Best Symbolise Poems
Spring is back.
For hark!
The Eastern Bluebirds have returned,
Flying in droves from tree to tree,
Singing to their hearts’ delight.
No wonder they symbolise
The joy and happiness
Of gardens with fragrance love.
Yet I also admire The Swainson Thrush,
Aspiring grandeur with its fluting song.
A sure sign that Spring is back,
A choir of music mixed with skylarks,
Achieving a harmonious symphony,
A feeling that adds to the joy of bells.
"Over the waters blue the night winds sigh, the breakers roar." Lord Byron
Dawn brushes sapphire skies
Dawn summons turquoise tides
Tides flow upon golden shores
Tides wash away sandcastles
Sandcastles that brought joy
Sandcastles built on dreams
Dreams bring hope for tomorrow
Dreams are fragile butterflies
Butterflies symbolise evolution
Butterflies love to migrate
Migrate towards distant petals
Migrate against winds of change
Change reflects through time
Change is illustrated in seasons
Seasons give birth in spring
Seasons bring death in Autumn
Autumn is the nemesis of summer
Autumn eases us into winter
Winter is cursed with ebony essence
Winter is a time for soul searching
Searching for belonging
Searching for romance
Romance is a vibrant palette
Romance soothes lonely hearts
Hearts connect through distance
Hearts have hidden harmonies
Harmonies through lullabies
Harmonies heard when silent
Silent like separated stars
Silent like midnight streams
Streams merge into seas
Streams dissolve into waves
Waves wash away worries
Waves carry our whispers
Whispers of a ship in a bottle
Whispers of new beginnings
Beginnings of a fresh seed
Beginnings of new paths
Paths that bring purpose
Paths that lead to happiness
Happiness of effervescent eyes
Happiness is a way of life
Life has many chapters
Life writes our stories
Stories with or without words
Stories shown through poetry
Poetry full of emotions
Poetry that is visible
Visible
Emotions
“Your longing for ME is my message to you,
All your attempts to reach ME,
Are in reality MY attempts to reach you.”
Rumi
Without you,
I am a drop in the ocean,
helplessly carried away with waves.
My feet are burning in the sands of time,
leaving footsteps behind, trying to reach you.
You have always been the poem in my heart,
yet no poetry could ever define my love for you.
My pen was untrue, until you gave it sincerity.
Was I even me, until you gave me an identity?
You gave vision to vivid words,
but there is no metaphor to illustrate our passion.
No simile to describe your smile.
No onomatopoeia to portray your voice.
Are there an abundance of alliterations,
expressing the elegant enchantment of your eyes?
But there is an irony to forbidden fruit
and the term:
"be my sinner, you'll become my winner."
I yearn to taste sinful pleasures of your treasures.
Can the gardens of my poetic mind,
keep my silent ink simple,
to symbolise the enigmatic empress of colours,
illuminating from one soul to another.
There is an art to romance.
You are the palette, my fingers desire to stroke,
brushing sensual sensations,
softly whispering seductive sighs -
from your lips to your thighs.
Wrap around me like my winter scarf.
Your skin feels like an exotic fabric,
more precious than silk,
warmer than cashmere,
perfumed with heavenly scents.
I've never been a fighter,
but in your honour, I'll become a warrior,
slay the demons at your door,
slashing with my sword,
protect you from toxic vampires,
as your forever shield.
Once again the metaphors surface.
In the season of death you breathe life into me.
You flow through the arteries of my heart.
After all, what am I, but all yours.
The New Year
Arrives
In a pack
Of playing cards!
No one knows
What the New Year
Holds for us!
The pack contains
52 cards
Plus two jokers!
The 52 cards
Make the 52 weeks—
One card
For each week!
The jokers
Symbolise
Joy and sorrow!
One of them
Will attend on us
All the time…
So there is a fair mix
Of both
For us
Through the year!
That is the way
The New Year
Is going to be!
That is the way
Life is going to be…
ON BEING RIGHT
The flag that bore a holy cross or crescent
Claimed to symbolise one righteousness and truth
Yet each side had same battle cry incessant
Unique virtue moved the sacrifice of youth
Europe’s fields now bear the ends of deep conviction
Interred with many as their benediction
The drive of those who dissonance engage
On fields of battle, argument, debates
Is a wish that they’re proved right - they rant and rage
Not for truth nor to determine predicates
Then they may seek success through seeming loss
When that conforms with honour at high cost
So many choose to suffer loss and pain
If it enables alien cause assigned
Being victim brings reward of others blamed
That puts you in the right, acquits your mind
Thus It may be at end, our final song
Goes like this: ‘I was right and you were wrong’
Prompt: Sundial
Stone keeper
of time so frail,
Gazes over gardens,
Poisoned
by pretentious people
Longing to lengthen living.
