Tradition poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of tradition poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on tradition are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Born to wonder beyond borders The joy of contentment in wonderment Crossing prairies of earthly colours Created a world filled with excitement Through sun rays and rain showers Beyond the passages of past monument Sand of heat to mountain dew
It goes without saying; soon the cow barn will be full & men quite drunk, Women busy preparing to feed stomachs and give one of their own away, To who, doesn’t it matter? Old, too old or extremely old, a
A queer experience it is A feeling that defies description An emotion beyond expression Giving a daughter away , you don’t know how to name it . Is it a sense of self appreciation at having performed a parental duty
“You’ll be safe, I promise”, reassured his mum. “But its not you who’ll end up sat on your bum!” A conversation they’d had most every week but it didn’t make his knees feel any less weak. “Now come along, Harry,
Like city wall that blocks off invaders, so is the skin which covers the body from head top to the sole of the foot. A wall that protects the body against known and un-known enemies, a drain pipe that discharges
Spitting the blood, he said, every winter for few days – he would feel outcast and there was pain in the idea of pain, but he wanted to live without a painkiller. Sometimes he will singe his hands on a
The blue sky and azure ocean, Dawn changing the aura of morning sky, Incandescent yellow rays of sunlight, Magnificent clouds billowing, mesmerizing charisma of rainbow, Sunrise and Sunset a magnificent golden orange hue, Brightly colored birds, Peacock’s display of iridescent
Light a sharpie so bright shines on beauty seen through decay. Both beauty and decay form a duality of darkness and luminosity. Beauty is a love that can provide for its reality against dismay. Just as tradition is a security
Motherhood — Is it a blessing or a hidden challenge Or both of them finely rolled Into a status unique and strange ? A privilege granted by the supreme Maker To all female beings here on the earth Deeming them
The kids wanted a piñata, so we got them one; but I must stress that it had no religious significance. It did not have seven points representing the seven deadly sins, and it was not an allegory of man’s temptation
When I walked in I didn’t know what to expect. Each room highlighted in light. A oral tradition. To make ourselves at home upon request. In reciprocation we do. The rooms we gather in, the ones we walk past. The
When postponed, death had no meaning. It was lying in ambush. Journey was imperfect without a termination. Behind the dust was another desire. Another thumb on the trigger starts shooting through the bubble of moon. Every bone springs to jump
Life is a journey, Every second a challenge, Along many paths, Never at same crossroads. A moment’s significance, Tiny choices reverberate, Resonating ripple around, In its intensity. Some frozen moments, Hidden in the heart, Sink deep and fall into, The
though moo cho yars older, i (bovine cuddly name = hay4four at aol dot com), could feign 2b a frat house bro by undergoing a facial augmentation – despite lacking dough unlike the multimillionaires here in lower merion, where a
Today I thought it’s a day of leisure Let me go through all my friend’s treasure Today I will not write any poem Today I will read all others creations The lovely poems, sonnets and songs Some ode, some heart
Scores of my write ups came on the way Brickbats and flowers thrown all along the way Riding high with the thoughts nobody comes my way Nothing new is being written by me by the way Wonder whether have I
Dusted and faded, yellowed and cracked Yet overflowing with forgotten life, There are a hundred souls eager to reclaim The mind’s eye from an almost nothing. Quavering beneath the invisible ramparts And the omnipresent tower. Cold to idealism, yet basks
To drill a hope in the drowned soul was very difficult, winds had blown away the talisman. Stress was palpable, you could tear the weather with empty hands. Mists had walked into the houses to pick up the burning cheeks.
Half past five Coffee hits an empty stomach Gun clean, cameo on Headlights in the driveway We don’t talk much on the drive This time is for quiet contemplation Although we try We know we might take a life Most
They minded their conversation, The ants that came marching in. Extra sugar. A little less cream. The foam from their latte circled their mouths, Disfigured steam still rising from their small cups. A light comfort found after a hard day’s
An unwelcome feeling Something I’d rather refrain from It’s not what happened after But what happened during the storm Making you weak It will seep right through Taking a sharp knife Stabbing it into you. You will wanna run As
What does it look like? What does it sound like? How does it read? Is there beauty in mathematics? Are physics formulations beautiful? Is artistic beauty in all its forms discovered or created? Did Newton invent his mathematics or did
I can say without a doubt that you did not simply follow others you made your own path though it was and is hard one of those untrodden trails where every rock twists your joints and leads nowhere but up
The unspoken words had the unborn quality. That homeliness sitting around the fire pits writhed in predatory hopelessness. Insensitive to flesh we were shooting the ducks in midair. Rapture for the dirt, deceit does not need a consonant, the intensity
“I am pure blue-blood”, said he, “as pure as it can get.” of the tall, fair, handsome varieties. Twice over I despised him but managed but a smile, as he deviously managed to convey his derision for us darker-skinned commoners.
Do I need a Special Day, To tell you what my eyes always say. With you I laugh,with you I beam, In harmony we weave beautiful dreams. The bitter sweet squabbles,the illogical fights, Discussing the rights and wrongs till wee
The week is nearly over and the nights are growing long, the verses turn melodious but the chorus names the song. The words sing out a message in the lines where they belong, the clock in the ticking corner is
The deceased has 2 cusps of lid Not quite drawn down over the eyes – I wonder if they are peering askant Into the afterlife! Pale rouge belies The flaccid cheeks; pertinaciously hid The 90+ years he once was ambulant
the horizon knows no bounds Urania ……… ……One Basic Truth….. The Suns ……The Moons…..The Stars …….The Sky …… Into their Eldest ………….…The Time ……..They Fly……. So Unfathomable ……..Beauty …………So Bounteous……..Powers ….. What Quantum of Energies ……These Celestial Cousins Possess ..
On the Eastern horizon, a deep gray cloud appears, in the shape of a graceful swan. A slivered harvest gold new moon is playing peek-a-boo High, prevailing air currents keep “Swan Cloud” slowly moving across the star studded sky-line. “New
I’m watching us in my mind’s eye bound together like thunder and lightning to get away from the world and into secret places We’re gushing alive flaming flickering love bursting born leaving nothing to chance until we fade out. Then…
Give me back, me back, my affections. I had planted the kisses on melting lamps. The dark tunnel goes to a lake for a rendezvous with pink death on white lips of cinders. Such agony of wintering tree. Not a