Pensive Poems - Poems about Pensive

An outcast this night, I mournfully sigh with gloom: but, I make war, fight! to rebel against the doom, and emptiness of my room. ...

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p e t a l s fall like shooting stars when windswept willows w h i r l and wave weeping no more~ veiled in volatile violets emanating angst of a spirit abandoned within an abyss of seething scars still bleeding yet pleading clinging onto crystal clear crevices as time forever teases with...

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Oh, my dear little rain drops, ...

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Under the pensive skies, where stars weave dreams, In the depth of daily existence that seems constrained, Do not lament the poverty of the day, do not condemn it; Tell yourself that you are not poet enough to unveil its riches, For to the creator, there is never poverty, nor indifferent places. In the vastness of each moment, where time...

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The allure of mirage magnetic, thirst unquenched in hidden hope unperceived, insight intuits crafty illusion in life of reality, rational awareness absorbed. Onyx cloud clumps condensed, shadow masked...

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Oh gorgeous maiden, with pensive smile. You will write well, I can tell by your style. In a garden you saunter, so flush with pink, Your quill shall require so much fresh ink. The flowers so fragrant fill the...

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Perpetually praising poet's perforce presence, particular poets persevere penniless, proudly, people present peonies, prizes, poet's perennial prose, poesy, pacific, provocative, purposeful, painstakingly perfected, promising, poet's prolific in populace, platinum pens poised, paper primed, persnickety, pensive pinnacle power of poetic peace, and posterity....

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She is pensive without robust affect Her skin is placid, her hair nondescript the artist either did not know her well or…. did not like her much. She looks almost disgusted With life? With the world? With a husband? Difficult to say but easy to see on her face...

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My pen is having an off day It refuses to write It didn't consult the hand To ask if this was alright The hand said the pen "You are such a pain." Who do you think you are? You are not the Brain!...

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I write poetry, Simple poetry, As simple as can be, My grammar isn't hot, Or my punctuality. Sometimes I find it confusing, When my pen flows easily, It takes on a life of its own, Taking control of me. It has a sense of purpose, As it scribbles away, The content and message Become as plain as day I am unaware of holding the pen, There isn't time to...

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How pensive the poet who writes by the pen The stubbornness found in the gender of men The tortured young male who lives in the past Who probably purchased some “white-out” at last You probably think when you suffer and ache That writers improve when they make a mistake The point of it all is the point of a pen The perfect...

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Gustavo’s Rite He walked onto the harbor beach at sunset, planting a small net on a pole like a guidon, and setting soiled cloth bags around it. Alone on the beach he began his dance. Mismatched clothes flapping, he swayed, then paced, then crouched to pat the sand into a crescent, then stepped back and back, dug sand by hand, finding black things and...

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those dueling branches giddy to impress the moon slow onslaught of night desperation fades to black a passive moment waning...

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Pensive in Croydon colors blazing intensely lazy day complete afternoon furiously fighting for extra moments...

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My eyes Inseparably focused On the plain, colorless canvas And yet Still ideating A bright, elucidating palette, The golden curls Falling over the strong, pensive face Shown glancing At something unseen, “Oh,” I wonder, “What might it be that fixates you so?” Do you heed caution? Perhaps an undisclosed epiphany? Or is it fear Which makes your broad jaw drop? The great, big arms Spread wide open Like a pair of...

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