Sage poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of sage poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on sage are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
They smear thy love to hide their sheen For beauty, they found, is hidden within Through sunken eyes, as calm as thee They embrace thy art, in joyous spree. In search of peace through coarse terrains From Himalayan caves to
Simple strips, Some woods and shrubs. Deserted or inhabited, Explored or not. Islands, They have a certain character, A saintly serenity. it is there like a sage, ever waiting To embrace those lost sailors Coming washed ashore. An isle of
What use books, knowledge, ways to see the world, To learn to deal with life, the laws and men? What use to know protection and defense, And poetry, why flags are rolled and then unfurled? for what is it to
‘Twas on the eve of St Agnes’ Day, When young virgin’s minds fly astray; Stacey lay her body bare To January’s freezing air. She cast her liquid ebon eyes, Up to the boundless starry skies, Hoping to find in that
I have figured what is eternity, In longing, and boring hours of a day, Eternity could be anxiety, In half-second before a kiss would lay; Could love be measured in eternities? Does love subtract from life for lack of it?
A sage plant scrambles for the mob, walking out of bed and begs for a death. The adolescence had become graphic. Do you agree with the splurge of moonlight under the street light? The unborn stink was hovering after the
From farthest East, or more precise The forests vast on India’s breast, Rose hymns of wisdom that never dies, The words of knowledge, forever best. Those hymns were born from wisest hearts, As throats would trill in sombre shades; They
The Muse Who is the Muse that stalks my Mind? Who is the Muse this poem, propels? Or does the poem, Muse impel? Who is the Muse in Meditation For attention protests? Answers I seek from my gentle sage. “Your
She does not see herself as the matriarch, but age and wisdom dictate that no-one is more deserving. Since his demise she has stood alone at the head, guiding with sage counsel and devotion. Loved and revered by those who
A child plays by a window-pane in his home nigh a floral-land; A dancing rose by a dell caught his eyes with ruddy spell. Like a wind, runs the boy to the lawn, casting toy. Flutters beside some fallen hoes
In time warp, to find the fell of a dark moon my thoughts bring out a birthday gift. The first step in fog discovers the sharp edge of kindness. Who will believe this black and white, suicide of a sage?
What manner of global icon so venerated? A sage of global repute, a demi-god politically deified, a martyr once resurrected and a hero eternally celebrated. Deeply rooted in the annals of Africa’s peculiar history are your seemingly unachieveable and unparalleled
Wisdom and Ignorance The ignorant always attack the weak in packs like vultures While wise men offer a way out of your worst troubles Some ignorant men even come as wolf in sheep’s clothing But are no match for a
Shed the mood Blue Open your heart, feel the world which seems so new Things may not change, Many angels or demons will stay down the memory lane, Perspective and change in attitude is the clue, Shed the mood Blue.
As the tram runs on the rails, Weather bitten houses emerge telling tales, Revolutionaries’ urge for freedom, Idealism in poetry and fiction, Reminiscent of immortal singers, Dancers in their grace, Tears trickle down in claustrophobia; yearning for a home which
Reading esoteric science books I can foresee how a human being looks! Getting to know myself Starting to organize my bookcase shelf A visible being I am indeed Knowing the invisible me, I feel I am freed Freed from running
All it takes is one mistake. Don’t make them last mistakes from the past. Beauty and the beast they met at the feast. Beauty played its part by residing in the heart. Appearances are kept by those who are adept.
There was no beginning no ending. Beyond tomorrow you will be, what you were not. Words would disappear, only meaning will be left. The interval ceases to be from ’wasness’ to open pathway. When you are not ready I will
At the end of the thought was sadness. When temple lies broken a little white lotus comes up on the tranquil lake. A cute word enters the lone voice, stands down, collapses, retreats into silence. A chaste tree becomes a
(1) In old time, Before the sun stopped circling around us; Before it started to work as a painter of our shadows and the shadow of time over place; Before it adopted the hobby to boil sand inside a vessel
Why am I like this? Why am I like that? Why am I…me…? Or possibly, My alienated mind; Exceptionally perceives, Sees the same World, Like you but; From a different eye. My being feels so outcast, Like the most complex
though moo cho yars older, i (bovine cuddly name = hay4four at aol dot com), could feign 2b a frat house bro by undergoing a facial augmentation – despite lacking dough unlike the multimillionaires here in lower merion, where a
The warmest place is where the heart stays Where sweet memories abide This house of old, creaking timber and leaking roof Where in the courtyard stands my trusty friend Its boughs swaying in the path of the north wind And
My eyes itch and burn, Rubbing them doesn’t help, Drops by the bottle, Relief however brief held. Vision isn’t what it once was, Bloodshot red pupils dilated, Restless they wander, Rolling around irritated. Fixed on images throughout the room, Narrow
After a face – off you toss the coin resenting the liquid fame. Frame extracts the price of picture. Compassion for the artist was missing. I suffer in mid moon between darkness and light clarity of rags was improving. Homage
“You are wrong, I am right Is this what’s its all about? Where is the love, the care? and all the lovely emotions that were there Is this all that is left in us, Questions, arguments and fights?” There I
In love’s brief hour, A new joy is born, quite uncommon, Spelling rhythms of stepping affair coming up. Half drawn eyes glowing, full of fineries, Giving gentle knocks in hesitating heart. It is the glorious hour, being in passion fever,
My beloved my, beautiful queen Your presence makes me serene Burning fire can easily be seen Love with beauty is evergreen Your fragrance just enchants Your lovely gait always haunts What in ignorance heart wants Your grace sparingly grants Come
Your body in mud pack, in line of fire suddenly finds a lover. I was watching with concern. Cup of soul, lined with abrasive desires was empty. Do not go raging in the sea, to collect the salt. The pink