Systems poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of systems poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on systems are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Great Maker beyond human knowledge. Our time is short. Our knowledge finite. Reality infinite. We struggle to understand. We create structure to make it so. We build and grow the best we can. It’s a struggle every day you know.
One could tell that she had ascended from a peaceful and noble family of visionaries This rare beauty was never bounded by mirrors of painted images and selfishness She loved the open views that afforded her a first hand look
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
What do you believe? Why do you believe it? How did you learn it? Who taught you? What where their motives. Ideas not men rule the world. Some believe in religion, some do not. Some believe in life after death,
The book is a compendium or a collection of over eighty poems, which address our physical make-up, socio-cultural attitudes about life, African political landscape and its historical past poetically. The first section of the book begins with a simple reflection
I am waiting for a miracle. A miracle of meteorological proportions. A miracle whose atmospheric propositions would be large enough to render it, and anything appertaining to it, be it high up in the sky that ends it, or down
Why do we feel love? Do we even know what loves is? How do know when we’re in love? Does anyone really know? Songs have been sung about love for thousands of years. Stories, poems, books and movies flood our
The Joy of Bing Skits zoid When just a whippersnapper of a little boy Me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed For doctor removal of my adenoid Less to prevent their only son from being coy Than fear of said
In longest night of pitch-dark space you disappear like an arrow. No star brightens your face. Rumor was cruising like a bat on streets to capture the gullible victim on winter solstice. The snow was falling like sorcery. A little
Open twenty four seven proclaims the sign across the front door A warm refuge for the bergies dossing on the linoleum floor Fluorescent tube lights hum and flicker The homeless beg for food and hustle for cheap liquor The air
Love offers countless tears To bemoaning lovers with grieving affairs, As it’s roaring past them in whimsy rides And fades away to deceiving dale. Still the men plant the trees In zone safer And hope to flower them In fancied
Take these hot pavements To my horizon of unborn secrets Beating down like a drum Never mind that scorching sun Together, we’ll run. The proliferation we seek Like a soft photosynthesis Blooming in this parched desert What do you think?
Jesus watches over us Jesus is watching to protect The lost and the wandering sinner Those who cry out to our Savior Believing Jesus is with us forever Jesus, friend of the weary and Those wandering, lost in this world
My hungering is not for Meat and bread, to be cherished, emotionally secure, for protection to embrace, Not close its eyes to my afflictions. For my dreams ‘n desires to be familiar Not be a foreign concept. For the dependable
A life, lives, many lives – millions struggle. Liars to the left and right of them, in front of them and in back of them, beneath and on top. Everyone dismayed; like those before them none can make a reply.
As the dusk sets in reluctance envelopes me pestering me and asking me the same question again And again. I ignore, unwillingly check-out drag my vehicle ahead, but the slightest touch of wind drifts me, scares me and travels me
Arms stretched high Voice pitched high Let me sing Song of freedom Tender shall be the song As the petal of fresh rose Fresh as the droplet of summer rain Sharper it shall be As the rains of winter sun
When roses bleed thorns- it’s time to prune them. Waiting for seasons to change- is like waiting for silence to resolve- conflicts- a game of pride and rank. When roses bleed thorns- thistles outgrow the rosebuds; until color is lost
Feeling so sleepy, I’m alone In a flower garden. With problems unsolved, Seeking external help. All of a sudden Something invisible, an Unheard voice Touched my heart. Softly and Gently, Troubles fled away. flowering trees shone Giving hope for fruits.
Sperms spilled on thighs When moon was hung over trees To engage reverberations, Contesting erratic moods Outside echoes Stitching white milk into black tears, It was not for the deliverance From pain of separation And drink the eyes: The waves
The angel of death, against the Angel of Light, Praise God, Jesus, has won this fight! Death is now dead, and the grave is in hell, Stand up, children of God, and for this victory yell! For Jesus is lord,
Deluge of criminality in the moral night; sun was taking a plunge on the falls, in the name of cobbled up front, for our rise and fall in the primary casuality. Sacred contusion, on the floor of the mausoleum, when
Let your wings flutter for a while, you may walk,run or crawl but not to give a cry Shimmering stars will flirt with the young night but you may resist to hide in plain sight. The constant clutter of your
To slice a hope in stark terror he thought to bid holy goodbye to destiny, and let himself go in the shadow of weeping deads. The orange moon looked mutilated. Quietly stood a suicide bomber, ready to get killed for
Remembrance, Always reminds, Of days Lived barely. As I drown In memories That don’t exist, My very core Wishes for Them. I live, With these Dreams, I live for them, With them. As the shadows, Come closer, Amid the darkness,
I watched the wind having wicked fun today Stripping leaves from trees and hurling them like confetti Forcing flowers to frantically dance to any old tune Sucking up grit and spitting it in unsuspecting faces Snatching hats from the heads
I wonder if you remember Eloisa the skittish wind playing with your sand-colored hair drifting scents of orange tree flowers and you holding against your chest a crystal swan with a lithe neck but he’s gone and you alike, the
The symphony of you serenades I feel for the sound of touch My fingers caress the piano keys that are the gentle ridges descending your spine Violin strings resonate in the silk strands of your scented hair Your warm eyes
To come crashing through the gates of hell, look the demon in the eye and casually yell! Total defiance in every breath as you stare down into the dungeons of death. Never before have you shaken my goals or been
Time runs faster than life, and life is nothing but time stretched into months years and so on; We, only we think, times moves fast or slow, actually, it is life whose movement determines its flow. in life, good times