Stale poems bring the best collection of short and long stale poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great stale rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these stale poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on stale are here for you.
Thou bare beauty’s bride of immortals Thou enrapt silence of mystery, who can’t tell thy flowery history And Fair Youth? And unstinted admiration thou bear, All profuse versifiers to thy truth begotten, They lie; of thy mystic gracious beauty, swear.
Life is not all about being happy happiness turns stale without bitterness Too much of sweet or too much of spice makes it terrible to eat When one takes , in stride, both sweet and bitter in proportion one realises
As my days feel longer and my brittle bones begin to weaken, I drift like the sea, a spark dampened, my mind a dimming beacon. My legs are shaken and my fingers start to tremble, My thoughts are twisted influenced
I stand naked At the window A rough wind Disarranges my hair Harsh sun rays Beat my bosom Into a merciless submission And I cringe at the touch Of your manipulative fingers My conscience Is like bad breath Reeking of
Such things are rare now: the smell of rain of preceding nights going stale. And the potted plants keep back the reek like memories as do their counterparts keep scarred holes— gaping blank like a blind eye— on the ageing
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
No, I can’t see you. I can feel the absence, And the absence is dark. Now, you aren’t addressed. Love calls the souls, But loses your appearance. You are blurred. You now desert. Heart, mind, soul- They are out of
An evening primrose glides, on my rough hands. I pluck a laugh from the lips, of a parched face. It knows the meaning of death, kissing the pink eyes. Of the lost fidelity and the innocence of the dying sun.
A million drips in a pond, two become one and it’s three so on and on, pull together in fluidity and force a flow through eternally soft and breaking to and back hands that fingers lack caress a shore a
the watch tore the hair from his wrist he could smell coconut shampoo as in the time he’d been left to his sisters’ tender mercies they’d gone after him tweezers and paint prettied him up like a trout that had
I understand now, I understand why words like moths- Flutter in my mind, Like my thoughts they change all the time. I understand now, I understand the beauty of too much pain- Even a stale pain retrieved over and over,
Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…mountain highs-valley lows, bus routes to homes of the white affluent, scrubbing dirty mosaic tiles, shadowed by stale late night celebrations of new deals… our raw deal. Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…Daddy’s
Journey was well planned to and fro in Volvos; but for the V.I.P traffic, frustrating long queues and expensive stale food in hotels with god’s name, we enjoyed every moment! There is something mysterious with life in temple towns and
Bloodshot eyes in heads so wise, they queued outside the door The men whose work began right there, at Tommy’s on the moor. Hands thrust deep in pockets to betray the shaking bones Of weather-beaten fingers whence they laboured sand
The penetrating blast of the social disjunction makes it impossible for young people to function it seems as though grown men and women are playing a game of tug-a-war and we the children are the rope they yearn for our
Living against the food amnesia gold bricks call for austerity in passage of the hunger. Canons hanging in their necks it was the silence of death. Whispers were floating in night. The bodies will free us from gold cure, tasting
YOUR COFFEE MUG still sits where you left it, half-empty, atop your favorite porcelain, brim smudged with a curious combination of dried froth and pink lipstick. It’s my little testimony, you know, to a life well led and a union
My heart is starving, My lips are famished, My arms are cold, My strength is half of it. My mind races, My restless eyes close, My reasons to reason, Grow stale and fold. When you go I always pine, The
Driving down the highway, Going from here to there. Lights in all the windows I want to live somewhere. Someone’s home, the lights Are bright and all aglow. No rest for us tonight. We’ve many miles to go. Dad’s asleep
A lifetime spent keeping life on track, Just to save oneself from any setbacks! No singing and dancing on life’s cruise; A ride without any fun, what’s the use?! Rather than comprehend nature’s truest gestures Better carry out wonderful adventures
begins from heart with what eye sees, and what ear hears, passion it creates, unquenchable emotion it turns on; hunger and thirst- it creates between lovers. adultery-forbidden fruit- it lays on table, poison-it presents as dessert, aroma of death, it
We fight often and sometimes we hate each other, But your love is my only concern and other things they vaguely bother. It’s surreal yet it’s true, I can walk miles alone just to be with you. Sometimes the thought
Tomorrow when the sun rises again It will find a world unkind People killing people Friends being unkind to mankind Tonight, the night will give me rest Regenerate me and prepare me for Tomorrow Tomorrow again many will die And
A path that exists between birth and death, this life is never straight. Every time you need to confront obstacles, even if you have already fought many battles. The book of life contains both happy and sad memories, and it
Our childhood of yesteryear Fresh and innocent with no fear. We waited with bated breath To peek at our cake that arrived fresh. Our birthday cake, our birthday cake. Moist and warm, chocolate brown Cool and pink, strawberry jam winks
I was not capable of contradicting the quietness. A silent emotion was insulting me. Forgetting the self-denial I went for choosing the impossible. Am I sick of myself? The agony overwhelms me with mystic relief. Here and now I feel
Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.
Moments when I need a fulcrum, Like now, when the need for your presence Hangs overwhelming harder than your memory. Now means not just this night Whose sky like is covered with a black orchid petal, Mourning sheet over the
Like ashes stacked in a jar of indifference tightly capped to mask a stench so cruel from cigarette butts worth riddance- you caused me self decay and dismal. You put me out like those cigarettes in an ashtray of cares
Oh my dear best friend, Don’t run away from me please, come back, I believe that, you are best in this crazy world, As none can compete with you, You are faster of the fastest, And the genius of geniuses,
sea grew wild, rain couldn’t cease rain fell drops, from tears of souls… the sailboat floats, on angry seas. wind blew hard; their distant howls like predators out, like ancient owls. Tide close in; a thunderous shout makes sun retreat,
sky soon to be scarred with unknown. inner compass points daybreak so board at dusk exit lane takes you away from falling darkness. feasting on past sleeping dogs lie no longer now awake they gnaw on bones of not-dared. at