Best Droops Poems

His scarlet head droops
towards his soulless emerald chest.
Perched upon a fruitless branch,
his spiritless eyes stare 
at the emptiness of freedom.

Above, streaks of ruby hints
flow among coral flamingo shades,
as golden streaks swim through
crystallised kaleidoscopic skies -
but he feels no enthusiasm to fly.

What he thought would set...

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The flower that is given little light
tastes not enough of joy and cannot thrive -
then fades away like dusk into the night.

The soul who struggles just to stay alive -
much like the flower wilting in the dark -
tastes not enough of joy and cannot thrive.

How...

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The screen door droops lazily, slightly ajar
Crickets croon lullabies, heard from afar
Kid’s sticky faces, betray ice-cream bars
All on a summers eve

Legs peel off chairs, from the sticky, wet heat
Rocking chairs sway, creaking out restless beats
Mosquitoes, they feast upon my grass-stained feet
All on a summers eve

Young...

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I can tell by your face
the clouds intimidate, when weeping,
one look into your soul
tells one how you are keeping.
Oppressive droops the raindrops
wrenched from the saddest sky,
tormented the grey mist swirls
yet my affection, oh so slow to die!
I still see the summer breeze dance
within your tolerant...

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Written: March 05, 2025 

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As the final petal droops
upon quivering leaves,
while the soul begins to decay
akin to the evening lights 
fading into a coffin.
Tears flow quietly across vacant rooms,
sheltered in the hidden retreat, 
of a hapless fool...

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I dance when my eyes blink
I dance to touch your soul with an indelible ink

I dance when my heart sings
I dance to give a caged bird its wings

I dance when my soul sobs
I dance to the happiness of the harvested crops

I dance when my spine...

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Its raven skin follows without a 'woof,'
no bark no bite,
darker than a shadow in sunlight.
It reflects in the mirror,
staring with 'Edgar Allan Poe,' ebony eyes.

At dawn it's at the bedside,
wanting to wander into the morning mist.
At twilight it rests its head on my pillow,
stalking, into...

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On an old bicycle, he pedals the streets
finding a steady supply of following feet

"Here comes the balloonwalla", in unison they scream
clamoring for the balloon of their dreams

Each one gets one at rupees five a piece
leaving a tiny little pair of hands empty

Just when tears well...

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Where in silence heaves the evening breeze
A lissome heather ceaselessly droops low
Through graveyard fields, I collect my tears
Against the swagger of iridescent leaves,
And golden,   winged  pinions dart on twigs
Beyond my reach,  this lone sojourn reels on.

The frail of moon  seems...

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She droops her head in drowsy snooze
awaiting for the rise of dawn.
She covets eastern sky pale hues,
as she stretches and stifles a yawn.

She cares that soon ol’ Sol will rise,
her head ascending with his light.
She’ll follow him across the skies
until it’s time to fade at...

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Yes, Son,
Even when it is not the season of your death
I live to remember you
And in every place, every new notice of death
Brings new longings for you
My ton
Of grief weighs heavier than the all the seas
Nothing dries it, nor tropic sun, nor balm breeze

We ran
There...

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Each day another velvet petal fell
like somber tears from weeping eyes.
A perfect flower was severed to quell
and lay withering as it droops and dies.

Flawless flower, from bud to bloom...
sweet-scented rose, it was no wonder
that stifled in that sepulcher room
you are enshrined, awaiting plunder.

Sadness lingers in...

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Written: February 13, 2023
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An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in...

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The weary and gloomy moon
Droops alongside confident mountains,
Tries to stay until noon.

Clings to the boundary, slipping down
Being hidden but not wanting to hide.
To time, old moon is bound.

A longing, endless.
Sad moon surrenders to the horizon, daylight lessens.
Less ends of light to grip; reject regress.

Dull moon...

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"Colorful language is the best way to recreate the incident as it happened and to picture it for the audience".  Dale Carnegie
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O, colors, enthrall us through their splendor
Infuse the mundane world with vivid shades
Dazzle with hues and send a melody so tender,
No harp plays...

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