Quaint poems bring the best collection of short and long quaint poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great quaint rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these quaint poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on quaint are here for you.
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
A tavern Simple-complex, happy-low, A water hole full of regulars Heartbroken, shy or smitten Wealthy or wily smugglers. A rustic smoking a cigar, Passing colloquial remarks, A skillful pianist playing, A journey an artist embarks. A wanderer at heart, I
Clear diamonds would regale, by being rare, In glints, beguiling, by the wearer’s hand; Hell conjures in many an envious stare, If but this gem been plenteous as sand; And yet raw quartz, may lay uncut for years, Which also
To my friend She glows with a glimmering giggle that lingers in my mind that surpasses even fragrance of fair Jasmine her benign grin, a mark of charity wins the souls of all in unanimity. Her abode is a mansion
Writing is a great tool for peace, both inner and outer the rumbles and riots around us keep us locked up in our chains The freeing power of writing gets us in an unusual mood reminding us of loving relationships
On a day icy-cold, snowy and serene Glancing through the window ebony-framed Stitched a silk scarf a genial queen Prickled when she her slim flat finger Three blood drops fell upon her sewing Gave she birth to a girl ”Snow
the way you walk the way you talk the way you comb your hair beautiful eyes as if a angel in disguise the touch of your hand makes me understand pitter patter of soft sandle feet whispers in the corridor
A tribal fear was lurking, behind a surge of emotion. The sun was looking black. A sexual abuse of a quaint flower aborts the fruit. This year we will go hungry. A nascent seed stripped on road- cries for water.
Cambium will cheat one day the pace of climb, snakes will dance peeling off the skin – the urgency of moon to take away the body of victim from sunscape. You thrive on a window switching off the sky. A
Though I clearly see Paralleling traits, Corresponding facets Astonishingly quaint, This complex, albeit moving, Prominent connection, Holds a minute blemish Worthy of reflection. Contrast, yes there’s one, A distinction can be drawn, For you’re rarely right, While I’m never wrong!
With a singing heart and basket in hand I skipped my way for my weekend store. Dreaming of cinnamony muffins and freshly baked loaves The smiling farmers selling all their veggie and fruity delights. I passed by the quaint and
She tiptoed lightly down the stairs, so quietly and some pause. At only eight, it was quite clear, her sight was on a cause. Her mother’s drawing pad, her brushes, and her paints; her goal to leave behind a painting,
try me if you please as you are out spreading the disease plagued by thoughts of granduer with affectionate melancholy sparkling array of blissful care through the air my very soul permeates a reason for being amidst the changing of
shaped from the tiny fragmentation of the impulse in my mind blinded by the mere silence in its brigade of solemn tenderness alone I sit on a high hill visually seeing the passerbys visit then leave a quaint encounter to
one night in the end of October drifting through the woods there rose up a demonic creature that would haunt the neighborhood one such occasion it bit this little girl in the neck blood soaked her dress & she was
Well you’re one hopeless romantic Almost a border line lovesick fanatic But I wouldn’t change you not if I could I love your wet and sappy kisses And the way you hold me so tight I think I’m gonna pass
They seem to overwhelm me, Consume me, Devour me… Like gruelling waves crashing against the shore Creating a torment impossible to pacify. Drowning me in their depth- Deep and dark, Vague and uncertain… Like an uncontrollable vicious whirlpool Salvaging what’s
Higher than clouds, A voice beckons loud, Shouting incoherent statements, Clouding its own sentiments. Down here vibrations resonate, In well traveled ears they commemorate, Aggressive tones without grace, Screaming on shriveled yesterdays. Voices screech after enough, When deafly righteous is
The train leaves the station on a misty night On the train is a lonely soul, leaving behind a life unlived Anticipation grows with hopes of a new life full of love, laughter and hope. As the train comes to
Yin-Yang, push, pull, always switching directions, Digging deeper, future bleaker like a chronic infection, Help her climb back up, otherwise she’s drowning, Always feeling demoted, never in line for a crowning. She lives in the moonlight, but always searching for
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
For my water god I entered the wetlands. Fog was increasing and me becoming incoherent. The swamp throws a high tide of rolling wave I lift the burden of bones and take a plunge in darkness. The holy moon gives
Dusk has fallen Quietness tempered by the soft rustling of leaves Whispering and nodding in sweet conversation Helped by the gentle breeze Birds’s lullabies Happy with their young Trees majestic, multiple limbs extended Protectors day and night Far off mountains
Difficult it becomes, the secret of the judgement and metamorphosis of the painted cotton into a stained truth. To save the present tense. A dangerous crowd of vowels to express the incomplete moment of watery teeth, so hung, while misspeaking
Hollywood Angel, Somewhere over the rainbow And on down that yellow brick road through The years and stage to stage well That’s Entertainment Still going strong, although she’s been gone for So long her spirit still lives on… Like a
She was the blessing, She was the smile. She was the much awaited, From my womb into my hands. She was so tiny, Yet so appealing. One said–so red, fresh & blooming, Yeah, she was my little rose! For the
This war between your flesh and spirit, When it begins you can really feel it. For your flesh wants to do the things that are wrong, But your spirit wants you to sing a victory song! Then you get caught
Against a backdrop of broiling grey The dancing colours flap; wave away To all who can see and for all left to be A warning about the worsening sea A relentless outburst of desperate cries Fighting the force of the
An aged photograph of a relative with her cherished daughter, sitting by a calm, placid lake on a sweet sparkling spring day. Wonder, joy, and amusement filled both of their unblemished, youthful faces – A family beginning its nascent, hopeful
Oh! It’s just a Clock. Oh! These are just the mechanical sticks. These are not like my arms, They move all the time. And I look at them all the time! Yes Time! Time! They define time. Oh…what is time??
Searing in sunlight and dense in humid breath that uncomfortable nether-ground we ancesterally dashed across to escape the swift and sharp toothed now is a show of umbrellas and baking skin joy of wading into the delicious cool feeling sand
I do feel the pain of letting go, stretching, pulling, dragging me across the floor, when I stop resisting, its like a flow pain seems less, so I let myself go with the flow, release all the tension stored, I