Literature Poems | Examples of Literature Poetry

Far from the homeland, when lips part to speak, This Persian candy works wonders, magic unique. The spell of Rumi’s verse, of Hafez’ deep art, In distant lands, it uplifts every heart. A potion of love rides this caravan’s crest— Saadi himself boasts of its charm manifest. Open your eyes, and at this threshold stay— The Masnavi begins to tell your tale...

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Great American Literature Our bookshelf groaned under the weight of American Literature, and my mother was principally a communist. An American Tragedy, I read at fourteen, and my fascination with A Bridge over San Louis Ray was endless, and so it went on. I joined the youth wing of the communist party of Norway, it lasted a month; they kicked me out I knew...

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A Neanderthal with intent on graffiti dabbed a red nose daub on stone face of granite stone prints for nosy sleuth fiends...

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Once I thrilled to Homer’s Odyssey to his Iliad equally ‘Til I hurt my sacroiliac ~ and traded literature for TV ...

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They asked "Can you come and help us please" "You are to far, to far to see" They said " We are lost, starving. We need something to eat." "The apples don't fall far from the trees. You must come closer and see" They exclaimed "Excuse me, but they are just out of reach!" "Then get off your knees, get...

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Poem ‘Oblivion’ Drastic times calls forth bold demands, Not quiet hearts or passive hands. For change to rise, the roofs and roots must shake, To build a new, immoral and unethical ways must break. Sometimes it takes the patience to fall, To raise up justice, loud and tall. Opposition paves the path, it’s true, For something better, bold, and new. Wrongdoing for too long...

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Mirror, mirror on the wall, how do you choose the fairest of them all? why do you get to pick apart every single person that never gave you the right? Snow White ate less and less apples until she became so thin a gust of wind could’ve blown her away and she needed a strange man to save her What if he tried...

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I hear the voice of Nigeria, The silent whispers drill, From bustling markets to ancient hills. Those of the Hausas in the north, With gentle cadence in stories deeply sown. Those of the Yorubas in the west, Vibrant in rhythms and richly manifest. Those of the Igbos in the east, Resilient in spirit, never to...

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----------BOOK---------- Some sort of book, Everybody needs. Good book, bad book, Fulfills your greed. Light book, nice book, Whatever you need. Some sort of book, Everybody needs. Good book, good look, Just take a peek. Everybody needs A book each week. Red book, black book, On what you agreed. Some sort of book, Everybody needs. Bad book, cheap book, Nothing will shatter. After reading books, You work like butter. Gold book, silver book, Whatever you plead. Some sort...

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I cannot write what I do not feel. I cannot feel what I do not know. To write without passion is to kneel at the nameless grave and weep, to mourn the soil and not the dead, to beg meaning from dust and call it poetry. I lie on the floor of my bathroom just to feel the weight of my bones. Cool tile...

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A notebook is an object of art Where the secret notes is hidden Diaries is written, too personal Journals is counting daily routine Too special, full cover decors After which is beautifully used Hidden in secret place you only knew When time of joy, inspire and sadness This notebook reveal as litanies Of emotions, fun and laughter release And when all the life is truly...

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Good literature is: Stephen King’s anxiety Laurell K.Hamilton’s nightmares James Patterson’s fear V.C. Andrews’s mystery William Shakespeare’s grace Edgar Allen Poe’s rhymes J.K. Rowling’s magic wand and the Muse that inspires every future writer.. All of that is good literature....

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I. The Hour of Approach The poem I was writing refused to end— it kept writing me. Blood didn't ink these lines— the ink bled me. Each stanza a hidden-hematoma across the white of nothingness. Somewhere, midnight faltered, and I was no longer alone. II. Visitation: Sylvia Plath Sivvy came barefoot, bees orbiting...

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In olden days, in those years past, We dreamt of something new. Perhaps it was a fleeting thought, Something we soon outgrew. But our former dreams are meant to be resurrected, In a fresh light, apart from all The troubling things that are connected With the things we once knew....

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All the colours have faded Leaving me to feel so jaded Everyone appears so fake No joy for the soul to slake I wonder here and there Hoping to find something fair A laugh or smile, not a smirk To lift the darkness that lurks All the colours are faded Even you have become jaded We no longer see the rainbow Instead we watch from a...

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