Puerto Rico poems bring the best collection of short and long puerto rico poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great puerto rico rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these puerto rico poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on puerto rico are here for you.
More love is good Life has been good to me with lots of love from everyone I had the most rewarding job in the world fighting for those who cannot defend themselves alone I had great friends that truly appreciated
And there is the night. Darkness in full bloom. Creatures lurking, looking for food. That is the night, the real fright. The solem wisp of the ever ending fear of nothing, Yet everything. There is the night, the dark, The
Motionless within the ambit of moon, the rain squirms and flickers under the street light in the vacuous silence of a monolith. A cricket walks on a cloud and starts the lightning. The urn was blind, fills up with grief.
Those who have books shine With lively bright colour twine. Books – a Daniel – be in shrine To take us all up with whine. Saraswati, indeed, did opine My talents with saccharine And help me for Her to reassign
Something happened I was just looking in your eyes Then a tear-drop fell to my surprise My heart ached watching your lonely cries I knew then I could not say something that replies My angel fell out of the heavenly
Last of the sunlight filtered in In through the window Lying lazy on my couch I saw Particles Particles dancing in the rays In the rays of the fading light Suspended thus Hanging thus What might they be thinking? Prancing,bobbing
Precious Moments Merit To Be Written, In poems kept under the best of care, Never again will such events happen, For Time nary remakes a past affair; Perhaps, I might reread those rhymes someday, That flaunt of sweet caress your
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
The thought that faith requires That one should wait his call When of Heaven aspires Intimidates my soul The fear that stalks my heart Exacts toll on my mirth As doubt would not depart It undermines my worth My confidence
A golden cave was afraid Of a blue thrust. Hands were not able to console the mirror. Let us step back for a last laugh. You were talking to yourself when the canary was set free from the house arrest.
The day begins with a melodious theme And ends with memorial splendor The life of a man begins with melodious ululations And ends with memorial lamentations If indeed life is an adventure A restless adventure of entirety and supreme wonders
I long to be in cahoots with you, It sounds a magical place. More tempting than peril or jeopardy, Less wearying than love or awe. Yes I’d rather be in cahoots with you. Let’s go there and get trouble and
The world’s a puzzle of inconvenience The members who inhabit it are worse than fallen angels Ghoulishness, fears, abhorrence are their manifest examples And for them there’s palpably nothing like repentance Rare, are the souls who proliferate forbearance As malicious
Pure white I cannot fathom the multi-hues you hide within yourself On a baby swathed in white you take on the colour of innocence and joy On a pious man you are coloured with selflessness On a doctor you take
School is considered as the second home to which many children for their future come, taking the first step of their life to become a hero in the strife A place which teaches us to dream, A place which reflects
You spoke muted words Of empty togetherness; A divided union through a weak connection signaled through the ruffled air, brought messages to her memory still fresh; Only a few of them spoke to the emptiness lost in the silence and
This is a post dedicated to the crazy people who were and who are out there. Life shows new things every day, Some are sad, Some happy. Some are interesting, Some dull. Some make us cry, Some make us laugh.
I made a mask for myself one day So colorful, filled with glee but beneath the surface lies another aspects of my personality. Nobody sees me cry Because i designed the mask for smiling Nobody can sees the pain Because
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards Rolling and filling, syncopating the noise of the tinkle toys the gutless boys enraptured in the music the anthem Of invidious phantoms. My eyes hurt inside and I
Giant cable webs from the skies Stare at me in my eyes; Messy wires that crisscross out there, Are sending transmissions everywhere, And they make us sit in our homes: Hooked up to laptops and mobile phones. And should we
In those corners of your eyes my darkness prevades I wish all the doors gets locked from inside Why does our western gleam fades in twilight shades And still you’re searching for me in pale moonlight The night never brings
The Dark nights The Dimming lights The Owls hoots The Sound of boots The Wishes await The Stares at the gate The Chilling breeze The Dangling keys… The Empty chair The Hopes in despair The Lonely dawn The Joys withdrawn
Power reserves forest land, wild aboriginals lose teeth and claws people enjoy them on magic carpet. Dams Reserve water, like lachrymal gland of eye woes overflow as tears. Reserved category once lived in gigantic palaces, now museums preserve grand air.
A most glorified sound emerging from the center of a winter-land amphitheater. The singing of dark crowned Juncos, radiating through the shivering dry leaves of a lonesome birch tree. clothed in the tranquility of newly fallen snow. The singing birch
The other side of life behind the barbed future where they were seeking gratifications, I was entering the past, without pretension. Time will cleanse the mutation. I will be breaking the god’s boundaries. A theme of nobility has lot of
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
The Window// (1) Behind the window, when clouds descend down over houses planted into mud, and seeds wake up, clock-hands go back to zero. Cottony fogs veil visions, so we might look inside, then I see a dewy dove carrying