Sensorial poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of sensorial poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on sensorial are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Up there, the mind of saints is telegnostic And thought is superluminally telepathic; Via sensorial communications anomalous Gnosis and mind are venially synonymous. All is public fare; the personal life is dead And every thought you surfed in your head
It runs deep Deep into the soul Deep into the caverns of the clan. Its lineage since existence. Always on the prowl Hunting for the one Vulnerable and welcoming. Knocking on the thinner walls Feeding on negatives. To find an
Him: Goodbye, my dove Until tomorrow. I promise to make It a very special. Her: Standing at the window Soft breeze caressing my soft curls I see deep into the dark sky Finding some clues in those stars. What’s that
There sits a geisha along The shore When will love arrive; the ocean her tears have cried Awaiting the sound of Orr like arms to paddle through Melancholy puddle. Her hair shimmers ebony Awaiting a love that crosses the sea
The sweetest song has yet to be sung The best sermon has not been preached The greatest speech has not been spoken The loudest noise has not been heard The highest praise has not been raised The prettiest sights have
The incessant lapping of ripples, Sounds of waves that swell and fade, Mask all the murmurs and whispers Of amblers on the moonlit promenade. The hovering darkness of the night, Ignored by the roaring sea outright, Rising and falling to
For the precious ones pride in the head flesh in a skull wish in the blood a curly swag a diamond scud a cunning smile I wish and will to compromise my recon time plan perceptional introversy mental controversy united
Life isn’t always full of turbulences, But also cheerfulness in multifarious ways. Only a spur of defining moment, And there you tread on for attainment Of internal bliss. Simply tread on God’s philosophy Of “Forget & Forgive” and the world
for John McBride Neill There was the Savoy and Lyceum, the Majestic and Colosseum, the Regal and the Roxy, the Tonic and the Troxy, the Princess and the Pallidrome, the Alhambra and Hippodrome. Great picture palaces, art deco and glass,
In my heart, now lives a butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, drunk with nectar. Is this love? In my heart, now lives a bull, with fiery eyes, with feverish horns, thirsting for blood. Is this love? In my heart,
Gaze into the mirror at the face behind the mask and wonder if it’s really you, or don’t you dare to ask? Who can know what lies beyond the mirrors fragile face, reflections of another life; another time or place?
Give me the whole of a fragment, I am standing on a frozen lake of inadequate compassion. The totality of implications frightens. Look deep in my eyes you may find the plumage of the green peacocks. They are gone. Walk
Forget me not, my vintage friend, though life in me takes flight. I’m with you now and always, though far and out of sight. Remember all the best of times and love that we both shared, and let those memories
The secular love: you are contaminated between skin and prayer. Back from the odyssey finding a crop-circle in bridal chamber. Rival was an alien with a flat stomach thinking black. The thieving sperms had a glorious end, unentered in grass.
Looked naïve, but he was elevating himself on the heap of lights unlearning the human commitment. Hunger was his weapon to level the uprising of underprivileged. This monarch of darkness picks up the best, insists on low profiles. We were
Dear someone, somewhere soon the presence of the breath you inhale would always be too far away to reach and the smell of your perfume or eau de perfume or eau de toilette or even the way she reads the
Deep blue, almost black, sadness. Being, my ache of existence. Eyes, no body in focus. A grey cloud rowing the moon amidst red stars. Bronzed tongue digs the spirit out of flesh behind the shadows. Alone me in unlived house
The whisky, the dream, and the cold sky The river below cries a lullaby Two street lights flicker and die Stars twinkle, the moon and two fireflies Our friends sleeping below, it’s just you and me Words are easy, they
I wrote about him, They instantly recognized him. I wrote about her, They immediately traced her. I talked about them They felt relieved, This time it was a plural. If a face is needed for each pronoun, Let it be!
Sinuous roots stretch scrawny limbs, Seeking security in a forbidding terrain. Tentative fingers probing for purchase, Momentarily anchor, creep and grasp again. Mindless ambition, an instinctive will, Drives a path to solar sustenance. Revitalising rays multiply cells, Promoting uninvited regeneration.
Her eyes hid a shade of beauty A sense of a deeper struggle, restrained behind dried up tears and sealed lips A tale of always searching for acceptance in mediocrity Next to a society determining what beauty is, from a
I have lost myself in some dark corner A corner with unknown path Buried in some sepulchre Such is the grief within The mind revolts to think The heart is numbed with anguish Pain is my best partner Such is
(A collaboration with Gene) In dark melancholy’s mire a heart’s forlorn canoe paddles through the dense grief floating on the surface clutching like vines, sticks like Val Des ooze, pulling me under. Listening to the ghostly music coming from the
It all seems important until someone doesn’t remember the squabbling plans of a coven of third grade girls to torment a classmate each with a thick red pencil sharpened for poking each put together as glossy as a nine-year old
Though I belong to the Middle class possessing hardly any liquid cash thought of invalid notes sent shiver in my spines Losing the currency in one stroke set a psychological upheaval in my mind Thoughts of whether I really had
I still wait for her every night, Watching the stars with blue light, One is still missing, and might have right, Sometimes, roaming places, kindling a game, My eyes know her unseen delight, And I enjoy her playful absence the
A poem dedicated to john Lennon on his birthday: 9th of October Birthday and rebirth Celebrate it forever Dwellers of mother earth A newborn’s first cry That no one can deny John Lennon’s expression Correcting every mission No other year
Sound of Bell is an experience to thrill When the school Bell rings for class to begin students experience creek sound with their heart beating at random When the school Bell rings for class to end Students feel rhythmic sound
Weary soul needs to survive Broken heart must stay alive Where word is not sufficient Music is efficient Flows from the ear to the heart Strengthens soul set apart Uplift depressed spirit And make sadness exit Music acts like magic
Having weaved the journey of life with my dreams I loitered all the way baffled and unsettled The depth of happiness and agony I could not measure Bearing with the sweetest and the bitterest outcomes With tears and smiles both
Found yourself yet, or running around in circles, finding a corner to sit, and think on what’s left, and what’s right to do? Took a dive into dark seas, or mesmerized by light enough, to see what’s deserved, or just