Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

I feel sick-the feeling one feels when he has a fever
The same anxiety, ill-mood, and very sober
I feel numb-as the fever triggers inch by inch
Making me worried, I need a pinch
I panic-afraid not to find the right words
Like a nice song played in the wrong chords
Ah..Poem Fever here you are again
Even in my sleep you keep haunting.

So I closed my eyes, the words fall like rain
I pick each line that reaches my brain
Put each mood, emotion and feelings
And every little joy and pain my heart sings
Every verse flows from my heart to my pen
Like a river flowing until now since then
Ah..Poem Fever here you are again
In my dream every night you keep coming.

Like a young girl's cheeks kissed by the wind
I am beaming
Like a bud in the morning kissed by the dew
I am skipping
Like a delicate skin kissed by the sun
I am smiling
Ah..Poem Fever here you are again
Even when I'm at rest, you're insisting.

Like the flowers and bees who are inseparable
We can't separate
Like ice cream and cake you're irresistible

...

wind water earth sky - all things remain the same
for our Lord in heaven above we are but a game

He tests us at every step if we fail
not He but we're ourselves to blame

all day the devotees throng His shrine
chanting His name spreading His fame

desires they've sown for ages in their hearts

...

You took it
I want it back.

I offered a kiss
I didn't offer that.

I was fourteen and you were twenty-one - you should have known better…

I was not ready to be lying on my back
Legs forced open and that was that.
...

Out of us all
That make rhymes
Will you choose
Sometimes -
As the winds use
A crack in a wall
Or a drain,
Their joy or their pain
To whistle through -
Choose me,
You English words?

I know you:
You are light as dreams,
Tough as oak,
Precious as gold,
As poppies and corn,
Or an old cloak:
Sweet as our birds
To the ear,
As the burnet rose
In the heat
Of Midsummer:
Strange as the races
Of dead and unborn:
Strange and sweet
Equally,
And familiar,
To the eye,
As the dearest faces

...

Tell me not, in doctored numbers,
Life is but a name for work!
For the labour that encumbers
Me I wish that I could shirk.

Life is phony! Life is rotten!
And the wealthy have no soul;
Why should you be picking cotton,
Why should I be mining coal?


...

Another flick, a spark, once more awakened the past,
Illustrating memories, are alive and always last.

I recall your visage with, its veins, its charm, and grace.
Some invisible griefs, Behind of that bony face.

Your tender artistic look, at a silly Rubik's parts,
Made your endless affection, dwell in our empty hearts.

You were our J. Keating of Weir's ingenious mind,

...

Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as any one can be--
Dead and damned and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldome paralleled on earth.
While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth,
From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth.
He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote
On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote--
For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow:
'Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow.'
...

I have brought the sacrificial goat
To the heap of grass, leaves and bark

He has forgotten his last beheading
But round his neck garland-like
hangs a mark
...

I loved watching
Birds and sky;
An owl hooting
On the piped branch entrance
Of my house;
Regular it almost was: the nights.

Back when guest came
I cried for no cause
Perhaps I fluctuated four times

...