Reader 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

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

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

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

I have empty pockets, and a heart full of gold. A family of eight, and friends new and old. I have blisters and bruises and cuts on my hands, no food for my family, and no wealth in my land.

He did not read my diary left open, to know my kind Just read that middle page from his age set mind If only he had the time and patience That would have checked him by his conscience To read

You sweet little fairy, Why are you so angry? Why don’t you speak? Why is your rage on the peak? Why don’t you smile? You want my mobile! You flying butterfly, Why do you cry? Don’t waste these pearls, Like

Scattered words Are like our living May not mean Anything substantial When used well In sequences With our intent of Making those Sounding meaningful Be it in own ways And share the contents With other people Mend with time On

God’s love, is pure and true, His Grace, and Mercy, will carry you through. Just take a hold, of His nailed scarred hands, He will carry you through,these desert lands. In times of trouble, and in times of need, With

High in the Great Canadian Rockies; on the shoreline of a rippling mountain stream, dancing shadows are reflected in the eyes of a massive, supreme bull elk. A gentle breeze is gracefully guiding the leaves of glorious fall tapestry, jagged

The elevator smells like a woman I knew for a day back when I wasn’t such a behemoth could resist the mouth-temptations of savor and texture it was a bar and I was under-age but no one spotted the guilty

Oh come bird and sing upon the Willow tree, a note of your little hearts well being. To a host of wild flowers, in colors of a rainbow queen! Walk on the soft green grass, for joy in heart it

I don’t know where I stand today, I just know, I’m not okay. Why am I so keen, Untold scenes I haven’t seen. May be there’s something that holds me tight, So my mind and heart do not fight. Deep