Tricks poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of tricks poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on tricks are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Trees toss their canopies horses shaking their manes all the manmade arbor street signs, power lines each motion exaggerated in woeful orange glow we’re smashing pumpkins torching porches huffing spraypaint and praying for violent excitement cops chase blue flashers and
Life is fair if you follow rules Tiny tricks and tricky tools Stumble and fall, yet rise once again It’s alright to cry, but cry only in the rain Remember, what’s right to you is wrong for another Rely on
Multi-colored Orbs before my eyes… what’s going on here, are my eyes just playing tricks on me…well I rub my eyes but they do not disappear I wonder if it’s spirits in despair or the guardians of mine trying to
You charm me It’s all about the tricks you play Tickling my feet Splashing my hair I laugh You whisper We dance You mesmerize me How you never stop your little game, Six hours here Six hours there Back and
As he grew up behind the hill In a small village beside the mill Dreaming the dreams he had to dream He frolicked upon the meadows so green A childhood so sweet he lived upon Flowers and fragrance and the
The tears have fallen; The Blood has shed. I might be hearing voices. I think I’m in a nightmare. My mind is spinning in a thousand directions; What is happening? I’m feeling out of control; This seems out of my
I remember a time when life was alive with wondrous mysteries of carefree design; when clouds were fluffy and brilliant white with planes soaring high and then out of sight. Innocence of mind and a happier soul as we played
Back in bygone days- one might have been amazed by all the tricks and trappings of the fool now that we are here- royalty is rarely near and what has cycled in is to be cool not-with-standing out- crystal clear-
You waited too much about thirty years before you can say jack robinson otherwise life like a water under the desert always played tricks on you, pushed you hunchbacked inside caverns where everything drips and leaves a small hole everything
you wouldn’t know them except for their orders gliding like dolls hovering, footless, wearing bright dresses that brush the dusty floor the kind a proud mother would pick out then stand behind their chairs distracted trying to tame their cowlicks.
Again I wake in this wretched place Where the devil glares with grimaced face Reading my heart, stripping it bare Savoring the scent of the secrets there I’m slipping and sliding, the ice too thin Carefully creeping, lest I fall
He rides towards the setting sun Further and further from his special one The sound of his armor clanking with each hoof beat Perspiration horse and rider oppressive desert heat He rides through the desert to find the Prince. Commissioned
Once I lived in Swaziland, Away from my country my beloved homeland. A beautiful country of Southern Africa, Manzini and Mababane are its heavenly replica. We lived in coats valley near the grove of guava trees, My maid used to
I walked beside her on the breezy beach, the waves came in a perfect rythm and steadily subsided below our feet. Her black curls fluttered in the serene winds, probing her to tuck them behind her modest ears. She held
With frugal memory you wanted to tame the radical spine, while fright was bending the thighs. Was it a travesty of the graduated thumb? The speed of the river had accelerated in aching land. People gathered to collect the alms
I’ve shared more than blame These harpies find me Wandering cargo ships with dagger-eyed cheeks and charm A gold-fleeced buffalo Mama said don’t engage But I can’t short them when they’ve come so far for someone not looking to be
A rustic lass of early teens sells raw diamonds on a pavement. black stones are laid on a mat small rocks fetch her livelihood. ‘See, the stones can cut glass sheets, all are genuine raw diamonds, buy now or you
Quit the stare, the stairs await us, I see ice in your eyes, in two weeks, I too forgot, The waves of love live within us, Even when the heart heat revives, the silence sinks, Emotions woven, relationships entangled, just
He walks down cobbles and blows bubbles for a pilgrimage of constant troubles, closing doors to tax men, running for milk floats, shunning almighty bible bashers, paints the flags of east London fascists Charlie chicken soup with a head like
Sometimes I just sit and observe its serene soft white splendor It makes me calm, tranquil and peaceful and full of vigor Its pure white glow makes everything look calm and nicer Even people’s faces look friendlier illuminated whiter It
Remains busy from dusk to dawn, Giving his soul to Satan’s pawn. Keeping all the tricks buttons on, Man is nothing but a chameleon. Cheats all for his lust and greed- Third rate creature he is indeed. Sows contempt and
This precious leafy lettuce green is much less known than others, but beats them all by very far, for all the field it covers; Its greatest use turns out to be, a must for one good salad, and praises for
Her splendid eyes and vague murmur, whirl in my mind and thrill my heart’s core. The naughty smile emanates from her face makes me feel, a stringless kite on space. Her bosom heaving like ocean in full moon, makes me
He climbs on his being, crawls like a lizard; frightens. Sometimes after, in a shock falls back. Runs away leaving behind a trembling trail. ———————————— He climbs on his being, crawls like a lizard; frightens. Sometimes after, in a shock
In an unfamiliar thorny place, My grandparents’ home stood. Gone were the sounds of voices Sign of life swallowed up. The spot where we played, Path where the grass faded trampled on by footsteps, gone. So were my childhood references.
Like a butterfly pinned in a collage, fluttering. Death makes a deal. I was appalled standing on the edge watching the withering body. The lake drowns me. Seagulls were waiting for a renaissance. It is not even midsummer. The planting
Standing on a beam, shrine: holding a black dawn, my phoenix roving on dark river. The bell still clangs; I hear the footsteps. A weird thought spreads out on peripherals, makes holes, the undone communiqué of a war between knuckles;
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
It’s around mid-Spring, the sunshine’s out But there’s still a tinge of winter wind. And once again, we’re standing On a little cove beach, looking out At the powder-blue, mid-Spring ocean. But why? My sister’s running around, Collecting shells and
Chizzie, Your magical kiss electrifies my poor Soul, it soothes my dry tongue with your salivary honey, it satisfies my innate needs like money earnestly sought for to meet every set goal listed in a schedule of a lifetime’s needs.