Manor poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of manor poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on manor are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
To all courageous lives ended with sword, cannon or bullets of lead. To all Brothers… No longer our enemies instead… For Power and Ambition even Friends will part. To silent fallen Heroes always true to a loyal heart. To Courage
A grand old mansion on a hill The stately manor stands there still In the darkness of the night Throughout the window came a light On the veranda I did creep To glowing window for a peek To filthy pane
Off from the beaten path Near a roaring sea Stood a quaint cottage quite a mystery Green moss lined its border Lived a sophisticated woman who demanded order Sweeping always cleaning The soon she would discover No one dared to
You raise me from my deathlike slumber- only to die out in silence like a shooting star. With sweet words you buffer- my heart into a steaming samovar! Your frown sinks like a smiting bolder- ruining my entire day like
And then one old friend lost, with memories of us most.. gone through the long highway, like a hitchhiker does Why do I here, to cry? surprised.. for spared each time when it is hard to decide.. what to live
The toppled gravestones, I still count the heads. I will go with your swan song, the bond erupts. You were always sitting under the bougainvillea, waiting for the swallow. The next door summer arrives; Why did you say, it was
MEN OF LETTERS is a secret underground society, some say they’ve been around since the 1930’s, some say they go all the way back to the Knight Templars, all I know is that they still exist today but don’t ask
Grant me but these easy wishes: Simple fare my daily dishes; Safe fare from vice and vanity; Work-joy, love, peace and sanity; A quiet mind and quiet breath And when I die, a quiet death; Thereafter, grant me dissolution, Anonymity
Why must you lure me so? You bewitching jewel, your radiant skin is only matched by the glint in your eyes. Your hair cascades down your shoulders with More conviction than the most splendid waterfall, But after all this, do
How soon Persephone would say goodbye, And leave her mantle, white upon the ground? My heart seeks not to know, nor reasons why, But makes the most while she is still around; How soon will friendly stars all disappear, When
It was midnight moon cruising in the bedroom. I step aside in the depressed window, watch the overwhelming spillover. I listen, then do not listen to alien voices of bipolar beings, speaking Aryan, artfully in cryptic signs crunching the bones.
Billions of billboards and floods of commercials Bombard and pollute young minds and our values Where social vices overwhelm visual material So, what are standards of beauty and virtue? Is beauty really only skin deep, let the young ones judge.
With my scrunched and bushy furrowed brow I often ponder the precise circumstances any thing to be born Tracing back lineage of self or arbitrary individual unpredictable as the Dow Reckoning a series of events sustained life similar to sowing
Take two conditions. Place them facing each other. Join them at the tip. Make another similar pair. Place it adjacent To the previous pair. Join at the base. Then connect both the tips By placing another condition, On the top.
Saturday evenings reek of stale words, aching bones and a running out of things to feel dressed in a darkness where your silence meets mine and no sound seeps in through the fine crisscross weave of the blanket soggy with
“And this, for the most beautiful lady in the world” taking the flower out, he said. Her eyes kept staring at him in amusement, and those eyes of hers already left him rapt. “Will you be my valentine?” kneeling down
Fiendish and gruesome phantasmagoric denizens Dwell deep inside subterranean vault perform an evil dance Haunt psychic landscape with imaginary (yet realistic) Gargoyle visitations that cast a macabre trance Nocturnal unconscious invaders cavort and gallivant Disturb quiescent sleep with devilish and
Solo, I am clock maker born September 22nd, a Virgo/Libra mix insane, look at my moving parts, apart yet together, holes in air, artistic perfection, mechanical misfits everywhere, life is a brass lever, a wordsmith, an artist at his craft.
Dead ones speak Martyr speaks More loudly than before With Echos every corner How fortunate they Treading path of Martyrdom Martyrdom to peace Harmony & Justice But- Shooters of martyrs Build society of hatred And martyrs crucified Generation after generation
Experiences, Good or bad, are lessons learnt in life Lesson learnt out of experience is reality of life Reality more often is bitter while expectation always sweeter One aspires for happiness in life so one sets expectations high One never
Taking me to OYSTERBAY, You entertain me every Saturday. There I saw the enchanting scenes, Grey sands with dying sunbeams. Tall poles of blue tube- lights, Beyond the vast ocean, Mirrors of water revealing their reflections. As if a glittering