Poets and Poems | Examples of Poems for Poets

i try to lead a modest life without having expectations without making demands i reach out with everything i’ve got being satisfied with what comes my way but when it comes to love i think that too much is what needs to be expected too much is exactly what’s enough life’s too short and time too valuable to be squandered passion is not merely a...

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The poems that weep with grief The one that bleeds a sadness unnoticed The ones that grieve the erasure of colour I wish I didn't have to write poems To convince you of our pain The one that stains every word on every page The ones that can't bleed out of existence The ones that break and...

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It’s in the giving Aesthetic experience The pleasure is mine...

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I like the way you touch my body. There's no way I can deny it. You complete me in so many ways. You have this body of mines in such a maze. Taste me here, lick me there. You have this body of mines wet everywhere. I feel chills down my spine. You lay me on my back and let...

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To that girl from the Cabaret, The abuse and the trauma, Every cracks and gaps, No they doesnt make you worthless, Every step you take forward, Every time you sway your hips, It shows groth and resilience, Not just some hollowed pieces shards For there's beauty in breaking, Like an art, a kintsugi, A gold in a broken vessel, A beauty in imperfection,...

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Today I saw Gorilla waddler in his way inside the poets zoo...

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What colors, what emotions, what achievements? The trees wishing the flowers bloomed better The flowers clueless about what trees speak of The flowers face the sky and only one question to ask What is love? If I wish for it and open my arms wide enough for it to fit, Will you shower them at me and maybe then...

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TO THE VINING CHILDREN…VIBING… (Apropos Of A Scriptural Inspiration) Let us be as the Vines Of The Gardener; Let us who have been pruned With love and awareness, Have branches sharing fruits Of Truth, Peace, and Love:- Indeed, may our branches Never ever be void Of His divine wisdom’s guidance; For we are poets of the tree of life: Rooted, trunked, branched, leaved, And fruited with the...

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Nobody told me The fear of losing For loving someone so hard Was something so harsh Saw you then not too long after Give or take just years later Turned my head back, saw your smile Happiest I've felt in a while...

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"As the greatest of all poets and musicians, tho' you may call me 'liar', Hermes may have invented it but I perfected the lyre and with my music and singing if only I could see the forest for the trees I would coax the woods to dance for me but, on the other hand from where I stand, it appears to be, looking at it from...

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Poetry often feels like paper-cuts, your emotions will sting with each letter. A belief writing will help you get numb, at times that is not how this process goes. You have to bleed out the happy and sad, with each cathartic word you are centered. Pulsating feelings now clear and centered, still you are left with painful paper-cuts. All you want is to...

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They built this world for the other hand, Every door, every tool, every scissors command. Ink smears across my palm like war paint, While spiral notebooks mock me with their constraint. But I am the mirror breaker, The rule shaker, The one who writes backwards And dreams in reverse. Ten percent revolution ninety percent poetic evolution I am the southpaw standing alone Against a...

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QUESTIONS POETS AND WRITERS ASK ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On my laptop’s screen, words twist and twine, I ponder, “Is this plot truly mine?” With a character's frown, Will my story break down? Or will sadness and joy combine? As I scribble, “What rhymes with orange?” I chuckle, “Should my hero be foreign?” ...

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There once was a brain too lazy to think As into obscurity destined to sink. While we dance to metre And conjure up theatre That some love though into history slink. ...

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I learned what I fear today: Intimacy. I can’t seem to face my raw emotions bluntly; in fact I despise them for being unpoetic Why be vulgar and direct when I can hide behind my metaphors, my harbor; my fantasies, my buffer—between reality and my brain cells too proud to be seen scattered, sprinkled all over— well, nothing Even this moment I struggle to simply write:...

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