Strawberries poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of strawberries poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on strawberries are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Picnic in a secluded meadow Strawberries and Champagne On our lips as them sweet Kisses follow we can’t help But to give into our passion On a blanket as soft as Summer clouds… What a perfect day for kindred Hearts
Through the distance, this comes from Sweetness to shower on you her heart’s soaring affection growing warmer, glowing brighter and more tender to assure you, rich or poor, you are still her life across the miles she would like to
Guilt is a mermaid picking strawberries at a grocery shop You think you see it there But you are the only one And you are allergic to strawberries. Guilt is an armour you tragically fall into As soon as you
Stunning yourself, after setting ablaze, circumbulating the tied down god in center, you start a death dance for the wasted limbs. How far the self-immolation was justified for the young pond of hyacinths? And as I moved away from this
I’m not old. I’m fermented. I’m human liquor. I’m the human fruity When it’s been sitting around for a long time Decomposing Molecules changing structure Fine spirit Body and taste Of the upmost quality A premium blend Well aged My
Of all the simplest of things. Sometimes love is a lot like socks. Some are long, some are short. Hell some even come up to the height of knees. Some are bland. Some are colorful. Baring the fruit of comforting
In a dark dark night About you I reminisce, Cropping more towards you I fall into abyss. Where I see you With your immense love, Holding me tight Where I be the dove. Your eyes so glittery Filled with fire,
A pair of hazel eyes look at me. Your ‘bandana’ runs up to forehead, a scarf covers nose, chin and below, the pinky complexion of your cheeks lures me to paint you as a lovely maid. There is no invitation
A way to the outer world from inside Is the window – an agent certified; Gloomy, depressed, woeful world Is made happy with a small riptide Which comes to the sight of bide Who live in and try to bestride
Love is a treasure chest. Nestles in the chest, Holds kindness, and care. Soft as flower, Often weeps, and wilts. Yet, strong as steel. Weathers winds of storm A wonder it becomes! The Taj, an emperor’s dream. His queen’s home!
Man Penniless but manages to take girl friend for date Brainless but Advises one & all Unemployed but Pretends to be very busy Ugly looking but thinks Very handsome A girl’s smile makes Him act indispensable Egoistic & proud of
My secret place is condensed by the deepness of the everglades, mixed with boldness of green Arabic sparks. My secret place is a place of comfort, a place of trust. Remembrance follows my innermost dreams. A place I can call
I take your hand, So soft and clean. Future scars will warp like a band, Those pure eyes that haven’t seen. My hands, rough and red, From blood of past victims. My sinful limb strikes your head, Then I say:
‘Charge!’ cried the infantry, pushing forward block by block, Paving way for others to follow and stalk – Resulting in heavy casualties on both sides, All for a king too reluctant to fight; Queen, Bishop, Knight and Rook, Fight to
Clips, Clamps, Berets, and Bows. School, church, playdates, she goes. But that’s just the beginning of her poor hairs woes. Down again? Up again. Knots again? Brush again. Food again? Comb again. Gum again? Glue again? Brush, and comb again.
We awake Wrapped arms around waist Feeling her fingertips against my flesh My heart against her back Smelling the follicles of her hair No words just moments of memories First conversation First smile First film Wishing we could hold on
When terror strikes, fear inside you makes a hissing sound, breaks the vessel. Pain spurts out. Your limbs swell like sapphires in a naked suffering. You were searching the face of your dead brother on burning ghat. And then on,
Once upon a sinful past, temptation to trade the soul. Riches beyond that can be perceived andcvulnerable with lust for control. What is a soul if not old, mine is shiny and new and a souls cost, a pretty penny
Amidst of delusional notions for the inexplicable to reveal Beginning to be rummaged for the very cause of ordeal Dilemmas often encrypted with multitude of resolves Ones where you’re nucleus around which it all revolves Blinded by agitated tenacity improbable
cement heart of disappointment you traveled but not far enough graceful hands and tapered nails handwriting worthy of a calligrapher barking your knuckles peeling spuds standing in boots and a man’s coat you stink of his sweat raise his children
The days descended inhaling goodness Smothering Murderous Diseased and dark Mankind swallowed down the perverse evil and sickened Desperate for the emotions once felt No longer remembered That will once more warm and quicken Dead jaded hearts, The world was
Sensuous touch of sea Waves whispering to me Enfold me in its close embrace Stirring my soul With eternal joy. Every grain of sand Tells a story As the voice of sea Speaks to my soul Of passions in life.
(Dedicated to my niece, Zeina…) When you are eighteen Just add the two numbers And be nine again This ancient tree is evergreen… When you are eighteen Weave the threads of friendship Play the cords of worship Sing a song
My friend My lifetime friend You are now at peace. You’ve stumbled through dark tunnels. You’ve travelled, long, and hard. Now time has passed your journey’s at its end. Your pain still edged on my heart and soul and friendship,
A shimmer of light in the darkness of my thoughts, the rare moment that the grey skies clear away and I see my surroundings exactly how I should, these briefs moments serve as a testament for my survival, Bitter and
The Democrats The baseball executives The cops The professionals and the experts and their assistants Swapping talking points and selling the deal Shoveling our infrastructure and our water to the rich as fast as you can Dispersing low grade food
Daily I see a different me, each morning I notice- an iota of sheen missing, a part of me has withered, chipping regularly from somewhere or the other, a delta difference between me and the me from yesterday, Am I