"pannier" poems - Hello Poetry

I saw a 10 year old, Walking down the street, With a handful of bowl And in another a younger kin. Chanting "what was our sin?" I saw a handsome lover, Beside a lonesome tree Strangled by the memories Of his lover who loved somebody else Trying to stop how does it feel. Writing up the blues to heal. I saw an old aged person Who barely can walk He was happy, had a family Not so long ago Sitting with his basket upon the sidewalk With nowhere to go I hope you think about them If not me when you say Life is unfair. I saw a mother of two, Sunken beneath a pannier. Dreary eyes and a crooked leg, Says the burden of life's heavier. I saw a husband, a son, A father of one. Miles away from home, Aiming to be suffice, Guarding the border, A few laughin' at the sacrifice. I saw a man in a white coat, People say he's akin to god. Broken in tears saying 'There are battles that can't be won For these hands saved so many Now loosing a loved one.' I hope you think about them If not me when you say Life is unfair. I saw the dreamers Quitting before they die. Heard them saying that they gave a million try. I saw people dying in lone That were once on the Billboards At times there's no one to hold I saw blind men crossing roads. I saw the animals crying for the lost homes, People fencing their little domes. I saw the birds crying for the lost trees, The poor cries and no one sees. And yet you say Life is unfair.

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Apr 11, 2020

Apr 11, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC

Apoorv_Bhardwaj

Life is unfair

I saw a 10 year old, Walking down the street, With a handful of bowl And in another a younger kin. Chanting "what was our sin?" I saw a handsome lover, Beside a lonesome tree Strangled by the memories Of his lover who loved somebody else Trying to stop how does it feel. Writing up the blues to heal. I saw an old aged person Who barely can walk He was happy, had a family Not so long ago Sitting with his basket upon the sidewalk With nowhere to go I hope you think about them If not me when you say Life is unfair. I saw a mother of two, Sunken beneath a pannier. Dreary eyes and a crooked leg, Says the burden of life's heavier. I saw a husband, a son, A father of one. Miles away from home, Aiming to be suffice, Guarding the border, A few laughin' at the sacrifice. I saw a man in a white coat, People say he's akin to god. Broken in tears saying 'There are battles that can't be won For these hands saved so many Now loosing a loved one.' I hope you think about them If not me when you say Life is unfair. I saw the dreamers Quitting before they die. Heard them saying that they gave a million try. I saw people dying in lone That were once on the Billboards At times there's no one to hold I saw blind men crossing roads. I saw the animals crying for the lost homes, People fencing their little domes. I saw the birds crying for the lost trees, The poor cries and no one sees. And yet you say Life is unfair.

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Below the arms of rambunctious pink vigour dappled in leaf like shapes an expeditionary line of soldiers counters a returning line of sated mandibles a olive stone hovers in line 'spem in alium' a warbler throats amongst the cherry’s fruits tickled with the morning’s warmth another builds the morning chorus a caressing swift kiss the tree tops butterflies wandering their brief path ruffling on warm air through poppy in memorium a bee dips in a jubilant flower above a pointy hill clad in medieval remains a source guarded by pillared stones the clock tower strikes its hourly pulse encouraged by a marquis ghost artisans prepare the blank canvas intoxicated by its fibres arts fourth dimension is transfused the clink of glass a gurgle of rosé a shuffle of one nethermost scissor crossing of delicate bangled ankles a delving hand into a pannier a cracking of a baguette skin goats cheese melts on the tongue matched by spicy sausage a tractor awakens engulfed by swarms of gleaming cycles swathed in coutered body suits hidden behind go faster sunglasses quilted vine groves sprout give birth to a Provencal lawn seasoned kegs breath their first gasps quintessential blue fills our eyes calm are the days quick is the inspiration cool are the colours cherish the vitality

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Jul 20, 2020

Jul 20, 2020 at 2:19 PM UTC

kevin-wright-2

Lacoste in spring

Below the arms of rambunctious pink vigour dappled in leaf like shapes an expeditionary line of soldiers counters a returning line of sated mandibles a olive stone hovers in line 'spem in alium' a warbler throats amongst the cherry’s fruits tickled with the morning’s warmth another builds the morning chorus a caressing swift kiss the tree tops butterflies wandering their brief path ruffling on warm air through poppy in memorium a bee dips in a jubilant flower above a pointy hill clad in medieval remains a source guarded by pillared stones the clock tower strikes its hourly pulse encouraged by a marquis ghost artisans prepare the blank canvas intoxicated by its fibres arts fourth dimension is transfused the clink of glass a gurgle of rosé a shuffle of one nethermost scissor crossing of delicate bangled ankles a delving hand into a pannier a cracking of a baguette skin goats cheese melts on the tongue matched by spicy sausage a tractor awakens engulfed by swarms of gleaming cycles swathed in coutered body suits hidden behind go faster sunglasses quilted vine groves sprout give birth to a Provencal lawn seasoned kegs breath their first gasps quintessential blue fills our eyes calm are the days quick is the inspiration cool are the colours cherish the vitality

41

Will I find you here Mary? I have stood by for long now, and you are still not here > The lake is cold by mist and frost The wild geese have arrived here Of course. As I tried in vain To repair my old motorcycle But gosh! Lest had I forgot That my pet, Lucy Had eaten the guide to My salvation; It had tasted upon 'Zen And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'! That I carried in my pannier As I sit there, Staring at the solemn solace, In solicit solitude – I find that you were right, That I don’t have to walk on my knees For a hundred miles through desert; Repenting, But all I have to do is, let my heart Linger amongst the crimson red Flowers and butterflies and To appreciate my ineptness. I am thirsty of imagination! And yet I wait for your arrival – You have to keep your words, For I wait to tell you All my despairs – and to listen To all of yours, Meanwhile the sun scrapes a Shy blossom in the sky And the clear pebbles of rain, Bathe the long stretch of landscapes Along the prairies and the deep trees! The wild geese now have started Their ebb and flow, And I still feel alone – Whoever I may be, The first cries, now of the geese Call out to me to say, That you are close by And I, a pawn in the Family of things!

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Oct 30, 2020

Oct 30, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC

prateek-p-kulkarni

Will I find you here, Mary?

Will I find you here Mary? I have stood by for long now, and you are still not here > The lake is cold by mist and frost The wild geese have arrived here Of course. As I tried in vain To repair my old motorcycle But gosh! Lest had I forgot That my pet, Lucy Had eaten the guide to My salvation; It had tasted upon 'Zen And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'! That I carried in my pannier As I sit there, Staring at the solemn solace, In solicit solitude – I find that you were right, That I don’t have to walk on my knees For a hundred miles through desert; Repenting, But all I have to do is, let my heart Linger amongst the crimson red Flowers and butterflies and To appreciate my ineptness. I am thirsty of imagination! And yet I wait for your arrival – You have to keep your words, For I wait to tell you All my despairs – and to listen To all of yours, Meanwhile the sun scrapes a Shy blossom in the sky And the clear pebbles of rain, Bathe the long stretch of landscapes Along the prairies and the deep trees! The wild geese now have started Their ebb and flow, And I still feel alone – Whoever I may be, The first cries, now of the geese Call out to me to say, That you are close by And I, a pawn in the Family of things!

45