Simple poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of simple poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on simple are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Wake up in the morning with no stress,feeling love in excess even forgot my address forget all the bad of men with no regrets turn around on my bed touch my woman and compliment her nightdress touching her hips and
The simple old man cherished self-determination, For he knew how harsh past subjugation had been; He spent his last days ameliorating his city from within, Restoring harmony by easing friction led to his elation; Hark! The baleful bell of belligerence
Cuddled under a warm, toasty quilt, Chewing on a bag of gummy bears with no guilt. Making the perfect mud cake, Watching the sunlight glisten off a lake. Letting myself go insane, To fight all things mundane. Cooking a delightful
….in search of God….. Simple Irony ……. ……His Compulsion….. Infinite Niti-Grities will Appear …. Whenever You’ll ….. Attempt to be Rich ….. In Thoughts …In Words …In Action ….. Unaccounted Stillness will Steer ….. Whenever You’ll …….. Prompt to Switch
For honour killing twilight adulates an abstract faith. Tainted? Now that mouth was shut and butterfly was pinned, will you grow the marigolds? The empty book was not breathing in a crowd of words. The bitter meaning had flown away.
Dawn rushed in a brand new day They woke up and went their way Morning spent in hard labor Too busy to let thoughts harbor An afternoon quite lazy and dull Routine setting in with a tempting lull Twilight brought
Let’s look together, in the tight, dark corners. Look in the tough, raw twilight– Once, I thought I found a bed, under a dome of stars. I tried to sleep. The world is always fresh. Everyone is always looking for
Not necessarily a palatial edifice- it may not be a fifty or a hundred room structure, it may not come in a multiple layers of concrete steel columns or colonnades. It may not be architecturally beautiful like those in sub-urban
One, Too many firsts, Two, We got sand in our shoes, Three, You wanted to keep seeing me. One, trigger word for gay beginnings, Two, times with denim jackets and black bottoms, Three, Popcorn, jelly tots and prawn tempura sushi.
Poetry doesn’t just happen. It’s not just a bunch of words grabbed hastily and arranged to rhyme, it’s not even a so called overflow of emotions. Poetry is much more than that. It’s the silence that echoes within your being,
It’s a happy day! After hundreds of submissions, days of reviews and a month full of happy poems, we finally bring to you the 5 lucky winners of Happiness Happens contest who have won prizes amounting to 100$ (each winning
A little flower is an expression, Of love and art, Unique tiny creation, Capturing every heart. Beautiful and magical, Uplifting wonderfully, In a small bouquet, A moment of untold joy. Every little flower has music, In its soul, Inviting harmony,
An empty road…. this peaceful night…. As evening breeze, blend with street lights Though far are we, from city’s glow With only dunes and sands to show Come, be with me, my fairest one Let us walk this road, hand
My simple yet complicated Today is done for the day I did witness intricate plots, Impromptu visits, marathons, And deep inhales and exhales To not breathe out the anger Irritations, dislikes and disturbances I lay wrapped in my cloth of
“Kuch aisa likho, jo sab keh jaaye. Kuch aisa likho ke dil bhar aaye.” “कुछ ऐसा लिखो जो सब कह जाए। कुछ ऐसा लिखो के दिल भर आए।” Even before you ask the question ‘Why transliteration?’ we thought of giving
The captain at the tip of his ship, Who sang into the onrushing storm. And while it raved and raised its whip, He offered it his sweet and strange song. The stars hid themselves away that night, For they could
I often ask myself why I write poems I am often asked is this your story I write poems in the silence of night in those sleepless nights The urge to write, the pains felt, the life lived, the suffering
His dress impressed him like naïve Though he strongly reflected the native Only a half dhoti and a shawl he wore But his simple dress spoke more It was the dress of an Indian peasant Though he emerged as more
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
I can’t see through every lie The only truth I know is dying Isn’t that a sad thing to say But anything is hard to believe When everything isn’t what it seems what I used to know doesn’t matter anymore
I am ﬂesh and blood and feelings Amongst other things.. But I am ﬁrst and most importantly ﬂesh.. skin, bones, muscles, blemishes, pimples, scars freckles, moles, and dry skin and blood – running through my veins, gushing out of scraped
Happiness; It surfaces daily, in no definite forms. A kind act, a warm touch, A gurgling child, a day without qualms! A satisfying meal, a coffee past din, A melody that touches the core, A distant voice of a close
If only I had a döppelgänger, I’d peacefully live my life of languor, Entirely at my own sedated pace, For me he’d run with rats of human race. Then, entirely at my own leisure, I could entertain my simple pleasures
You love me and I love you too, I wish I could show you The Snow View. Where pinnacles of mountains, Are covered with the snow. Beautiful valleys full of scented flowers, Are so magnificent,etched in my mind’s bower. Yesterday
Love hugs the heart, Like morning mist, That cloaks in magic, With a tender moment, To kiss the soul awake. The nourishing dew, Of the mysterious mist, Feeds the soul, With a love so tender, In landscape of the eyes.
We have heard it all, So and so is a multimillionaire, He began by rearing chicken, Don’t you wonder? How did they reach at the top? Just because of chicken? No! The answer is simple, They didn’t have excuses not
Often have I swept the floor, the veranda, the yard and all the passages of the house. I do not know whether as dedication or devotion the rough hand of the housewife has, by my daily use, swept our household
In good old days I built adobe houses for each memory but then came flooding, freezing and again flooding even the scarecrow’s shirt discolored in our orchard with red apples However you still ask me what happened, how do I
The hardest thing I have ever done was say goodbye to you Reckless words spoken, a desperate act of an unknowing fool Time doesn’t heal all wounds, only those of flesh and bone A broken heart will easily shatter, no
As I sit here alone with my thoughts and my fears, suffering the consequence of those bought social sneers, I can’t help but embrace the judgement from peers. A reality so true; I’m nothing more than a broken old gear.