Looking Poems - Poems about Looking

"A Cemetery Can Take Your Breath Away. Watch Out Where You Walk." By Poet When I travel I love taking photos, of cemeteries and of a pretty rose. Sometimes the picture gets my painted toes, or maybe even my nose. On one trip I took a long flight, when looking at my photos I saw a bright light. Taken in the daytime...

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As I get closer to see things I only see the details of it Scrutiny the mundane of its process Make judgement on the said observation But when I see things at far end I see clearly the whole beauty of it The distance is clearly seen as photograph In the eyes of my lenses I wonder I make judgement as I see...

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The ceiling blinked first—it told me I was looking up too much, time laughed in a corner, counting backwards just to mock me, my shadow packed its bags and left a sticky note: "You're thinking too hard. I need air." The fan above spun secrets, whispering in Morse code, I'm not sure if it cursed me or told me the...

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Looking Never Found. When did the searching start ? Perhaps at the very first beat, of an innocent, uncorrupted, heart. Perhaps a dark nights lullaby rhyme? When the seekers eyes, were unblinded, or in that soothing voice counting time. Maybe in that sunlights far flung view? Looking for vague external questions, to quench a thirst, raw and bitter to you. Maybe waves of...

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just looking around so much space to explore travelling but local what i've never seen before is what i thought i saw i return home amazed gas tank full and more money left in my pocket just looking around mouth wide open and on the grounded floor more worldly but local what i've never seen before is what i thought i saw i return...

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When nightfall dips in palest of gold I feel a sense of indignity, As owl's melody loses its eloquence Through the absence of a safe abode; Where quietude calls for avian coos The kind which never seeks to intrude… And its orbed eyes larger than neons, freeze In need of natue's hued, aerial parade--- ...

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holding hands fingers entwined hearts together locked stepping stones along the way love in bloom dreams in tune AP: 3rd place 2025 Posted on April 7, 2025...

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While the world wasn’t looking, the stones learned to weep, and the ocean—that old blue beggar— knelt down to drink its own salt. While the world wasn’t looking, the vines twisted into alphabets, spelling the names of the forgotten— each letter a green, grasping hand. Love—they were whispering love— not in the tongue of men, but in the slow dialect of roots, in the patient hunger...

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Pulling back inside myself looking out guardedly lest someone see me. ...

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The world paused. I'd taken a photo of a pigeon and was showing the pigeon the photo. The pigeon was studying the image. We watched on in wonder, watching as the pigeon transcended - almost... Then a woman asked if she could sit down, and feeding lettuce to a pigeon whilst showing it...

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Looking into the mirror, again and again, my reflection slowly draws near, with a breath, it twists my hands—and I know what it wants from me, it has always envied what I love, despised what I adore with passion, tonight it returns, her fingers lightly touch my lips, tracing their outline like a lover, until she delves deep, the blood...

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Surrounded by strangers who love me. [Un]strangers made strange by pain. Words the same as always, the same as nothing, when nothing is the same. Lost and last to know; lost and last to love. I am the last one lost. For you cannot see even a bubble; once it is popped. Falling not flying. One lost, bloody word, like the lost...

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I reckon? In my ln my last write.' I wen't?? Well a bit sorta Hmm? Far.' Um. AHH.! But NOW its too late.' I'm reprobate unrepentant.' Who can calculate? Still it makes things more lively.' better Than watching the 'paint dry' cause I've had it with excuses.' Give me proof or at least, to introduce it.' It could Be...

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Some look for love in a book in a colorful card -- in a bar in a junkyard: I realized late in life that love had already found me unlocked the love inside of me…. ...

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From space looking in, we observe our consciousness adrift, on egoic lust’s descending curve, wasting life’s precious gift. Pristine like morning dew, each breath intake is new, where God’s love does renew. The way we begin ~ From space looking in...

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