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Poems About: SIMILE

In this page, poems on / about “simile” are listed.

  • 337.
    Untitled Poet.

    if there was one last dance sweet-wild-child, it would be with you my love. breaking the line till my feet bled while the music broke the rhythm in my head. if one last poem was written, i'd write it for you love. search the metaphors, similes and alliteration from the depths of the heart, till blood no longer circulated. type each word with so much care that my fingers would cramp filling it with so many words it would challenge the dictionary. if there was one last breath beautiful woman i'd use it to lock lips with you. gasp it and hold it, left with the taste of you swirling in my being and sucking you in to feed me for eternity.

    if i fall again, i want to fall into you babe from the top floor of the empire estate, a free fall because i love you. if there is one last prayer woman i pray i never again would have to lock you away and that we could live together love inked in each others lives, even if only for my very last day, my lovely. read more »

    Alistair Plint
  • 338.
    Miss you baby

    I count as the hours and days goes past...

    Thinking to myself... It could of last... read more »

    Chris Foderingham
  • 339.
    You know...who I am

    You know

    there use to be a time when the english language broke my spine
    now it wraps around my tongue and with every expression I no longer fall prey to the silly cliche that there is no master of pronunciation read more »

    Lindsay Maasdorp
  • 340.
    # Had I been a Poet

    On the sea green shores that washed,
    The sands of life in its arduous contours.
    The exhibit is the subtle expose of a shy beauty,
    The smile would leave butterflies from lips. read more »

    Sadiqullah Khan
  • 341.
    The Friend Of Humanity And The Rhymer

    F. OF H. I want a verse. It gives you little pains;--
    You just sit down, and draw upon your brains.
    Come, now, be amiable.
    R. To hear you talk, read more »

    Henry Austin Dobson
  • 342.
    I sometimes think of all those apparently insignificant people

    Who never find place in snobbish minds too busy to notice them
    While they are playing with their intellectual marbles
    Of concepts polished and syllogisms winding endlessly to no end deductions
    Of too much info without a place to really fit but can serve the purpose read more »

    Miroslava Odalovic
  • 343.
    Trying Hard

    i
    I am not a poet, I'm certainly not
    I am not like Denise Bekker, though she is my type.
    Definitely, I can't be like Dr. Subhendu Kar read more »

    Diana Rose
  • 344.
    PAROLED TIDINGS

    Our deepest feelings could find a few words
    Words..we have prodigally used too often…
    To ornate trifle feelings..the odd exclamation, now and then…
    And now.. we strive to find the valued tidings read more »

    Avik Datta Gupta
  • 345.
    Eyes Like Leeks

    It had almost nothing to do with sex.
    The boy
    in his corset and farthingale, his head- read more »

    Linda Gregerson
  • 346.
    Sottovoce

    Solo le sue lacrime dolci faceva gustare alla gente che la circondava. Soltanto sottovoce sapeva parlare quando voleva chiedere qualcosa. Qualcosa semplice di solito, una domanda da bambina. Persino le cose che noi altri le diciamo gridando, lei le diceva sottovoce come se parlasse a se stessa.

    E fu cosi anche quell'estate per una volta ancora. Neppure il suo 'grido' di aiuto nessuno ha mai udito su quelle spiagge addormentate che riposavano vuote e stanche dalle orme lasciate dai piccini vicino ai loro enormi castelli che il vento trasformava in sabbia e con se' li portava via lontano. read more »

    alexandros filippakis
  • 347.
    cult of the ineffable

    The cult of the ineffable,
    the mystic, cryptically hermetic,
    implausible and laughable,
    translated into the demotic, read more »

    gershon hepner
  • 348.
    some chicken

    Some chicken, Churchill said, some neck.
    It seemed that Britain’s had been wrung,
    and after death no chickens peck,
    but Britain did, though Hitler flung read more »

    gershon hepner
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