Reader poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of reader poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on reader are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Are you educated? Have you an injured heart? Have you a purified brain? Do you believe in truth? Are you alone? Do you seek problematic truth, solvable truth, real magic? Are you a secular person? Do you believe in democracy?
Beautifully romantic, Musically inclined, You are so poetic, Totally undefined. Your thoughts are so deep, Words you use are very unique, Your rhyming of words are like music to keep, A composition that gains a positive critique. The words you
Pinhead’s lounging in the armchair. Dreams waiting by the stair Pennywise is peeping through the curtains looking for children to scare Marvin is arguing with the kitchen door while Arthur Dent makes a cup of tea. Death has been hogging
Wasting words I want to be electronic; I can only be more robotic. Please try to fix my empathy; I have lost it. I am not hypnotic. I cannot make you feel this, Without giving away my secrets. We need
A word amidst verses, Coming to life briefly When the reader leases His mind and time solely. That moment of glory, Is transient like you; An unknown for many Very common for few. Alone it’s no meaning, A tale not
Dear readers, Reader’s Digests denote That readers read and clearly emote Their feelings out and try to devote Their money and time for this rowboat. The mind that reads it will surely vote Their success that is sure to roam
I wonder what’s it to be like a poet For I am called one… Is it to connect reality with Tough words that prompts reader Look up the dictionary? A one which has a rhyme scheme? A one which is
FITS AND STARTS For a cold winter’s day When you’re, maybe, all sad and forlorn, Here’s a tale, Which, to many, may not be known. It may not be a mystery, it may not evoke fear, But it shall make
Dawn did arrive and brought soft light across a sand-filled shore, but no one knew the sadness that the widow there did bore. The young new widow with bare feet and loneliness at heart, walked slowly down the sandy beach,
Writing may be a passion for me Reading the same may not interest him I do hope he appreciates my write ups But what if he doesn’t even look at my write ? Write ups satisfying self is like eating
Darkness and quietness all around me Except for your constant tick Doesn’t that painfully prick! So trick the play and take the pause I’ll applause and I swear not to be cross. You always march, night and day Where is
I’m meditating in a Boise coffee shop because I’m not writing well my thoughts are a smeary slide full of animalcules contained, self-important images that could fit into a list-poem full of suggestions that dares the reader to link meanings
The day I started writing poetry I stopped reading books As after that I started reading Many other things Like a person, birds and animals Sometimes I read trees, Sometimes a lake, Sometimes the whole nature My games have also
Chew Lawrence would disclaim that his first collection is a body of metaphysical poetry, yet his poems are metaphysical in that they pose questions about the fundamental nature of reality and posits the poet’s tentative answers concerning it. Unlike the
It is a foregone conclusion that the writer uses all five senses to create their work. However, I have found ( at least in my experience) that each sense exercised provides it’s own individual inspiration. Not to be over analytical
(as imagined by this lumpenproletariat) When no bigger then innocuous, ho hum, happy go lucky generic black whole sonny and cher full pinhead size zit, thine pluperfect promising mysterious seat of pants whodunnit wordlessly wise wedded waywardness writ partly apportioned,
They say poetry doesn’t pay , A hobby for slacker’s bay , Frost projected it as condition , Far from being called ‘ real profession’ . Advised to bring out the writer , Write pages, words , Ensure some monetary
About the book: These poems happened to me at random, insignificant moments. They are still damp, from loss. They manifest wild ways to look at ordinary things. I am picking up pieces of life And handing them over to you.
To put words down on paper, That can give a memory life. To recreate a moment passed, Long buried deep inside. To compose a verse so eloquent, It can cause a heart to break. And lead the reader to feel
About the book My Life and My Songs, which contains 75 English poems in very simple and lucid language, is published after my previous book ‘My Life and poetry’ – that had been admired by poetry lovers. This book intends
HighOnPoems launches Popular Poems Section. Read Popular Poems with highest reader ratings that are chosen by poetry lovers. All poems that have made it to this section are picked out for their interesting writing style, versatile themes and the connect
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
And there I was crawling out of the wee hole down the earth, tired by the faith darkness and the humble warmth of the mother earth . It is sultry rather very torrid out here , the frozen blood of
Dawn did arrive and brought soft light across a sand-filled shore; but no one knew the sadness that the widow there did bore; the young new widow with bare feet and loneliness at heart, walked slowly down the sandy beach
Stop laughing Start crying Stop trying Start dying Giving up Now giving in All because you think you can’t win This race isn’t yours You don’t keep score Anymore You hit the floor You say “I can’t and won’t take
there is a smile below there is a smile above betwixt the heart of praise a lonely heart found love a soul devides then parts on every circumstance we can learn to take part in the dance in quiteness I
Dawn did arrive and brought soft light across a sand-filled shore, but no one knew the sadness that the widow there did bore. The young new widow with bare feet and loneliness at heart, walked slowly down the sandy beach
Comprehensive to common minds yet impressive. Creative writing demands appreciating. His composition is his recognition. Unknown to this world his designation. Nor noted he’s deserted. Exiled deep in oceans of literature, Get him a defibrillator. Too less like him left,
Emotional sequestration perseverates across thine time warped weft wise wold, sans interpersonal stagnation flourishes as oft twice told tale amidst derelict hollowed moldering sacrificed stranglehold did potential now bankrupt acquaintanceships/ friendships get out sold agonizingly excruciatingly jujitsu physically writhing front
Well if you think I’m cute and charming TELL ME… Don’t be shy, look me in the eyes and just TELL ME… Don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind, you Just might be surprised, if you think I
If I were a Book, On the shelf, I would be overjoyed to meet new people everyday. Some would flip through, Some would read through. The fact that I would enter a reader’s mind, brings thrills. The thought that one
every year I used to visit a place down by the sea the boardwalk pier pizza stands with fresh fried dough expossed to the sea shell band with family & friends let the reader understand bars with beers flowing was
Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the
It should not have happened this way, or that way, rendering breathing difficult in the intense smoke of misunderstanding. The granite wall between the doors! You grope through a thicket of words crossing the centuries of hate. Sun, no sun
The hardest part of ending Is starting over again Troubled times buried in the past And overcoming the pain Staring at this empty room A million questions fill my mind Thinking back to happier days Rather than how love can
Will you come to the love shop with me and buy me some love? Sell me your jet black heart and I’ll leave you a note, You know the world can be yours if you’d just let me know, Well
Doing well in the Land that I love, I give thanks to the God up above. If not for him, I won’t be. He comforts and steadies me. If not I’d fall apart, uncertain and drowning from provocation. I had
Walking with a heavy heart Am I moving from future to past? Those happy colours of life Are they being discoloured by continuos strives? Those frank laughs and talks And those innocent smiles and all Have they become just a
Violence !Bloodshed ! Massacre ! Hatred and callousness having its nasty play across the globe, inflicting myriad miseries on innocent people here and there, every now and then . And all these insane acts in the name of God !
A tribal instinct stops the nemesis: Spraying the blood-soaked, small foot prints on my chest; unlocking, I accept myself. Why contained anger of awesome ache over the periphery? Through the atrophied, black limbs – an elite infusion of trespassing knowledge?
It’s a dark place, with lies and deceit lurking in every shadowed corner You speak but I can no longer hear, my blood rushing, deafening me Yet there you sit, relaxed and calm hiding behind your chameleon smile Relentless in
Do not be afraid to make mistakes everyone does but worry about what is and not what was. mistakes make us different makes us stand out mistakes are part of life. it’s what life is about don’t let your mistakes