Time trickling away,
The truth shall stay.
Superior shrine of ages
Shines,
Preserved
past periods
when legends had long lost life.
Casting contorted shadows from its path,
The renewed sun shall laugh; last.
Beings;
bemused, gather, bustle
past, ignoring the Supreme Instrument
that guides us through;
The mysteries of an instance,
Telling the truth of transience.
This monument of mortality
Stands to send shivers up spines,
To implant the silhouette in our minds.
As sparkling sunsets cast the
Longest shadows,
we are momentarily blinded
by a majestic marvel.
Until, fading in regenerative glory,
It depicts a darker dream
a premonition…
Throwing hindsight gloom on the
Everlasting reminders,
Etched onto the graves of all who forget;
Memento Mori
Be mindful of death
Memento Mori
Remember that you are mortal
Memento Mori
Remember that you will die.
Sundials, in ancient times, were placed on graves with the words "memento mori" to
symbolise time running out for mortals.
"supreme instrument" refers to the name of a sundial in India.
With a golden nape, that area on the neck’s rear,
And a silent voice, excluding some chirps and stonks,
Speaking only to young, or between two or some in flight,
The golden eagle exudes those qualities that make humans right.
Flying maybe seventy-seven miles from their nest,
With wings up-turned in a V-shape for dynamics,
Which make a plane with the tail, aerodynamically set,
At a speed of one twenty mph without acoustics.
Open areas of nurturing native vegetation,
Make a home and life for development and tangle,
And mountainous rock regions find them hunting,
Bidding for rock pigeons and raven to mangle.
They devour creatures of the hair family fair and square,
And ground squirrels, grouse and pheasant they tare,
They’re not scared of deer, lamb, pigs or wild boar,
And sheep to them are a massively wide open door.
They have a dark brown body with feathers replaced annually,
Falconry is rife, and they get prestige from indigenous America,
Mentioned in the Torah, and the Old and New Testament fair,
Tolkien used it in an illustration to symbolise Bilbo Baggins air.
Whether working wallabies would weave waved warm wafers or whether wallpaper would wear walls is two times a question really. It is rational to assume that an ass jacket would dart over a yak and a yam would appear. At intervals. Rotating. But rotating is not a salivating salubrious salutation singing strong songs. Nor is it a giant radio beam. Dancing. But the power of a hoover in many a house can simply be powered by five hundred and forty two heron wings. Hovering Hoovers having heaped hinged hunts. But a hunt disturbs a grunt so why line up paws and hooves in rows. Cinematic of scale and climatic of chaos. Said the four centimetre jar in a herd pile. Herd piles are not mooing nor are they moving either. Pan to the alloy and a fistful of iron ore can symbolise a very pretty pavement in a green patterned dress. But standing next to a chess set of colourful butter beans is pleasant for the partridges whose lacrosse abilities are really quite astonishing in a supernova diesel twist. Spinning. It is nit fashionable to quiz a funfair over which ride is the best for they all are egocentric and often argue with lashings of colours, noise, and fur ball darts. Pressure no pea to preform a painted piano concerto for concertos can control and control is akin to a line of skating cows on an outdoor rink. Always count the pink buttons carefully and slowly. Evaporated milk is often found playing near to margarine containers. Z cinematography Z at fifty nine little splooshes splashing to thirteen fish hooks waving at the fins. Z xxxxx zzzz whirrrrr the wings and eeeeee to mice piles. Z
Oh dragonfly your name
is such a cruel misnomer.
For you are neither dragon nor fly.
Its true, your larvae are vicious monsters.
But, once pupated and transformed to adulthood,
your delicate beauty, in form and action, is astonishing.
Dragonfly, you symbolise change.
Your gossamer membranous wings ply iridescence
in response to the slightest breath of wind.
You fly with such delicate grace,
flitting like a fairy, gently kissing the pond surface.
Showing us how to dream and drift nonchalantly uncaring.
Catching thought bubbles that rise up
in our minds from deep below,
sipping them and quickly moving on.
Dragonfly, you live such a short life to the full.
Reminding us to cherish every moment.
Oh that I could live and fly
just like a dragonfly,
and be not dragon nor fly.
Bless China and Mao Zedong
I have partly decorated my Christmas tree bless the Chinese for
the blinking fairy light, blue and yellow strings I think symbolise angels’ hair
not that I have seen any angels with blue-rinsed hair.
I haven`t put up any baubles this year it is a bother to put them on the twigs.
