Tribal poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of tribal poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on tribal are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
As a result of abundant endowment, A state in nature, ensured of security A stage of impasse had we reached, Below which a formidable breech, The means of effectiveness without, Our primitive tools of war betrayed. Despite the valour we
Well and there is a LOST SEA Somewhere running through The crystal caverns down and Around the foot hills of the Appalachian Mountains… I remember some kind of strange Indian folklore from many lifetimes Lived before, you look into my
(1) Tents are crowded by windows, but missing walls and a jasmine flower. (2) A window is a border between consciousness and sub-consciousness, between Ego and its annihilation. (3) A home without a window is a blind man with no
The sound of guns may scare the birds on the trees, but rob not their songs. Autumn withers the leaves, but the flowers forget not spring— the time they should throng. Soldiers are killed here by the strangers of the
She bloomed In the dense secrecy The vivid greenery Seeming adorned! The spring Spraying fragrance To her Each giggling note She hissed Soft lullabies To the blinking buds When hurt by the stings The flies thrust… Draped in beauty Her
A tribal fear was lurking, behind a surge of emotion. The sun was looking black. A sexual abuse of a quaint flower aborts the fruit. This year we will go hungry. A nascent seed stripped on road- cries for water.
That tribal instinct sits in the denial. Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings. I was ready for the impeachment. Like a pinned butterfly you lived several times, repeating a dialogue on a mindless thought. From nothing to nothingness, you
The whiteness in a black-spotted dove flies away from my head, each time war wakes up; A voice falls down from a window staring into emptiness, which is jammed with fragileness and trivialities, and crashes on the cracked street. Rust
Running to and fro, Going somewhere, going nowhere. Fighting for survival, fighting for revival, Some call it revolution I call it confusion. Hunger in the land, Trouble in our towns, Politicians say they have the solution, But their parties have
A tribal instinct stops the nemesis: Spraying the blood-soaked, small foot prints on my chest; unlocking, I accept myself. Why contained anger of awesome ache over the periphery? Through the atrophied, black limbs – an elite infusion of trespassing knowledge?
Nostalgia and memories dreams and reveries The undying hopes overflowing joy from the eyes Silent hug or a kiss of a child a stroll in the wild Tying tiny bud to a daughter’s braid soothing your son that scars and
My father’s hands big as thirteen inch radials knuckles thick like good tread cover more miles than the road we’re on driving south to Shiloh, south to his hometown I’m along to steer free of ditches roadside stands slapped shut
dark matters are floating like bowls made of leaves spilling hunger, make me upset, figures moving like ghosts wrenching out the fish plates from rails, nothing will move now except the eyebrows of stone faces, bodhisattvas sitting in scorching sun,
The greatest gift that we might give Is love, as long as we do live Love, is such a selfless deed Once given is most well received Love that’s precious, love that’s sweet She gives to all that she does
Dried leaves flutter across retina Spring gusts pop stop move along crawl catch scurry scurry duck walk jump twirl hold lifted up and up flying returning Blur burned image receding winged body’s sudden arc up impossible to see details vibrating
April 9th 1929, my father gasped his first breath of air Head populated with black curly locks No pediatrician at his home birth, when he uttered that initial blare Nor preschool instructors extant to teach him building blocks Inherent in
This day of sixty fruitful weeks shadow pristine relics of bundled keepsakes adorned in obsolete gazettes of passing snow storms, puppy training and next door’s junk mail. Transition logs re-call six states, five military orders, four duty stations, six rusted
As she gazes from the eyes Of heaven’s Exquisite disbelief She recognizes her mother In nature’s beauty And she pauses to reflect On the tears she provides As rain, nurturing The lives of the All And finds such inexplicable Purity
Devil’s blunt fingers icy slick palm every morning in my stomach waking to a cold tide no cell, no sentence just another day’s time to do head down avoid the warders visiting day comes familiar faces look ugly in a
oh ye death,you ocean of death roll away, please, roll oh ye abyss, fly away from us millions of souls in thee are buried, sleeping until the sound of trumpet sounds when you strike faces are painted with sorrow beauty
A nation divided Under God with liberty and justice For all The line is clear Black as night Clear as day Party over blood Party over logic Party over love Some are humans Others muslim Some are humans Others black
Percy the Penguin lived at the South Pole. With many good friends he would laugh and cajole. They would slip and slide and play in the snow, laughing and shouting and running to and fro. Percy was a happy lad
Welcome, welcome White dove The hatred wall That estranged cousins Have begun to fall When love Incarnated in white dove Started to fly high Over Ethiopian- Eritrean sky. Welcome, welcome White dove You are an antidote Border dispute to solve.
An innocent face redness in eyes wild tresses made more wild by the blowing wind a pained expression smile that is lost laughter like a brook lost somewhere for now lost she looks incapable she calls herself torn by love
The mood was vile and monstrous, Gloom hung in the air, Walking on fragile cracks of emotion, Dare I speak in converse. Ridiculous to feel fearfulness, Of someone who holds envy within, Can we guide this competitor, To overcome the
I saw him rummaging in the bin. He looked so dirty and awfully thin. Half clothed for this foul weather. Holes in his shoes made of leather. I walked on by trying not to stare. Was it hunger that brought
The effigy wouldn’t burn whoever heard of an incombustible baseborn? we dragged it through the street its clothes torn off carefully painted features smeared in puddles we still remembered who we hated but this dummy of bound bamboo and straw
the pillows sleep on me like cats every night this room contains a brand new constellation pinpricks of technology winking as if blocked by orbiting children regular visitors and on the wall a creamy veil where the curtains don’t reach