Uncomfortable poems bring the best collection of short and long uncomfortable poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great uncomfortable rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these uncomfortable poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on uncomfortable are here for you.
now she is blackened ink bled over starched canvas her cursive forms whisper elusive words too many nights wasted on uncomfortable men her eyes roll mouth breathing nicotine air she beckons to me through locked doors
Let’s take a walk Just you and me and none of our goddamn pretensions None of the constant editing of words and phrases in our daily interactions Let’s say things as they come to mind Hell, let’s just not say
Mid May Moon, rise not now With such dim face in burnt haven. Troubling summer with fiery fumes Has filed the sky sphere to utter haziness Making your turf more tired and clay Sucking all azures from Venus scoop. The
Searing in sunlight and dense in humid breath that uncomfortable nether-ground we ancesterally dashed across to escape the swift and sharp toothed now is a show of umbrellas and baking skin joy of wading into the delicious cool feeling sand
When things go wrong as they sometimes will, When the road you’re galumphed seems all uphill. When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh. Remember a beggar and
Are you the gentle breeze that, Wafting timidly o’er the arid lands, Bring with it the bounteous seeds Of life, scattering them far and wide Over barren plains and greying crags, Altering the countenance of what we Perceived originally to
Being in love is a funny term An uncomfortable, constant squirm. Life, longing, touch and pain Everything at once, goes in vain You can’t see this, you won’t do that And all of a sudden, what are you looking at?
Self-love is the path to enlightenment, they say. A needle in the arm, a line snorted will never compare with a kiss on the cheek. A shot down the gullet or vapors inhaled will pale to a long lingering hug.
It’s the end of April, winter’s signs are just fading And we’ve gone to the seafront, walking along the promenade. Sometimes stopping To gaze at the murky brown winter’s-end ocean… But why? Stepping down onto the shingle, The large pebbles
Sick of paranoia tired of absurd thoughts Constant grind hearing things assumptions being distraught If it’s not derogatory voices talking constantly about me Random thought will make me act quite obsessively Can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched all the
A 5-year-old girl Throws a chair Because her teacher Doesn’t seem to care About how the girl Can’t sleep at night And nap time in Preschool Was where she might Two years later The girl is seven and she still
“At least eighty dead,” is all you’ve said…. As that charred colossus, Grenfell, towers overhead. The hopes and fears of those you loved, Dead. Those missing, without mention, who died, without dying, who cried, without crying. The faceless, euphemised headlines
As they were walking on the empty roads, empty hands and with empty pockets, everything became silent for a moment, both thinking what to say and a sudden emotion of unknown was raising making both of them uncomfortable. While she
You get on the freeway and floor it all those maplines and dots coming briefly to life like water drops in a hot frying pan you stop when you get hungry you fight through the tired trying to save money
Love is all that she has And giving it is her passion. So beautiful, adorable and serene Are her thoughts And just so are her actions. With courage she walks And with strength she fights, Not to hurt, not for
We make the rejected Love occupy our whole heart , while We ignore the true Love enacting from her heart We dream fantasy and console ourselves for the snubbed Love , while We shatter her dreams and show scant respect
They are treated as mere numbers of human consequence, dotted ubiquitously on the front pages of tabloids and newspapers. They are figures that scatter my article weekly- seemingly just another number that the eyes will so casually scan over. Sometime
While writing a poem I make a blood hole in my hand. A walnut face opens the wrinkles to find a jade green nephrite for colicky times. A prelude to a death sentence for profane thoughts. You think, you can
Born into a world full of complex conditions, an ever changing tangled web of confusing contradictions. To live; to thrive; to barely survive oppressive commands from the central hive. When the ashes settle; when no chill breezes blow, only then
It’s not gonna be long before we realize again that we must return to the quiet of wakefulness, the jump to belated scenery that undulates like time, like minutes in your head after the greensward sank weakly beneath the ground
And so, with trembling heart I dare to embrace your clean white sheet And mark it with my scribblings. To make a sentence, where to start? And where to feel complete? Does it matter if my style don’t rhyme? I’m
In perpetuity, it whisks around, Neither ever halting, nor lagging… Or observe perhaps with due delight, Allure, of the clock, in which it lies. Utters the second hand, then to me, If I pause, time too shall have to cease.
How can i thank A most faithful friend Who by my side Has always been Who’s never judged Nor left my side Everyday together But left at night This friend whose name I never knew Who never spoke This friend
5 Newest Pieces By Mario William Vitale Springstein Diapers & Wine later on in the village their were aristocrats and thinkers junkies, flunkies & hippies the poetry added to the mood a cosmic tapestry the pool of Springstein on the
A very disconnecting creek where bodies were found, presents a pictorial death in night, which must be challenged, I say. Then I think without thoughts; summer was ending and a pandemic was at the door. The art of debating the
Little child in me remembers the phantom, Muscular and masked, Penetrating eyes, Outwitting the enemies in a flash, Reading with bated breath; Here I am glued to the screen, Phantoms running and scaling heights, Crawling with creepers around, With little
Dragging the floor, Like a mangled doll. Facing a decrepit wall, Rip it off like paper. The blackness of void, Like a pool of ice water. Out a silver hand outstretches, Rippling the wall. You’re pulled inside, soaked by the
There is a special island whose location will be hidden to those who don’t believe, and those who do not dream. Where all souls live in harmony and loving spirits abound. Her waters are like diamonds with pearls in there
Black hidden deep within a forest A focal point leading outward Strides that repeat friction brings heat A heart filled with hope inspires the beat Atmosphere with hoofs intense Trampling over the reasons to avoid Existence stark to compare Through