Whim poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of whim poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on whim are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Death; The Dealer of the final deck of life. No hidden agendas, just a cold slate to wipe. With hand and sword or with rock and stone, with shaft sailing deadly through grey skies, alone. The smarter the weapon, the
She wept incessantly, Strived hard to bury her memories In the deepest black-holes of her mind Where no luminance penetrates. She idled the hours in melancholy, “An agonized soul, is she”, everyone says. No optimistic whim enters her darkest Black-
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
Sycophantic whores chasing running scores, stagnant sweat streams from unwashed pores. Satan’s dark sisters tearing through her skin reaching raging demons screaming from within. The gaunt gothic mask upon her fragile face conceals the flaking paint of a dull faded
Imagine a world of love and laughter; of fun filled days and freedom till after the tea time call or the playtime bell, get back into line or you’ll catch some hell. Imagine a world of wonder and jest; of
Come back, Pa, I need your cash The hunger pangs make me wanna chow the natives You shoulda raised me poor, given me something of my own You grow into the castle forecast upon you And I will never have
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.
I, the most perfect syllable in the world. It encapsulates me and all that is mine And all that I perceive or have perceived, All that I encountered or experienced, the Totality of my existence and its meaning To me
This life takes that which may be taken and avows that Which is without comprehension, Embodiment unreasoned, seeking purpose, it Navigates with pain and pleasure, Yet not with both in equal measure, rather as season dictates Upon which emotions soar
Critical conscience is not an admittance of ambivalence, But a philosopher once said: “You threw a rock at my head Fred!” A road along a path is but a journey to nowhere, If your cart is broken by a donkey
It was my ambition to be a poet My conscious mind demanded of me To write more and more But the unconscious mind warned Not to listen to the conscious mind The conflict between them I kept aside To me,
I remember well that sweltering summer. Sky bright at 1 am, no breeze to blow the dark in, blackout blinds and fans whispering. Still sleep was difficult, years before whale-song tapes and Victor Meldrew. Though we had our own versions.
Liquidity crunch turns you into lip slave. The candlelight bed has the broken legs. Asleep by the boat you sway in dark. You are still a number in the books to be fed. A jigsaw puzzle in the economic boom
Love is the most prominent feeling, Which brings a broken heart healing. Love made me look all around, But its shape I never ever found. Love made me blind believing the other, Never I will blame it for my dilemma
As a volcano, you erupt without notice, burning every stone down to its true state. As the third eye, you open suddenly, burning every mask down to its true face. You are not the angel who descends from heaven with
Life happens. Traipsing on, a path to eternity… The paths unknown, the sands not seen Yet the hearts, tuned to the thought, Love is our lives, lives are for love. The music settles, on our souls.. Gripped in the depths,
it is time to make peace with yourself do this by loving yourself the way you are it is time to make peace with your childhood do this by releasing all old negative programming it is time to make peace
Do you pass like this every day? Through the shallow woods, With your eyes downcast Lost in the intensity of your thoughts, Left to the integrity of their present. Do you realize that when you pass like this, Unperturbed by
It was midnight moon cruising in the bedroom. I step aside in the depressed window, watch the overwhelming spillover. I listen, then do not listen to alien voices of bipolar beings, speaking Aryan, artfully in cryptic signs crunching the bones.
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
Distinguishment The labours of impression The ascent apparent in its brute The uproar which soon I fear perceives an inglorious seclusion Most amiable and devoted My mode of life was in behalf of my hunger And I rise from its
I guess the first real cuts were more than they needed to be the number of times I’d twirled the blade constructing stillborn balsa skeletons, stegosauri and plesiosaurs always amputating a rib or femur by accident, preferring to leave them
The vagaries of life had shattered me down, Made me a coercive slave, submitting to dealers’ erotic frown, But I felt those moments with an absconding pain, As you came to, my life of lame. Your night of birth was
It’s too incredible but it exists existed long before our kind I like to imagine the first people to see this and those who decided to stay and explore generations and generations moving down from the rim and living surrounded
It’s so refreshing to see a stretching lush lush green field, Cool summer breeze blowing leisurely, Flora and fauna blending together merrily, Fields filled with thousands of glittering flowers, Which have been washed by the previous night’s showers. Along with
The trees grown before her house in morning forms Behind which clear sun with mild effulgence As if wishing my dear beloved HAPPY BIRTHDAY. The plants from which the same flowering trees encircling odours Had taken first roots on unknown