Tattoo poems bring the best collection of short and long tattoo poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great tattoo rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these tattoo poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on tattoo are here for you.
Softly butterflies flutter by Your fingers tracing down my spine Chemistry sweet between us two Through it all, eyes say I want you Your fingers tracing down my spine Smoking coals now lead to fire Through it all, eyes say
The worn out longing rests in me Blooming a thought sluggishly Of times when you unwrapped within Your touch melting my transparent skin A heavy block of pain in throat Zillion words thought and wrote Your being was my poem
You crawled under my skin Like a needle for a tetanus shot But who knew That that needle would turn into a blade Causing me to be Unstable Untrustworthy Unfriendly You changed me for the better Until you became the
When Good Fortune Eludes A Caring Heart, And love, or lack thereof, causes a blight, The lovers sworn to vow that’s torn apart, Will hardly keep their joys from taking flight; Remembered tenderness of happier days, Intensifies the pains of
Did you hear the one about the girls who went to get the Chinese ideogram for ‘friendship’ tattooed on their arms and instead came away with the ideogram ‘unclean?’ There is an inherent danger in having your body indelibly embossed
As we take a break before new year and congratulate ourselves for surviving Christmas and all the cheer. We’ve wrapped all our presents, exchanged them with loved ones, sampled tons of food, drunk lots of wine and beer. Onto New
They’ve got their arms up in in the air while she is tossing her her coloured hair If you’re going put in her a chair then she’s somewhat debonair But come stage time and she’s jiving from stair to stair
(1) When I used to be a coal-black ink over a snowy paper, she said: “your letters are locks, your words puzzles”. When I spoke with the remains of my string, she said: “your letters are plough blades wounding the
Our love is not the stuff of legends, of poisons, of letters written with blood. ours is the gentle, everyday love. of fingers run through hair. of legs thrown upon legs. of little things. of wearing each other’s clothes. of
Gazing at the keyboard Then gaping at the screen Heartbeats scribbling suggestions At blank paper of mind, naive Love, a word ringing around like temple bells This is what he spoke, didn’t he? Consciousness went dazed A dreamlike modified reality
The partly clouded sky above your head, The partly wet grass under your naked feet, Those few droplets of rain, the hidden sun, Aren’t these enough to breathe in the sorrow and misery? Let them lose themselves in your lungs
I look at myself in the mirror wondering about my present state reflected rays become dimmer what could be my fate? Some strangers say they’re there for me some friends don’t say a word but then comes the sting of
Anticipating my imminent release, drenched in spoiled love, stifling sweetness encompasses my heart and swallows my body whole. my rapidly racing fingers reach for your soul in the depths of my sex. the air forces its way outside of my
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
You don’t have to love me, Just let me love you…..as Everything you are….and not….. I walked your path knowing that you walk another,yet it couldn’t stop me from loving you… As I slayed yet another demon,I came to realize
They have always been together Holding close, that fondness for each other Be it for a soapy shower And drying themselves on a blower Or resting as and when in their Box- bed Like some lovebirds newly wed Life for
Literary Lessons #1: A poet should above all be devoted not to being copyrighted, but quoted. #2: Divine inspiration is no excuse for bad poetry. #3: In literary style, I endeavor to follow in the footsteps of Dickens, Poe, Dickinson
My friend the Wind- is a lady who changes- Personas with every dress! You can hear her voice- go up and down with- every lapel and pleat! Chagrined about her coif- she turns into a dust devil. Ginned again with
Ssshh. Don’t let anyone hear you. Don’t tell anyone about it. It’ll be our little secret My friends can’t know. Turned into they know we are fucking not that we are together. I’m just not ready yet. Can it be
I was born with an amulet, my love does not die,it has no birth either. I have thousands of aliases, nicknames galore— I roam in timeless space with assorted bodies. You can see men in dark, so I live in
There’s a light in my garden, a light in the night. Giving light all around to make everything bright. I peacefully sit out there when evening is here, and wait for my gecko’s who come and play with much flair.
Keep me there forever, In that fine line of your smile, Keep me there, my precious, For I feel like staying a while. My image is in shards, I wince when I touch my face, Death quietly spreads it gallows,
Swaying in my dream Of blissful tomorrow Bearing within future mine Dreaming the dreams of mother to be Days are small weaving for you A feather like sweater with a red bow Nights are longer as I think of you
Fourth member you were But I found you second to none. There’s a proverb “all’s well that ends well” huh!!! easier said than done. Ma’s apple of eye, Papa’s Gondlo you were. Oh!!! did I tell what I felt? Hurricane.
The string that ties everybody together Each vibrating a different sonnet Expressing the tune of melody connecting the human hearts Oh! I listen to the frequency of the string My fingers gently getting on the strings I feel the strings
He was walking on a highway, Many cars moving fast, stopped, Offered him a lift, But he did not agree, It was too hot, The sun was burning, But he was walking. In the rains, Lightning killed his beloved, He
In Retirement days, plant words on a page. Record in a booklet, give a little age. Let ripen, hide it away a few days. Later, re-evaluate, review, and renew. It is choice and lasting, or is it to re-do? Will
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.
You are not the same You writhe in pain from limitless loss Eyes fixed on an untouchable point Thoughts have unrecognizable voices Happiness suffocates beneath an iced over pond Please come to the surface….breathe again But no answer from pink
Sitting on the bed your legs stretched, on your shoulder so lovingly you kept my head, holding my face with your palms you kissed me on my forehead, embracing me in your arms you kissed me on both my eyes,
You showered down the staircase, in waves of color and crystals You left petals of pink orchids across the hallway How coulld I remain in this place, knowing you were here I’ll never walk down this old eroded street again,