#poetrywithmeaning - Hello Poetry

“a clockwork orangerie” gears click in humid glass copper vines coil around brass struts oranges glint like captive suns hinged to silver branches steam drifts— a hiss-purr among pistons petals unfurl to the pulse of time shadowed aisles radial rods pumping light into crystalline blooms one dimpled fruit slips free into a glass basin and rings into silence. .

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Aug 24, 2025

Aug 24, 2025 at 9:11 PM UTC

renseksderf

a clockwork orangerie

“a clockwork orangerie” gears click in humid glass copper vines coil around brass struts oranges glint like captive suns hinged to silver branches steam drifts— a hiss-purr among pistons petals unfurl to the pulse of time shadowed aisles radial rods pumping light into crystalline blooms one dimpled fruit slips free into a glass basin and rings into silence. .

21

_Fee-fi-fo-fum_— as we weighed love by an empty ounce, and paid it all back by this sore pound. They yell: “come now or begone,” and if you can’t produce the sum for what’s been done; flee to fine some… or find none. An anguish in fornication, and a touch that speaks, but means nothing at all. No real stimulation— just hunger in the guise of heat, and shame where love was meant to meet. As some feather-dust their guilt, pretending to have clean intentions. But we’ve only used each other to air out our frustrations. These old recycled themes; ******* from peers, spilling from worn-out jeans, and spreading dreams like genes, without real meaning in between the fabric of time. But tell me, do you still not see the giant problem? Or are you too big for yourself, to fully measure up to your own faults?

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Aug 1, 2025

Aug 1, 2025 at 4:48 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Giant Problems

_Fee-fi-fo-fum_— as we weighed love by an empty ounce, and paid it all back by this sore pound. They yell: “come now or begone,” and if you can’t produce the sum for what’s been done; flee to fine some… or find none. An anguish in fornication, and a touch that speaks, but means nothing at all. No real stimulation— just hunger in the guise of heat, and shame where love was meant to meet. As some feather-dust their guilt, pretending to have clean intentions. But we’ve only used each other to air out our frustrations. These old recycled themes; ******* from peers, spilling from worn-out jeans, and spreading dreams like genes, without real meaning in between the fabric of time. But tell me, do you still not see the giant problem? Or are you too big for yourself, to fully measure up to your own faults?

18

When eyes turn into a mouth, and many mouths spell the same, they cook the scenery with spices and serve it to mankind. The superficial minds swallow it whole, but the deeper ones search through the flavours, tasting the raw truth beneath. They take the news across minds — bending it, twisting it, building it — giving it a new form, and pouring it into the pots of hollow heads. Not all rumours are just rumours; some are truths wrapped in uncertainty.

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Jul 19, 2025

Jul 19, 2025 at 9:20 AM UTC

Parvathi

THE RUMOURS - COOKED AND SERVED

When eyes turn into a mouth, and many mouths spell the same, they cook the scenery with spices and serve it to mankind. The superficial minds swallow it whole, but the deeper ones search through the flavours, tasting the raw truth beneath. They take the news across minds — bending it, twisting it, building it — giving it a new form, and pouring it into the pots of hollow heads. Not all rumours are just rumours; some are truths wrapped in uncertainty.

12

Love whispers softly in the silent night, Across the stars, where dreams take flight. Vivid as the sunrise, bright and clear, Everlasting, a feeling so sincere. Your touch is the warmth in a cold, dark world, Only you can make my heart unfurl. Under the moon, our souls collide, Reaching for a love we can’t hide.

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Feb 27, 2025

Feb 27, 2025 at 3:15 PM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

Acrostic Poetry

Love whispers softly in the silent night, Across the stars, where dreams take flight. Vivid as the sunrise, bright and clear, Everlasting, a feeling so sincere. Your touch is the warmth in a cold, dark world, Only you can make my heart unfurl. Under the moon, our souls collide, Reaching for a love we can’t hide.

8