Wit poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of wit poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on wit are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
upon porcelain goddess, most brilliant ideas in me mind lit sole seasoned bugs bunny car tune character of kit car son ridding imagination fired fast as fleeting thoughts softly hit attempting with futility to net ideas in mind that flit
And painted so Although I am instead Just red Around the corners of my nose Where the nostrils bend inwards Towards the life giving mucus To germs and what not I am also Black with dirt Under my otherwise Surgically
Messengers of God came To reform men All toiled hard to spread goodness and upbraid vices Generally they suffered and were agonized Noble minds believed and weak minds not So happened with the wit of every learned or enlightened person
The last signs of man’s existence, Are a full forty miles away. The flowers blooming in nascence, Are scattered all along my way. The last thing from out yonder, Is this serpentine stream beside, Leaving me and I to ponder,
Dear Bird, my bosom friend, Preach me thy living-art Weaned of all wicked craft, Enable wash filthy taint, Unveil yet another phase, My own – still hidden- face ! Thus, living a truer life -To the content of heart and
Trampling the borders, he started losing his vibrations. He was asking for the perpetual forgiveness for his bandaged ego. The new incarnation. For the broken homes he refused to admit his side of guilt and jumped into the frozen lake
In you I see strength, power You standby to support me like a tower. You make me laugh till my stomach hurts, I don’t know how they can affect me they’re just words. You hold my hand comforting me always,
Dedicated to my niece Hiba Awar The Milky Way Shouted hurray!!! The games of life I see you play Let music dance Within your glance Dive beyond my face With a kind embrace Capture the air Move everywhere Near, far
Flighty and Frivolous, Scintillating with wit, Yearning to Stand apart, My Paper Heart. Shimmering and gleaming, Red with Love, Longing to belong, My Paper Heart. Finds an attachment, Blissfully soars Heights, Preening on that chart, My paper Heart. A slight
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
Black Eyed Peace is about our search for peace. Whether it’s peace within ourselves, peace in our relationships, or peace on a national or international scale. Sometimes it might be hard to find and in our searching we will collect
Poem Dedicated To My Father Late Moinuddin Hasan–An Ideal Teacher- BEFORE TEACHERS’ DAY Moinuddin was his name,eloquent, which means— One who is an aide to faith and for that weens He lost his father when only six months and mother,
though moo cho yars older, i (bovine cuddly name = hay4four at aol dot com), could feign 2b a frat house bro by undergoing a facial augmentation – despite lacking dough unlike the multimillionaires here in lower merion, where a
With hustle and bustle, they start with a rule. One named as mighty satire and other the great ridicule. Both expose human foolishness in a mess One has a gorgeous deriding voice while other sounds less. Ridicule have a caustic
Life is so much like a ship in a stormy sea, Always dicey and hard. You have to become a smart sailor, In order to make your way through those thunderous yet subtle waves. It checks you time and again,
Can’t you see I’m drowning from your thirst buried in mud to my thighs every day another box arrives at the door the scent of cardboard makes me nauseous another knick-knack begets another floor to ceiling shelf populated by painted
I’m a little weary, I might need some sleep, Reality I’m exhausted and I can’t even speak. I am feeling fine, yeah sure I am okay, Reality, I’m screaming but being drowned out anyway. Yes I am excited and I
Of splendid thrones of gold or treasures manifold Of jewelled caskets or lavish banquets Of Emirs and rajahs Of Sultan and Shahs Of kings and queens Of rulers and emperors Of sparkling crowns or flowing gowns Of their subservient stewards
O flamingo, your pink is fading. Pick up the spirulina, it was caste-based. It hits there, where it hurts more. You were chasing, standing on one leg salt was dwindling in the lake. The stink unlike you is going to
Coming face to face with hemlock you are not able to rain in the animal and start climbing the temperamental tree. Fathered by innocence of violence on the name of war, when were you going to kill? Your own progency?
The meaning of life? This question has been asked for millennia. Some say there is no meaning, life is just a placeholder between oblivions. Others say God breathes life into man for a greater purpose, intimately meaningful. For some, born
My Contingency Measure in case of…Armageddon Aisle putt ta ma head but tween these skinny legs and kiss thine braying ass good-bye asper ma person, thine gluteus maximus a boot the size of a hand held palm pilot cell phone,
The restless weather curses me, Why not fly back to your nest thee; There where you always belonged, Where thy heart longed. The Lady waiting on the streets in those eager evenings, Those roads are lost in the new beginnings.
When I was a young man I chased them by the score. They were fast, young and lean. Conquest was my aim, seduction was the game. Procreation, I was playing with biology’s rules. I cared very little about much more.
It rained heavily last night, And the pillow got wet, A sleepless night, a painful night. Don’t you see! Her scars and her swollen eyes, Happiness turned into remorse, And the stream of enthusiasm changed its course. Just one moment,
I’m stuck with mixed feelings, All the layers of emotion peeling, I ought to be happy and glad, Instead it’s bittersweet with more sad, I miss my best friend – my dad! It’s always the happy times, That are filled
You don’t need a time machine, only your memories, they can take you back in time, connected more than any rhyme, you don’t need a time machine, only your memories, they can take you any where, into hope or in
The hopeless eyes and tear stained horror of a far-away, fragile gaze, where once a sweet and happy child dwelt, till the innocence of life was erased. The tears have dried up, cried out with the pain of battered beseeching
Crooks of elbows Squared in pegs Cream coloured walls The cool between your legs Closed buttoned eyelids Cloudy skies Web of fingers Your beautiful lies Tucked away neatly Amongst bits of red Metal staples Running though your head Yet a