Orchard poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of orchard poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on orchard are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Splashes of green lined up row after row. Limbs of green shooting skyward downward everywhere. Vibrant light shades of newness this time every year. Each displaying its own vibrant uniqueness. As the winds blow hot, green takes on a mature
O; happy folk, poetry is the fingers of light, descending at evening like an old farmer with eyes cut from azure. It told me that the sun has two long braids, and goes out at dawn to her grandfather’s flourishing
Come morning I battle with flight or fright The start of righting wrongs, The splatter among these trees And fields that have been driven passed up In search of more than sugarcanes I still feel the butterflies How lithe things
In good old days I built adobe houses for each memory but then came flooding, freezing and again flooding even the scarecrow’s shirt discolored in our orchard with red apples However you still ask me what happened, how do I
I have a lush green garden full of Charming snakes, Their frightful sight can give heart attacks. Though in appearance attractive and sleek, Their dominance can make your life very bleak. My garden attracts them to fulfil their greed, They
In the dale of despondency, Lost hopes finding themselves, With the first rays of yellowish sun, Life is taking a new turn, Baby bird is ready to fly, Singing his first song in the sky, After a long time I
Those days the sun flew over me like corn flour, freshly ground at the millrace. Even in winter it was yellow when I pressed it down with my thumb, like an unfastened button on my chest. I could hardly cut
Let Freedom Ring from Extremity to Extremity. Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! The only word in the dictionary of liberty, water that nourishes the tree of liberty, Chlorophyll in every green plant, the photosynthesis of life. Freedom millions had sought and died
His eyes start to shimmer, as the morning dew arrives, Like the reflection in a mirror, His whole story written in his eyes, The glassy film he’s wearing, hides the truth behind his lies, For as he’s moving on through
From the lakes in New Hampshire to the sand dunes of Cape Cod. From the mountains of Vermont to the seaports of Rhode Island. From the rocky seacoast of Maine to the Gold Coast of Connecticut. Winters of snow and
I remembered my childhood in the cherry orchard, the way I did not want to complain about my too long name or about the fact that other children avoided me. I believed that for those who never lie to others
“Dedicated to my niece Noura” It was a Monday September ten 2007 When Noura gave me this feeling of being in heaven Her mother phoned me saying: “Charlotte is babysitting Noura but Noura is crying!” A taxi took me to
Her journey took her to a place Where smiles did sit on every face Where long ago the Indus came And so gave India her name Softly shifting desert sands And mountains that stood high on land The setting sun
They say the things that finally break you, Are the words stuck in your throat. And she has years of thoughts not uttered, Crammed in the pockets of her coat. A whispher among a word, That’s learnt only to speak.
Shadows danced along the sea. Inviting. To move with the currents. While the waves unfold Seducing. To sing with the screams of the ground Beating hearts rolling out. Like love. It felt like one. But the risks are quite painful.
This was an embryonic stimulus for a sprint. Knowledge itself has no legs. Can you run faster than thoughts? The sniper will take you in the open field. I had hoped to die in your arms. The podium was too
You made ascent to high thresholds of dreams, Much higher than where angels dwell on wings, And all the cost of sleep your mirth redeems With sheer magic the near-experience brings; You fluttered in my every reverie, As though a
Time has kissed all over your Wide strong frame like a Much married mistress. Shrunk your dependable muscles, Loosened your chestnut brown cover, Sculpted your face with lines That deepen your smiles and worries. That chest where I lay curled
‘Go Back To Where You Came From’ is the title of the story, and it deals with much emotion of humanity… same as you and me. And to those with less compassion, understanding and knowledge; of whom there are many,
This one’s for dad, that one’s for that day, underneath that one is for my agonising life. What is this? I hate the life time that spins around me, slice the carrot, red as a strawberry. Let it shed, let
Standing at the head of the spacious hall, Miss Smith addressed the whole assembled school; Fixing the crowd with a firm, fluid eye, Silent tears rolled as she began to cry: “Our young Mark Newell, from Year Eleven, Has now,
In all appearances, his feet were firmly planted in our southern home town It seemed clear that daddy’s life was fixed and fashioned on the grounds of Dixie But I’m also certain, there were times I heard his heart beating
My boo boo what have we become, I’m so depressed an all alone. I’m desperate and somewhat oppressed, What’s a man to do when he’s distressed. Try to touch you but to no avail, All my efforts are quickly unrailed.
Tried , Recalled and Moved backward in Timeless times of Total Recall ! Tried , Tried , Tried and Tried to Recall the Timeless countless times and my words Totally Recoiled into Silence ! Silence is the Elixir now that
Into the mountain I look and see, beautiful creatures, I behold and thee, with tall trees and green grass that’s smiling at me. Into the mountain I wash my face and drink it’s fresh water, a clear blue sky gazing
Under the shade he spoke vehemently and coherently, He was cautious to please them and they weren’t late to applause, Thousands and thousands flocked and the weather not favourite, They weren’t under shade and drops of rain landed on them,