My shoes are bought in the same shop they are ok, but don`t last long,
I feel guilty now my socks and undergarment are made in China
that is how you destroy a country`s economy buying from abroad; it`s cheaper
for us on the low income, it is a vicious circle, more people get laid off they have
little money and had to but underwear and socks shop at a Chinse shop.
The wage for workers in the USA is now so cheap Pakistani factories are moving to
Detroit and Michigan, but for it to succeed the Americans have to build better
roads and new bridges. I digress the tree is fit for purpose comes in 3 sections and can
easily be kept in the shed until next year.
So bless the Chinse for making our Christmas possible this year too
I don't need a day that's been set aside
To tell of my love that's forever,
For you are the moon and I the tide
Inextricably linked together.
I give you no rose to symbolise
The passion my heart holds for you
For it's petals can't match the beauty I see
In your eyes of sparkling blue.
So I give you these words
And the truth that they speak
For the message they carry is pure,
You are all that I dream of
And through all of my life
My love for you will endure.
I LOVE YOU
Although we never said it to each other I think we both knew,
That you love me and I love you.
My lonely days away like birds have flew.
I feel lucky to have you.
I wish the sky can change to be Red not blue,
Red to symbolise my love for you.
Maybe these words to you aren't brand new,
But it's what I feel inside, my love for you is true.
From the first day we met,
My heart melt.
Deeply in love with you I felt,
Though I was afraid with you to have a little chat.
I apparently got scared,
Thought at me you'll be mad,
But you weren't and for that I'm glad.
My love for you still exists it is not dead.
You are still my first and last thought before I go to bed.
I miss your touch especially being around your arms.
I miss your smile which I put on your face by my charms.
I miss the touch of your lips to mine.
This long distance is killing me but I'll be fine.
I will never forget you in my mind and heart,
Even if we can be separated by miles apart.
Believe me all this, isn't a lie.
When you read this, please don't cry.
You know why,
Because I LOVE YOU.
PoeticMonwa
The gentle cool raindrops
Bestowing the vibe of a caressing mother’s hand
The plump and shiny raindrops
Shimmering like pearls embraced the neck of the angelic lady
The drops falling on the roof
Hold the purity of tears that well out from a love’s eyes
When it downpours,
Resonates garrulous and reminds loquacious people
Dangling raindrops at the tips of blades
Have the richness of the prettiest millennium star diamonds
The drops that fall on the empty vessels
Echoes like spinning marbles that dropped from a child’s hand.
The adhesive rain drops on the window glass
Symbolise one’s deep attachment with bosom friend
When they roll on the lotus leaf
Show how the pure hearts never get affected by sin
When they go deep into a pup’s fur coat
It’s fun! The pretty pup makes tremors to dry up its body
The dried and cracked earth gets chilled
And the dews of elixir sprinkle love and joy everywhere.
Place : 2nd
Do the May days roll into one long bank holiday?
The linearity of time banishing winter blues away
Sunscreen, icecream, flip flops, shades out
As they say until Mays over we should neer cast a clout
Should we listen to proverbs as old as the hills?
Or pretend this is Summer? Go out seeking thrills
June stops by, the only month with 3 birthstones
As our title dictates, how air sign spun
Mercurial, subject to sudden or unpredictable changes?
Unlike the May/ June weather, geminis exchanges
64 degrees F upon average in London, U.K
Forget Me Nots, sure influx
Annual Mysotosis Stricta, 1 year growing cycle
Otherwise known as Scorpion grasses, have muscle
These plants symbolise true love, true blue
Too, you I'm thinking of, make love new.
Oh on onlookers oversized overridden octagonal oceanographic organised octaves
A shrouded sinister sparkle said hello to a dish cloth today. But the array of plates, pans and cutlery shouted in protest for they required much manual labour to clean and manual labour is neither a manure making messy meres nor is is meandering moonlit motorways moving linking lineages. "Oh do pass one the bottle then of caper spiced spirited sauce" for to remain stoic is to symbolise a washing line beam on a radiating clothes horse. Drying not driving. Method of medial sip. And thus sauce was consumed. With a twist and a twitch from a comically positioned moustache to place in fakery. Not real you see. Rather unbecoming. And the lady's green sea skirt next to me caresses my hand in delightful tidal torques. But Torquemada would be a blind moose in a bakery or a fried frightened biscuit placed close to the fire on uneven levels. So said the party of evening ten. Which droned on and on and on and on and on. Until the misted mistletoe maid slept for three quarters of an hour then left to milk the many lines of the herds. Oh simpleton shrinkage! Hark at arks in prismatic glow style. And go to a view. Ha at no one. Z to slumber. And merely observationally at eighteen peeled plus to fourteen koalas kayaking in kitchens. 1 2 3 4 ~ -