Moods poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best moods poems ever written. Read all poems about moods.
I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
Music is freedom that relentlessly exists
Freedom of speech
Freedom of thought
Freedom of creativity
They hail you as their morning star
Because you are the way you are.
If you return the sentiment,
They'll try to make you different;
Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
I could not count the cost
of all your faces, your moods-
that present that I lost.
We sow the glebe, we reap the corn,
We build the house where we may rest,
And then, at moments, suddenly,
We look up to the great wide sky,
The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
You will come one day in a waver of love,
Tender as dew, impetuous as rain,
The tan of the sun will be on your skin,
The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech,
I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
And you must welcome from another part
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.
If one could bridge the distance with a word,
A journey would become a pilgrimage.
Elegant letters slant across the page.
My leaf has found a home upon your coat.
Be in me as the eternal moods
of the bleak wind, and not
As transient things are—
gaiety of flowers.
' i am ' sky
my colors are my moods
' i am' light blue when i'm at peace
' i am ' dark blue when i'm troubled
Mist clogs the sunshine.
Smoky dwarf houses
Hem me round everywhere;
A vague dejection
Weighs down my soul.
Alfonso is a handsome bronze-hued lad
Of subtly-changing and surprising parts;
His moods are storms that frighten and make glad,
His eyes were made to capture women's hearts.
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street
In the City as the sun sinks low;
And the music's not immortal; but the world has made it sweet
And fulfilled it with the sunset glow;
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Roses in the spring time,
with the seasons that it brings.
Just like roses in the spring to autumn they wither and wilt.
We have more up and downs, this flowers life's running out of time,
Jocose and flushed in face
Speaker loud and
Friend of joy
Lover of moods but in joy
Soothing staccato moods of rhythms telling stories to all who listen interiorly, being attuned and avidly being enlivened through tempos as they fall into the lap of musicians, poets, artists loving this quaint atmosphere within.
Sitting beneath a giant old tree that's giving shade and a peaceful sound as the wind gently blows across a patio where a band is now playing, it's such a wonderful place of beauty right here in our own back yard.
Musical rhythms bringing peace to our hearts, tapping our souls, gathering moods and their attitudes into centers of our brains.
Pleasure totaling and finding correct rhythms and their mathematical formulas, perfect notes dangling in a poet's intellect, riding on roads into the darkness.
Rainbow dreams flowing above, enjoying the birth of a brand new human being born in melodies of a morning that gathered strings wrapped around all memories of life.
All of them tied together into the very fabric of our soul's beings on a walkway into the milky way's atmosphere far above this earth, relating to moods of tomorrow.
Strumming guitars, making scratching sounds along their strings, tempting life to escape in moods of lively memories
that are to be remembered in moments of another phase of living here on earth.
Realizing how temporary human life is, holding on as best as possible, knowing that one day there will be nothing left to hold onto, out on a limb, with nothing left to say because in the end, all will have been said as death takes each of us into our own grave, flowers marking the spot for a while.
Energy revitalized, sending melodies into inner attitudes, moods and dimensions leading intuition directly into in-tellect, exciting and stimulating neurons and synapses.
Entering a bluened light of the Divine, accepting a tantalizing energy being created along with poetry, a stimulating intensity that feels soothingly good.
Drums beating out rhythms of enticing desires wanting to get into moods and attitudes of another tomorrow, somehow intuitively knowing that life is waiting for this poet to let go and live in the midst of another universe, one filled intensely with music and rhythms guiding it.
Being led into energetic patterns and designs of another vision, taking a mind and opening it to the world, not allowing anyone to crush or take it into their own darkness, keeping it wholesome and filled with wonder until a day where it will be born again in a new book of poetry.
A choice to choose,
Refusing feeling gloomy.
Is easier to say than it to do.
In these days and times,
Flying high, soaring into skyways of rhythms with a happy heart, singing to the heavens in such great moods, being positive and joyful.
Laughing and talking, dancing all through this glorious night, a peaceful, tranquil time touching the spiritual interiors of our beings.
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