Stride poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of stride poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on stride are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
All braced to face the day, The diurnal engine ignited, Gently revving up, Barging into the quietude Of the colony, With a daily prayer escaping His mumbling lips, As he steered mildly Into the road, To see a car pulled
She takes both happiness and sorrow in her stride and she remains silent without a murmur so far nobody knows what is in store for her in life One who is close now would have been stranger once Tears of
You know how it feels? To be cheated in love By someone so close, someone so dear Who’s there in each thought, in every breath of life So much trusted and looked up to – Share joys wholeheartedly And to
Come month of May And the sultry summer is here With all its fire and fury In full swing . Like an unwanted guest It arrives with no invitation And continues staying unduly Despite the hosts’ displeasure . Equipped with
“HMS Trincomalee, British Man-O-War, sixty guns, one hundred gross tons was she, The Purser and Pressman am I, managing a pressgang in strict service of country and King. Her ships bell marking time; bosun pipes: Captain arrives! She’ll turn with
It’s winter now. A sea of flaking whites with Few Mahonias and Jacquelines blooming bright Just the way you’d loved them. Of flowers, now I’d rather you be a wreath on my bosom Than a lonely rose on the lapel.
Along the way to Washington, a red Indian is still holding in his hands his scalp and a quiver filled with stock exchange, while not comprehending why European prisoners carried old Athens on the ship of Columbus and settled at
(A Versification of the Evoluted Past in the Convoluted Present Tense) Once upon a billion aeons ago, When mucks are gene pools of protozoa; Long before Ape is the forebear of Abraham And amoeba the forebear of ape-man, I am…
Quintessential to feed brilliance is a walk inside one’s sphere. It is a mirror that lets you in on how one looks on the outside. but never how they are from inside. Ubiquitous are your eyes and thoughts as you
DON’T WORRY ABOUT TOMORROW GOD IS ALREADY THERE have faith of the heart and believe in the power of prayer I know there are those out there that just love to make you feel unworthy but don’t you know God
As I stride with the side wind she lifts me, her shadow will catch me when I lose control. I am without doubt and incomplete reverse and form, I stand and watch a damp paper page squelched between two rocks,
Her eyes widened, Not once did I stop to notice that this was the first time These words came from my mouth. Through action yes but never once did I stop to pay attention that I’ve never said it before.
There is a certain feeling that arrives soon as the thought approaches. A sort of dream like feeling that comes to take over what ever mood, What ever presence that is shallowly felt. In truth it’s the best part of
Among the crania, clouds allowed a variation of sky. The hominids stood up and started a stride, with long steps towards noxious future. The cobalt was emitting radiation turning you black, melting your bones, suppressing the marrow. On the thigh
salted with landmines a cordite whiff scents the dry breeze clumps of bushes and rich brown soil dotted with dull white glints of fractured bone a place where animals used to browse this is the place to pray furthest away
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 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
Black is the epitome for darkness, An all thinks desolate and bleak. Purple gives us the incentive- the hope what we seek. Pastel yellow is the sun Which glistens our day, While blue is the color Of the scintillating bay
I walk through the main door, heaving my gaze on every little thing I could see, Daggering signs of unkempt mess, spread all over the floor, Fringing little pieces with signs of dust obscured upon, Every little memory I could
When given a deep thought a certain realization hovered over my head. …truly everything happens for a reason, a reason that sometimes may be an unknown illusion, sometimes the things we curse and at times something that overwhelms us to
Fragrances of honeysuckle in the air and everywhere from a mountain top somewhere well he reigns as king having the fire inside… bold and courageous he is like thunder and lightning from the sky Supreme commander of the Cosmos and
Oh and as I put on the WHITE LIGHT OF THE HOLY SPIRIT nothing can harm me Today…like a mirror all around me Negativity will see its own reflection And flee because negativity can’t stand Itself but if anything good
Remains busy from dusk to dawn, Giving his soul to Satan’s pawn. Keeping all the tricks buttons on, Man is nothing but a chameleon. Cheats all for his lust and greed- Third rate creature he is indeed. Sows contempt and
Hold That Thought I’ve got a UFO to catch…they wanna Throw me a party for some Reason or another but I’m Sure it’ll be a hoot-n-any so Hold That Thought darlin’ I’ll be back before you can Finish your beer
Wane most delusions of own personal strife Pinched all trimmings with potential just rife Reverie broken barely day turned into a night Upon boarded journey time was now to alight Urge though nurtured yet life along moved Regrets now company
O Swan of this enchanted lake Let me wander inside your magical dimension If melancholy causes the charm to break With your melodies, I beg thee, heal this pattern By this lake tendrils twirling Humming with an exuberant fashion One
Audacity to live with your demons, putting up a fake love belief, who was the time, of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what I was not just putting up the shades of death into nothingness of peace in war.
On Christmas, Hegel smiles; No year stands up unless a year dies. No butterfly flies up, unless a cocoon is torn out. Crucifixion, dear gentlemen, is the ultimate dialect in the forest of a boring time. Crucifixion, dear ladies, is
Woman thou art precious Do not disdain it as something trivial Defer not its presence Let not the fear of chemo deter you from disclosure Let not the doctor’s scalpel panic you Woman thou art precious Hear not to frightening