Wasp poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of wasp poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on wasp are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
The wasp makes its inscrutable plans multitasking cleaning its wings with its hind feet what must it think of the dirt stains ghosts of rainwater covering the outer window like hammer marks all its parts, segmented, moving independent while the
Darkness.. my cigarette end glows like a blood shot eye the mud wasp chirps the house rat scuttle by the shrill “Ge-ecko” of Geckos… a dog perched on its hind limbs sends out unpleasant vibrations picked up by its mate
I now see sadness on the pristine sand, In faded footprints, you have failed to make, More so that sands were once huge rocks, so grand, Before their fate, that only sands could take: To be the dunes, where dwell
This must be for real? gasped the yellow budded calyx That must be true. Answered the wasp. Time for me to lapse into another – those petals. But which of you is for real? Questioned the bud again. Said the
Motionless within the ambit of moon, the rain squirms and flickers under the street light in the vacuous silence of a monolith. A cricket walks on a cloud and starts the lightning. The urn was blind, fills up with grief.
Meaninglessly traversing into the havoc of vanity With a fake logic justified, Leaving the players into the deathly chasm. A Blue bottle game denying the soul of life! Two and two they say ten, And it is their game playing
You were trampeling on a wasp, when sprouts were generating Escherichia. Dirt. Romping around. How many corpses were there? Why can’t you tell the exact figure? Under the carpet the shoes will help. The need to jump from the rostrum?
I was a bit older than you, you were a bit younger than me, We were so-called neighbors. You’re a different kind of girl, who’s shy and little, suddenly, friendship fell. We were so close, like brothers and sisters, who
Sundown on a January Sunday a blast from the past caught me by surprise although we have been estranged someone could of told me you died, now I am in mourning regretting that we never got to reconcile so but
Past, past and gone past Do they ever anything cast? They do. They mould. They shape, they truly cast The actions of present And advent future To be or not to be To abide or glide. Comers will be coming
Fiery fervent flames raged in the room Passionately playing the melody of death In the air danced a broiling, smoky flume That blurred Julia’s e’ery path of escape The fire imprisoned her trembling soul Who begged the blaze to spare
Every morning the moon will have regurgitated another piece of my sanity you’re thinking this will be another werewolf poem American raving lunatic pouncing upon unsuspecting prey when shadows are in highest contrast gutting and gorging on the men sniffing
Today’s pandora box is possessed, spirits within are legion, living bogeys are numerous, ever so often drunk, every day pandora hypnotizes followers, 24/7 pandora mesmerizes- adherents- making billions addicted to vacuum tube. Ancient gods- mild or ferocious- pandora has rebranded,
Well Until we meet again you’ll be in my thoughts and prayers where ever your heart takes you take care my love, take care…I know you’ve got to follow your dreams and I hope they all come true sooner or
Along the way to Washington, a red Indian is still holding in his hands his scalp and a quiver filled with stock exchange, while not comprehending why European prisoners carried old Athens on the ship of Columbus and settled at
I was a little kid, reading books, listening to my grandpa and grandma, telling stories about the rainbow. I was fond of it, I was even sharing it, Drawing about it even if I am not good in painting it.
Behold the bells hanging In the old temple’s premises High above the tall pine trees And the distant snow-covered peaks Do they really occupy the space Among the clouds atop the hills Or is it just an illusion Extended up
He falls and snuggles like a lover to the floor; dreams spilling from the bottle in the weathered-hand. Beyond the door, dead-brochs lie buried on the moor. Forebears are but sepulchral-weals upon the land. Dreams spilling from the bottle in
The moonbeams kiss the sea, As the waves clasp one another- And fling silvered nets, Over the crinkling sea. The swells of the tide, Like emotions on the high, In shimmering silvery silhouettes- With splashing waves on a thrill. Twinkling
Thirty five years ago I had dreams galore, Planning and executing my mini master plans of life ahead, Moon-eyed and romantic I entered into wedlock, Holding hands and making promises of undying love, was I Of half a century weight,
The smoke rising from the depths of the night, Is filled with your memories still bright. The unknown souls that roam the solitary streets, My dreams are a part of their unending meets. That which lies buried under the concrete,
Was it sacrilege to reenter the bones of knuckles thinking of your primrose, a backlash of twigs in garden of homeless birds, a high-profile sweep starting a mad rush of blue winds in the confused landscape of life? my hills
I was obsessed with ‘Picture Perfect’, I searched the world inside and out, Looking for a single moment when I could say, This is what life’s all about. My life was viewed through lenses, My camera- a medal worn with
Oh procrastination How you’ll be the death of me You get worse and worse the closer I get to graduation I guess we’ll just have to wait and see If you get me put on academic probation After you arrived,
First love I recall now, and I will hence, Like rain that came ahead of April’s norms, It wets us through, though deemed of no offense, And laced our days throughout the August storms; First things have always claimed in
Rhetoric had a theme like crab-grass to destroy the lawn. Fly ash had submerged the legacy of sane lips. The river drifts between the broken walls of binge soaring. Tension was descending in the lanterns who were flickering hopelessly. Was
The falling poem was in bruising gamble of winter of troubled life, bound to a staircase: up and down up and down, on the rosette of grieving thighs. From sunset to sunset a moon rises in all its glory as
Fourth member you were But I found you second to none. There’s a proverb “all’s well that ends well” huh!!! easier said than done. Ma’s apple of eye, Papa’s Gondlo you were. Oh!!! did I tell what I felt? Hurricane.
She was pensive Sadness looming large on her face She failed to manage What was hurriedly needed She just passed her twelfth class She craved to do graduation But circumstances looked stubborn to deny favors to her Father with all
What happened to the dandies Those gentlemen of the grandest Culture Destroyers of dreaded boundaries Mockers of meaningless morality Inquisitors of a profound lack of imagination Guardians of good taste Messengers of modernity What happened to those 19th century hipsters
Roses bloom and fade away, So beautiful just for a day Fading its colour, losing its grip, Slowly withering, dropping bit by bit Beautiful flowers like fairies on land When we hold you on long stalks, Like wands in our