Programmed poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of programmed poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on programmed are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
As usual, the stars, way out there in the distant sky, will probably be out tonight. If it should become cloudy and foggy, they might become hidden from sight. Otherwise, they will appear and fulfill their God given purpose, by
When I awoke that fatal day I knew there was something amiss the agonizing striking pain doubled me over on the cold floor My eyes began to well with tears and gushed down like a rushing waterfall a cold eerie
I want to be free like music. Free like soft tones, melodies, voices, and patterns pulsating together. I want to wake up freed by music in mornings when the mind is slowly, steadily, waking up. I want to be free
the horizon knows no bounds Urania ……… ……One Basic Truth….. The Suns ……The Moons…..The Stars …….The Sky …… Into their Eldest ………….…The Time ……..They Fly……. So Unfathomable ……..Beauty …………So Bounteous……..Powers ….. What Quantum of Energies ……These Celestial Cousins Possess ..
The day I realised that I’m just like everyone else. Clarity. I spent all my time thinking that I was different, unusual. [Apparently] I thought differently to everyone else. [I] Wanted, needed different things. Craved isolation. Solitude. Peace. Contentment. Simplicity
What kind of God would treat us this way? In mankind the wide spectrum between evil to good can be found. In some, such kindness, while in others a wickedness not to be believed is in play. The ancients believed
The kitchen staff left a slice of cake out. all the while, stacking chairs on tables, scraping the grill, through the ravenous inhale of the vacuum cleaner, it sits like an unscaled peak framed in the lights of the pass-through.
Routine Life has no string attached to it Everything is planned for the day It is presumed things move as programmed involvement in the daily chorus smacks the Human sensitivity each one is busy for fulfilling the days obligation Day
A pristine smoke was pointing the where of pawns abetting the glacial runaway. Emblemic, he was the last man on the stairs ready to jump in the lake – when night arrives. Now this was the tipping point to stand
The words flow by In the endless talks In the welcoming and Ascending dusk Knocking on the Emotions binding With the words Can it connect the hearts? Stirring questions For the being Of these words Flying to and fro Did
I thought you would walk behind, but you went ahead. I felt your place is at home, but you went to rule the world. I believed knowledge is my domain, but you invaded that terrain. I was conditioned to believe
Was it a summer storm of sexuality? Only the chaste statue stood in threads, and then went down the cuticle with nipple rings. The demand of namelessness was rising in the dim shadows of brisk tones. To step down from
I remained transfixed as the booming voice of this roman majestic orator cleft the hallowed halls of this storied Philadelphia sanctuary. His every word rang as true today as when first uttered prior to when the golden age of Rome
And there I sat at the table without a thing to eat. We often take the sweetest and most precious things life has to offer for granted. The thought persisted. Of all things I decided to bake a pie. All things
I followed your trace in this city thinking about how lonely you felt without me I visited all the places in your photos everything was so familiar except the lack of you Would you appear all of a sudden in
Feeling the warmness of love, Tight and meaningful like a sweet coo from a dove. Family genres bring us to have a life to live, Daily going by, letting it pass like a giant dive. It doesn’t hurt to learn
Where he fixed the features of his mental image what he thought and what tells vividly his visage He planned a journey of progress for present to start When his country would cover that with spirit of heart In future
These are just random snippets that I will just post together. Title: Monster minded and egos Like an enflatted ego is my thought that im a monster. As with Ego you are never as big or bad as you think,
Drop by drop they follow to shower, Sometimes heavy and sometimes slower. From the high to the low, Feeling the earth and to flow. Sounding in a delightful drizzle, Healing the land dry to mizzle. Little children way to home,
I woke up, got hit by a rock No wait, feels more like a truck It doesn’t matter I’m broken and my heart is scattered Listen closely friend; LOVE does not matter Those empty promises, shallow vows The memories, the
I do not want to take you, either the road ahead, or lovely gyrations on low stage of voicelessness. The swoop of eagle on a little bundle, of chromatic fever: was it unbirdy? The tree of death grows taller than
I don’t belong to me, to you, to her, to him. Who are you, I ask myself again falling in love for a tender shoot, uncoiling under the debris of unfaithful corners? I was watching a small birdie hopping against
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.
Choices She just stopped one day, halted and held back, from going to school, My little girl. She sat back And ruminated. halted and held back By a force invisible, Her reasons: immiscible . Whispers and worries, ricocheted back and
Gaze into a persons eyes, far beyond the mask and wonder at the questions that you’re too afraid to ask. Gloriously gazing into depths of deep emotion, currents running deep within a cool and placid ocean. Dive into the loving
Don’t let your heart become a paper boat sailing towards childhood, Towards the harbor of its never returning fragrances, Don’t float towards its crescent moons if you could, or the enchanting crooning of its past tenses. Don’t become an interpreter
NEW MOON SPELL in the backwoods of the Louisiana bayou, voodoo is alive and well… Calling on fire, wind, earth and water in the shadow of the torch lights as the dance of the dead is danced, caught up in
There are no haunted places, Just people haunted by pasts and presents. There is nothing not worth expressing, For no one has lived without falling. Not everyone can dream so celestial, For most people’s understanding is but elliptical. Not everyone