Life Blank Verse Poems | Examples
These Life Blank Verse poems are examples of Blank Verse poems about Life. These are the best examples of Blank Verse Life poems written by international poets.
One Word
“Mary!”
One word
Tears transformed
Sorrow to joy
One moment
One word.
A name
Life
New life
Beyond-the-tomb life
Forever.
Reality
Resurrection
When Jesus calls
By name
One word.
Mary!
Read John’s gospel, chapter 20.
Creation
A bumble bee
Busy in the buddleia bush
Getting nectar and pollen
For life all to go.
A butterfly fluttered by
Going up high
For a purpose unknown
Exploring the sky.
Below on a cabbage
A caterpillar chews
And spiders just waiting
To trap some more food.
Incredible creatures
All multiplied vast.
God’s glorious creation
Future, present, and past.
The Clouds may be Grey
The clouds may be grey
May be white, may be black
But at last a small gap
Let’s the blue sky shine through.
No life without light
The first thing God made
The sun is his gift.
Source of every good thing.
We are favoured and blessed
While we live on this Earth
Deserving the worst
God has given us his best.
I wonder fierce of twilight's call
When day closes or so it seems
And wish that longer life be held
By sailing journeys deeply shrined--
Lengthier be seasons, I'll wait ,
For more dances of life...hearth's glee
My fervent hope that borrowed time,
Stretches wider than fate's design
Till last morn snuffs all heartfelt dreams.
9th Place
Is it the soul people define
in many different ways?
Could it be the day we are born
is when body and mind awaken feel alive?
A first breath, first touch, awakening our senses connecting together joining something greater,
a spark helping us survive.
Is it a soul connected to the cosmos, or the universe seeing itself through our lives?
Weather
The clouds come and go
Sun shines in between
At night it goes dark
With moonlight and stars.
Who knows what comes next
When the weather’s outside our control,
And seasons sometimes misalign?
No doubt many grumble and groan
When the sun doesn’t shine on them
But God is in charge
He makes no mistakes
Enjoy rain and wind
Enjoy big snow flakes
Be thankful for life
Be at rest in God’s hands.
These spray-can scrawls on public walls
Express my psychic rage with rude intent.
My tags provoke a thoughtful pause
In much the same way Banksy does,
With cold irony and unrepentant guile.
My way of bombing bubble style
Might even tease a tourist’s smile.
But my darker themes paint silent screams:
Is it public?
Is it street?
Is it urban?
Is it commercial?
And then let’s consider my masterwork mural,
A brutally honest and life-like self-portrait,
A glimpse of me in all my squalid bohemian splendor,
Nothing but pavement crack and tenement dysfunction.
Too hard-edge for primetime, you say?
Well, I didn’t get a face like this
By staying out of trouble.
So there!
At the dark intersection of convergent shadows
There lies an orphan thumb tack,
A silent menace to unshod feet,
Waiting to jolt me awake from the dream.
And it wouldn’t come as an unwelcome surprise.
I’ve been experiencing life in syndication.
Living off the residuals of tired plots
And oft quoted tag lines:
"To the moon, Alice!"
“Lucy, I’m home!”
“Son of a gun!”
“Dyno-mite!”
How many re-runs does it take
Till you run out of reasons for watching?
My publicist was admitted to rehab.
My agent never returns my calls.
The last time I walked the red carpet
Was in a black and white photograph.
But I did look stunning!
You gotta let the blood out the body
You gotta let it all fade away
Once the blood is out the body
Then the body can reawake
You gotta walk the streets at night
Watch the victims shining bright
Waiting for dreams that never come true
Clinging to life nearly through
You gotta let the blood out the body
You gotta let it all fade away
Once the blood is out the body
Then the body can reawake
You gotta watch their eyes
No hiding, no disguise
Vacant pools lacking soul
Destiny’s ashes burning coals
You gotta let the blood out the body
You gotta let it all fade away
Once the blood is out the body
Then the body can reawake
You gotta cut the body wide
Gotta cut it deep inside
See the pictures' life unfold
Death in jars, story told.
I can’t begin to comprehend the vast
universe as it expands away from
the point in which I stand a minuscule
fluff of dust awaiting universal
light to fluoresce my soul and illuminate
the unfolding of my cosmic consciousness;
as darkness becomes a forgotten place
I become stardust of an ancient sun
sparkling in the painting of creation.
Drizzle
Drizzle
Drizzle
Drizzle
Going on for hours and hours
Not a trace of summer sunshine
Cloud-filled sky of rain-filled towers
Grizzle
Grizzle
Grizzle
Grizzle
Can I ever learn to cope?
Is there anything to give me
Just a little bit of hope?
Yes! I lift my hands up heavenwards
Lift my eyes to God’s great realm
Cry to him alone who’s able
Turn the drizzle into sunshine
Turn the grizzle into smiling
Light and life shines over all!
You've left this land, but this land won’t leave you.
She’s painted like a sky inside your mind,
beneath which your true life is acted out.
Her vengeance is each day you don’t return.
As birds retrace their ways on twilit wings,
however far they forage from their nests,
so too your soul, when daylight’s had its way,
is drawn to suckle at her thorny breast,
until you waken to a world of mirrors,
where nothing is familiar but yourself,
to wander gleaming cities leached of life,
whose foreign doorways bar you from your home.
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And, so, with the dawn
of a new night, we met
for song and dancing.
Stars are made for wishing...
while suns are dear sources
of life.
As I get older
And as I amble and imbibe
The wafting of the aroma of roses
And as I get older
I still rock (just not in a chair)
And I roll with the lingo
Of the younger generation
I think things are sick
I try not to throw shade
I think somethings are fire
I am stupidly blessed
(and I say in my Hampton Orphanage drawl)
One hundred percent
As I get older
I find (as Ben Franklin confessed)
That the God of Heaven
Governs the affairs of mankind
The good, the bad and the ugly
And as I get older
(I said older not old)
I am a work in progress
According to the Lord
And as I head to
The autumn of my life
(The words of my Army buddy
And amateur sage Jack
Echo in my mind)
"People say
I am in my own little world,
That's ok,
at least everyone knows me there."
I walked into a room and did not know it well
yet, feel I should, for I have been there many times,
not a liminal space, though sometimes this is so.
But this time, oddly, somewhere I should know and be.
Should I recognize those strange eyes that gape at us?
Some duty that I should as duty stares at me.
Yet I know them not, nor the paintings in the hall.
The not familiar couch where lovers once had lain,
its crimson redness gash against the dreary walls.
Was this with you, or in some other life I had?
Are you even here or I? Truth, I do not know.