downy pink I watch you go my sun, at night you will pluck moon flowers. In half-moon eclipse the morning glory will wake me up in dew, alighting whole night on the rose branch. I still smell your lips.
I woke up from a nap to find no wife just a yellow-legged spider above her pillow pulling hanks of web from its shiny black abdomen silent in dim light half turning from industrious momentum and I imagined the screeching
The Golden Mother In her tommy, I had lain for three hundred days, a single, but multi-purpose room; there I slept and played there I ate and bathed. A blanket that warmed me in winter the linen that refreshed me
In the tropical section of the Earth, There stays a transient period. Brimful of relief and silence, that thresholds peace to any and all living blood. Then the commitment reverses, and brings a modest scuffle. After a prolonged omnipresent silence,
Where is my feeling of anticipation Where is my gentle voice of persuasion Where is my rock and my foundation Where is the ease of my frustration Where are your thoughts and your reflection Where is your support and your
do not go the orphean way, he thinks, friends meet as strangers on road, was the absolute absence able to find an air hole? the era of truth dawns too late; calls the windswept moon as a witness, the shuddering
The way rapists minds have taken shape- A girl is to blame for her own rape, To these animals so lecherous What are we girls-strictly diurnal creatures? Rapists say,“Girls can’t step out at night, A girl attacked should quietly allow
There we met, at street seventy seventh; my friend who’d bowed down with altering features, and me with my clothes getting narrower. We could not find, in this chilly present, a tale to help us recline on the pavement’s stone.
Blood moon, O, sun-halogenated bulb! Sublunary loons swear and swoon Your red blushes flood The late twilit noon In hot menstrual flushes of blood! But blood moon! In your earth-orbited race I think you run out of skied space Much
I can’t name things. I can’t tell, with some mighty confidence, this is this or that is that. You tell me of love. but, I have known too many loves. blue love, green love, red love, even yellow love. I
You tend to ostracize the apparition setting the real culprit free. It does not matter to pretend now, a damaged house has become a burden. Who was playing the enmity card? Hammered, eyes wide open I start documenting the deceit
I stood there uttering “I see” in silent disdain- lost in words and who’s to blame! Farewell, my friend and musical bane- why do you have to be a shadowless flame? Like words from your beloved hurricane- why does care
Lilac in the morning sun while the feelings were Still there lingering questions through my Cranium yet it fills a mental stadium full of Bad brain cells of bad memories and bad Frequencies, That means that everything that I went
“I am The Wind!” My whispering Breeze echoes, ” I am here” Whooshing, whistling, lustily gusting Mysteriously surrounding the atmosphere I am a definite presence felt, but not seen Whipping and making restless nature’s green Often my capricious air soothes,
What sad weary eyes we have that see, in all the world, such poverty and pointless pain. Would not the sunlight bathe upon it if we simply look again? For the eye of the beholder may choose the depth of
Wherever we leave to No matter whatever we run away from Just be certain These shadows we ruthlessly shed behind Will pull us back one day right here itself.. This baggage Yes, those you once said; of old rags Can
I rouse from the lap of ocean.. rose up down now and than… flew on on the wings of clouds.. walk play and commit many fouls… Collide with mighty mountains.. feeling cavalier..without any pain… a sudden my tears rushing down
On your dark face smile does not spread like a butterfly. Most reticent I had been, It was very difficult to give, and very painful to take. You wanted to be noticed, and I had a tryst with uncharted path.
The thoughts that remained stiffened for words That abated its desire to be free For foster feelings that could not hold release Finally attempts a cross over To be seen if not for its worth of wait Then, for the
Past, past and gone past Do they ever anything cast? They do. They mould. They shape, they truly cast The actions of present And advent future To be or not to be To abide or glide. Comers will be coming
The minute that you meet her she will tell you she is ill She keeps all her medication upon her windowsill And I have to say It makes a fine display Her grandchildren are fascinated by their colours, shapes and
And then March arrives. Summer again. The neem trees smile, They have to flower, Only they can defeat the sun, And remind us, Once again, ‘I bear this for the earth to cool somewhere’ While others dry, droop and fall,
Nineteen is leaving it is a blue thing a toxic sea that for nearly a year Rising in me now drips from fingere tips into buckets morning buckets dinner buckets buckets at the bedside buckets I have too much pride