Heady Poems - Poems about Heady

There was a chef famous for his quiche Crowds came in and paid lots of baksheesh Feds came into town they busted his crown for his quiche was sprinkled with hashish...

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Can dreams of man know death at all if God exists in fact? If we are just the dreams of God, Creation's more an act Of intellect! Can sin be real? Can man exist apart From God, and have free will, if all life is God's heart? Do waves of times flow endlessly without a bounding shore? Eternity seems...

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Heady Cocktail Sometimes there comes a grace with growing up cruising into the autumn of life alive and well now the rush of looking in the mirror most mornings in total amazement at being comfortable with who looks back through crows foot eyes and steel gray whiskers which seem to speak of reckless paths and risky choices long since made so today, in an autumn rich...

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Thy scalp thoroughly massaged during hair washing, after showering (frequently tapping the cold water faucet – in an effort to ramp up brisk temperature tolerance), an immediate process to shake out matted down hairs follows suit. Oft time a healthy clump knots fox trot, jitterbug, tango, et cetera together spawning undergoing subsequent rotating head up...

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HEADY MINDS Our minds project and name: this realization is rumbling underneath our shadows and struggle.. Is it not amazing that externals are projections awaiting..but not long.. for their names eagerly provided by heady minds.. This realization reverses our notions..those heady beliefs of separation as wisely undeniable.. Although the rumbling often seems fleeting and faint not reportable in shadowy newsdays real Happiness is found seeping in......

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( In memoriam - the heady days of draft, hippies, moon-landing and Gloria Steinem) When Armstrong landed on the distant moon It was a wild world full of hopes and dreams. Hippies sang songs to melodious tune, In jungles abroad there were painful screams. It was a wild world full of hopes and dreams, A father and his son fought side...

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spring melts into summer’s light proving wrong that still despair, chilled in winter’s heart, has corroded to the marrow for even poppies bloom in broken fields and shell holes bones blanketed in shrouds of moss trill of larks cross no man’s land as pollen floats out lazy over fields fuzzed with sprouts and turned earth windblossoms mazy crisscrossed blown like crimson tracers cicadas drone their symphonies calling humid...

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Layering stroke by stroke the syllables of filtered mist's breath, eastern winds spin like a circle of tropical fish and flower beds on a lattice... and the soft tresses of this air pours on wayfarers sort of crystal beads new. Then another circle whistles inside my flesh, a sponge... an oasis, bathing loin towel of morn dawning; how its flavor speaks and lifts trinkets...

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by Sashi.Prabhu (17/2/2012) Shrouded and festooned with quaintness i try to elucidate the trips of mystery, T’was dark and it was then I realized that the morn and noon was history. A smooth trip on mother nature’s bounties rolled on neatly into a joint, It felt all day as me and the bard within went on a trip from reality...

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Lilacs in bloom, heady bouquet, for just a short time with us they stay. Gone as quickly as the month of May. So enjoy them before they fade away. ~~for Brian Strand's 'One Single Four Line end rhyme' contest~~...

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Eyes closed, he leans back into comfort, The lulled background music is his pillow. Weary head swaying to the sound of the song, The music massages the very knots of his life. A single candles flickers, casting shadows, It's eerie light conflicting comfort with doubt. Tranquility envelopes him as he draws deep sigh, Dispelling the grime of life, exhaling unwanted. A column of...

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White, double daffodil- early thrill sprinkles Spring's aroma upon my sill....

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