Short Spoken Poetry Novels & Stories

Aarif said holding her hand in his and looking at Shayari who stared at him silently Shayari wanted to jerk his hand off but she did not because it would leave a negative impact. Shayari only nodded her head in response and Aarif smiled a bit and left from there. Wo zehar hai kya Jo kisi ki Jaan na le jaye Aur wo Ishq hi kya Jo kisi ko Dard na de jaye ~Ankita Ghosh (what kind of poison is it if it does not take anyone's life? And What kind of love is it that does not give pain to anyone ) Shayari recited the Shayari (a kind of poem) she read somewhere a long time back.

na mile toh shayari achchi ho hi jaati hai (Every poetess should get married ... if you get a good husband then life is well spent ... if not, then atleast your poetry improves) " he said with a lots of emotional like all of its coming from his heart He is not a superstar for nothing. " Jab pyar mein pyar na ho ... jab dard mein yaar na ho ... jab aansoon mein muskaan na ho ... jab lafzon mein zubaan na ho ... jab saansein bas yoon hi chale ... jab har din mein raat dhale ... jab intezar sirf waqt ka ho ... jab yaad us kambhakht ki ho ... kyun hoon main raahi jab woh hai kisi aur ki manzil ... dhadkano ne saath chhod diya ... ae dil hai mushkil, ae dil hai mushkil

Roman was a gifted local poet who was great at writing poetry. Penny sized Roman up before gently saying, “Sir, please start your poetry recitation.” “Hmm.” Roman nodded. He took up the microphone and walked two steps forward on the stage before slowly reciting. “Autumn brings the winter breeze. “Three parts were bone-chilling. “Seven parts were moon-drinking. “Don’t be melancholic for the nights are sleepless and endless.” “Wow!” The entire crowd gasped and cheered. ‘Great poem. Such a great poem! He could create such a great poem in less than fifteen minutes. Roman really has a deep literature understanding and background!’

Insecure shoes often obscuring the walls, the sonata of chemicals likens heads to garage tires you’ve spared for cool household principles. I bet you look down, look down so hard to catch the open light unfurling, like a beef falafel surprising schoolchildren from Bandra, Mumbai I earn a living by re-counting poetic lines and make them smell of cardamom. Carton-shroud livelihood makes a statement. To live comfortably is to fall in love with euphoria: 100%. Sweetheart of lies—

Jasper said thoughtfully. "Sounds good. I remember a famous poem 'Far From The Madding City'. The poem was about arriving at a paradise after passing through a narrow cave. The people there grew their own crops and lived a peaceful life." "How could you still remember these things?" Jasper was curious. He remembered that he had read this when he was a child, but he had almost forgotten all of it. "I like these romantic poems, especially the ones by Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning," Stella chatted casually.

Fiasca laughed out loud. "I am a businesswoman, after all." Emma shrugged her shoulder's as if it was nothing. "Yeah, the iron lady." Fiasca grumbled in disdain. **************** Short poetry for my lovely readers: It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set:

And then, with an inexplicable yet hauntingly melodic cadence, she began to recite a poem that defied all logic and reason: "Twinkling spoons in a teapot's dream, Jellyfish waltz in a cosmic stream. Pickles hummed a secret rhyme, Moonbeams whispered cheese and thyme. Penguins danced on rainbow clouds, Unicorn whispers in mushroom crowds. Bananas wore polka dot shoes, Stars played chess, swapping hues. Toasters sang opera in the key of green, Elephants tap-danced on a trampoline. Butterflies knitted socks for the moon,

(don't) I wanted to apologise for the short chapters lately, just been so so busy But I promise you all that would soon change ,I'll probably post like 2-3times a day So just bear with me for a while okay? And if you liked those poetries I posted and searched for days and night (I just googled it but what the heck) Here are is one I found you'll really love Fragment of a Ballad by Elizabeth Siddal Many a mile over land and sea Unsummoned my love returned to me; I remember not the words he said

The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus. ******************************************************* How often do you converse with yourself? How often do you speak to yourself? How often do you listen to yourself when no one is speaking? How often do you minister to yourself? How often do you truly embrace yourself, your pain, your flaws, your truth, your fears... SPEAK TO YOURSELF Say to yourself.... "Though I am shattered and bereaved and I might wither with the wind but like seeds, I can sprout out of the ground, new and better. "

To her dismay, Jane found herself walking down the hall to English with Lucy by her side, still talking, talking, talking. "I didn't know you were such a big reader, Jane," Lucy said, smiling at her. "I guess because your book-report books are always so short. But length isn't what matters in a book. I love a lot of short books, too. Just look at poetry. A poem can be any length. There are millions of wonderful poems that are only a few lines long. Like Emily Dickinson's poems. She can say more in two lines than most people can say in a hundred pages. What part are you up to in A Tale of Two Cities?"