The Glow-worm poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of the glow-worm poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on the glow-worm are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
There once was a glowworm Who’s tail would glow quite bright You could always see him dancing On a warm summer night When he wasn’t dancing And needed to rest He’d turn off his taillight With a switch under his
The glow-worm gazed at night which was dark, It felt more and more happy with its light of spark, She was a soft beetle, but the flame of lantern did not like her- Within the polished glass, it asked,”What are
Had I known how happiness happens I would have shared with you dear friend know not why sometimes the world riches do not move and yet sometimes a dime looks miraculous Why this happens I stand unmoved near a blooming
Exfoliated, I come to you, to scratch the blighted palace of the body, where a god lived once. Dervish, when did you stop whirling? The tomb is gone, the shroud tattered. I am collecting the withered roses. It rips open,
In the morning, nothing: every trace of him effaced, all the field pure white, its surface glittering, the dawn, glancing from its glaze, oblique, relentless, unadorned. It is the silver jubilee year Of a wedding knot tied On a September
Once in a lifetime each one of us need a Pseudonym, to discover our innate freedom of expression, vulnerability, for Loving without expectations… for Bringing out that Inner child in us, without being judged…. for expressing our inner fears hidden
Myriad of grasshoppers were sitting on the leapless bush celebrating the earth. I was never happy with the anniversary of thirst eating the memories of green. His hand rummages to collect the shrunk berries from my chest. Today the sun
Surrounded with the Beautiful Mist, My heart knows, this is life – a gist. No matter how foggy it seems, My soul desires to take the Leap. Faith and Liberation prevails, Only the charismatic peace it exhales. In front of
Sometimes souls are inspired Sometimes souls are broken Sometimes souls have goals Sometimes souls be laissez-faire Is there really a purpose for the existence of a soul? My soul contemplated. First there was nothing when the soul was personified in
I approach the 160° turn to the left, The public toilets, still there. Those strange, Striped warning poles and a sign in Old engineering font (like London Underground, but rusted) saying ‘STOP WHEN BELL RINGS’. Up its gentle elevation to
I am not a Poet, with legacy, nor do I sound poetic.. At times, in an impulse to explore my wildest emotions, words spill out, blocking way to rationalism.. in those verses in different shades neither rhyme, nor reason.. Trust
It erupts and then sublimates in thirst of response from the faraway wholeness of truth. Will not be the same again this life in motion of reverse malignity. Lifting the passage from script to justify the suicidal chair of kingdom.
Remembering the days of old, when father raked the leaves of Golden, yellow, brown and orange Jumping into the huge crisp pile, I tossed them all about As my father raked them on top of me I would creep out
Paths of silence and Noise of the breeze, Crimson halo and golden leaves, Swaying stars and rigid trees – These were the things of my humble quiescence. Dreams anchored, With floating ice. Fuzzy gaits through hardened eyes, Barren grasses, And
What is God? What is a god? It’s all relative. It is all semantics really. To those who wandered this globe fifty thousand years ago we’d be gods. Would those who live fifty thousand years from now be looked on
life is a beautiful and precious gift given by god, That gives us a chance to live as we like. Sometimes it make us feel like teeny-weeny pot. Though we are unsuccessful, But we try our best to be successful.
I have a box and that’s for a fact- from which an act is being lead. With scripts of wild puns that overlap, it banters back while remaining intact! Equipped with taunting realizations that retort- with hiss as they push
A scourge Of mankind. Hate A person Before we talk and walk That is no way Right. It is every way Wrong. want a special kind Of prejudice. wish to pre-judge Everyone beautiful Lovely gorgeous Redeemed Forgiven And love them
The town is known as Williamsville; It’s just a tiny hamlet, with one small green, on one small street with only seven houses; but long ago was home to Indians, their children, and their spouses. In honor of this peaceful
climbing on the umblical hill ahead of the contours, a denier alters the chemistry of hate in negative space; fauna of the earth springs black stones, man made, on the glistening sex of lotuses, a forgetfulness ensures the conceptual withdrawl
She surfaced from the blue sea like Aphrodite’s child in all her splendor droplets of water sparkled on her body as if she were covered in precious diamonds. I walked over and offered my name she submitted hers so willingly.
I wish you were still the stranger I admired Will I think again before I chain myself to another restless departure Fitting you in everyday is a sickness it breaks me As a night dark caught in look waiting out
Sublime spirits trapped in a bottle The fallen son rises to do battle A hero of the lord risen from sin The walls of resolve grow ever thin Break the bond, release the spirit The will prays, but the heart’s
Still listening from lips, a mute hearing with hands, an improper metaphor. …………………………………… In the frozen lake of eyes a fish dies in unread tears. …………………………………. An upended home of laments in moon. …………………………………. Imperfect proximity of pillows. sleep was
try me if you please as you are out spreading the disease plagued by thoughts of granduer with affectionate melancholy sparkling array of blissful care through the air my very soul permeates a reason for being amidst the changing of
And then March arrives. Summer again. The neem trees smile, They have to flower, Only they can defeat the sun, And remind us, Once again, ‘I bear this for the earth to cool somewhere’ While others dry, droop and fall,
Flowers that stay in bloom A clock turning in a silent room Walls make barriers cocoon Raging waters soul consume Fighting warrior killed so soon Physical entity mind atune Falling leaves autumn tomb grey sky smell sweet perfume purple dandilion
Our men are slowly drowning in their tears. Labelled weak cos they express their fears. Father said I wasn’t man enough and told me to act tough cos I cried when I touched her cold body Regardless of the situation
I know I bring you satisfaction. Mad but you’re masking. Packed? I’m unpacking. You want to leave. Best believe it won’t happen. Hold on Ma. Let’s breathe and work backwards. What is the battle worth? Your tears coming after words.
Between she and he and sexuality swoops a gender patenting a word, as it is, at the birth’s door pretending to be a kiss of radical thought. Mediocrity always has an intentionality with colored plumage, a passionate dance before the
And you, Cinna, asked me ‘Write the best poem ever written’ You, who died burnt and beaten As no strength poet, for poets find Strength when Muse kisses their mind, And let them spread message of the strongest kind May
What dwells within the deepest, most utter, most core of one who laughs yet longs for truth and to be true to oneself with another human being…not hiding. But, it is being mentally, emotionally and spiritually naked. It’s frightening, perhaps
The blind man stands on the bulkhead feels the tide through the timbers a vibration in his balls and the balls of his feet drunk on the scent of creosote the rampant fertility of the ocean he’s been told the