Transitory Poems - Poems about Transitory

We live — but not on level ground, We are sunlight clinging to the edge of a crumbling wall. I remembered Grandmother’s voice, She warned me once: “Boy, beware the fall.” We leap — and soon enough this house of days will crash upon us all. We were mountains once — and still we held, Like millstones bearing every crushing call. In a blink, the starling flew...

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Gone in a moment, yet timeless ye be: Flame in my candle, and soul that's in me....

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Humbleness (Free Verse) Humble is a man who prefers To take fresh air in his garden Than waste his time in a pub, To be dressed in simple clothing Than in expensive high class dresses That bursts a whole in his purse. Humble is a man who wants to live In a small modest home In the shade of green trees On the fringe...

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All of its nonsense does end here. World's. Its furthest blown point. Murky but deathly stilled water's Of tranquil acceptance. Even so, which glory, gold leafed By what hangs and spooks round Spreads, for ghosts of disillusionment Cursed sounds. In abundance!...

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No seed that’s on the earth ground It’s tree now, offering the shadow And life of sound No green leaves there are It’s yellow to withered And blow away far My forefathers, many of them Now hanging on the photo frame One day I’ll be the same Dawn sun comes and goes daily Dusk to a dark night in the same way time never...

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"What is this strange place we find ourselves in Trapped in the open, we find ourselves within" Who can hear the forest still Its light and mist fall calmly hushed Bereft of leaves gripped in winter's will Its naked soul lies burnt from autumns rust Sundering haze as breath in cold Melts in air through sunlit stands Of forest simple, soft though bold While...

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disassembled and torn scattered in the fetid air beyond repair in higher dreams unheard unspoken a thousand whispers in the night of this ...

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Shining ray- the dawn Dew plays game of glittering Brevity counts down! -November 22, 2018 Chattogram...

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transitory life how can they understand oh God I wish I can let them know what life is all about is obvious they are far gone in calamities no matter how I cry does it matter in a brutal world full of evils wickedness the authority they vibrate in world they don't own I wish they understand I wish they...

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The inurbane world faces its fate with malignant joy, unaware of it being a scapegoat in the capricious transitory thing called life. Yet we perspicuously flatter ourselves and gravitate to the greatness of life till the body dissipates and soul alienates on the all- encompassing altar of death. 9/9/2016...

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My tenant body constitutes a lease, A rented fabric owed to landlord Time, From smoothened silk to wrinkled leather’s crease, This shuttled thread is bound in deed to grime. My mind he stakes a vested interest in, Its vibrancy is forced perforce to fade, The stain of Lethe’s dull oblivion Shall wash and sink this mind in murky shades. Immortal dyes Arachne...

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Let us float in these moments... Like clouds in the sky ; Without worries or predicaments... Without tears in the eye...! Let us not think of tomorrow... Nor brood on the bygone yesterday... Transcending the shadows of sorrow... Let us welcome the glee that comes our way....! Let us pluck stars from the firmament.... And festoon the garden of our dreams... Let us find the...

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The Transitory A feline has Moved into the shed Gave birth Two six kittens I’m looking for a hammer To hit a nail Into the wall and hang Up a painting of Jesus with His eyes closed Looking remarkable like Gaddafi when he was murdered The painting is a fake Kaddafi was not I shall miss his splendid Sky-blue...

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just under the skin the you that echoes the actual physical scarring that shows just at the very outset of your supposedly sane & publicly presentable exterior, lies with you a problem that you can't quite fix---and yes, you try to work it out with others, both those others selves within & those individuals on the slashed & scattered outskirts (like cracked little pieces of linoleum) but nothing seems to work when everyone has the blatant sinister audacity to ask if something's wrong but to offer nothing in the way of ideas as to how one might go about medicating any real issues of which you yourself may in...

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Clouds Are Transitory by Rick Rucker At times, to keep the blues away, I remember that the sky's not gray, It is blue, and bright, and clean, A truly idyllic scene, It is, like we say, “Nothing but blue skies from now on.” Once the intervening clouds are gone, The sky is blue, and will always be, For him and her, and you and...

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