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The thrower of stones throws away the strength of his own arm.
Who throws stones at night, kills his own brother.
If someone throws stones at you, throw back bread.
The falling is the constant mate of fear
The falling is the constant mate of fear,
And feel of emptiness is the feel of fright.
Who throws us the stones from the height --
And stones here refuse the dust to bear?
Once, striding in a monk’s unbending mode,
You pierced the yard from rim to other rim;
The cobble-stones and the coarse dream --
Have thirst for death and sadness of the broad-
Let Gothic shelter be in ruins turned
Where ceiling serves as a deceptive fable,
And in the heath the gaily logs don’t burn!
A few here for eternity were born;
But if your mind has only instant label
Your lot is awful and your home unstable!
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sticks And Stones
Sticks and stones, might break my bones
And words, shall never harm me,
I was told that story, when I was a Boy
Along with the birds and bees, I believe
So I lived my life, through that advice
That was given to me in my youth,
That sticks and stones would break my bones
And words could do no harm was true.
So I stayed away from sticks and stones
And tried never calling anyone names
But the sticks still arrived, in my life
And also the words of hate and pain.
But then I had healed from broken bones
And bruises and all the nasty cuts,
It made me stronger, then I thought longer
About the words of hate and such.
Because the words of hate, I couldn't escape
As I noticed them around everyday
Destroying ones soul, until life they'd let go
Or asking GOD for vengeance as they'd pray.
Sticks and stones had broke my bones
And words of hate had really harmed me,
As I look around, I can still hear the sound
Of hate, and belittlement, and bigotry.
There are still broken bones and nasty cuts,
As I see as I enter every day with a walk,
But doctors heal then, as they are new again
But the words of hatred never balks.
In my life I have made many choices,
And I hope with one I don't stand alone
Never to ever use any word of hate
As I don't mind getting hit with sticks or stones.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Temporary Poem Of My Time
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.
Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.
Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.
Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav
poem by Yehuda Amichai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mubarak Will Not Resign
Mubarak casts
verbal stones to pistol whip
provoke protesters.
Mubarak Jackal God
will not resign cannot
leave slave throne seat.
Mubarak vampire sucks
people blood throws
people words of mud.
Mubarak plays
ultimate fool card
“All your demands are meet”.
Protest is fire resolve not
over Mubarak has not
laid waste to Egypt yet?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Air is a Root
The air is a root.
The stones are filled with tenderness. bravo.
bravo. the stones are filled with air.
the stones are watery branches.
on the stones replacing the mouth
grows the skeleton of a leaf. bravo.
A stone voice face to face and foot to foot
with a stone glance.
the stones are tormented like flesh
the stones are clouds for their second
nature dances to them on their third nose.
bravo. bravo.
when the stones scratch themselves, nails grow
on the roots. bravo. bravo.
the stones woke to eat the exact
hour
Rucksack Full Of Stones
A Babe…
Born perfect, innocent, ready
Cast into a corrupt world
Parents eagerly present
A family heirloom
A patchwork rucksack
Part-filled with stones
To a wide-eyed child
Begins the journey…
Child given stones of many shapes, sizes
Stones of pity, sorrow, fear, trauma
Stones filled with words like “No”
Stones filled with ugly phrases
Stones filled with abuse, punishment, pain
Rucksack seams burgeon
A growing Soul shouts
“Enough”
Emptying begins…
Through lessons, experiences, prayer
One by one
Removed the stones
Rucksack lightens
By the Grace of God,
Finally emptied
Another Babe born
Rucksack beckons
“Not this time”
Rucksack flung
Into Wisdom’s Fire
Consumed
Ends a vicious cycle…
poem by Ray Lucero
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Stones
Stones
Stones would play inside her head
And where she slept,
They made her bed
And she would ache
For love and get but stones
La la la la la la la la la
Lordy, child
A good days comin
And Ill be there to let the sun in
And bein lost
Is worth the comin home
La la la la la la la la la on stones
You and me, a time for planting
You and me, a harvest granting
The every prayer ever prayed
For just two wild flowers that grow
La la la la la la la la la on stones
Mmmmmmmm.....
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes a Faith is similar to stones
Sometimes a Faith is similar to stones,
To rocks, so hard and heavy, in their masses...
As well as the variety of talks,
Of languages, which are the only world reflection.
A child, picking up the words as stones,
Get aquainted gradually through life
With their meaning with his heart...
When being old - he is looking at the rock-words,
Amazed greatly in his mind
With their deepness
In the view of his experience...
And he learns at once, that Faith, Belief - is alive!
It shines brightly and luminous
In the moist air of grumbles of
Blizzards and thunderstorms...
Sufferings, that had come above the heads...
The Faith of words, the whisper of the bases
Of the worlds, which were left behind the stern
Of the ship, floating in the Time ocean...
Faith... With a Faith of words... the World is created...
====
In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2012/05/04/8013
poem by Lyudmila Purgina
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He who throws away a friend is as bad as he who throws away his life.
Blame It On The Stones
Mister marvin middle class is really in a stew
Wondrin what the younger generations coming to
And the taste of his martini doesnt please his bitter tongue
Blame it on the rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better, knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; save the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Mother tells the ladies at the bridge club every day
Of the rising price of tranquilizers she must pay
And she wonders why the children never seem to stay at home
Blame it on the rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better, knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; save the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Fathers at the office, nightly working all the time
Trying to make the secretary change her little mind
And it bothers him to read about so many broken homes
Blame it on those rolling stones.
Blame it on the stones; blame it on the stones
Youll feel so much better knowing you dont stand alone
Join the accusation; same the bleeding nation
Get it off your shoulders; blame it on the stones
Blame it on the stones, blame it on the stones.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A smile to remember
the mousy teacher is full of love
with every smile to the children
she throws a challenge; be
the best speller, best artist
best writer, best athlete or simply
the neatest in the class; and it is picked up
with a spirit to please her for
they know it all adds up to a lot of good
her smile drives them to do
the best for themselves
not everybody turns out to be mister
number one but everybody is all too glad
to prove themselves for the mousy teacher
who always throws them a challenge with a smile
a warm smile that sets their heart
ablaze to be her very best
for even when they fail, mousy would smile
and pat them on the back with her comforting
lifting words 'at least you have tried'..
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Moving Stones
Smiling faces, hearts are numb
kindness in words as parrots are trained
Love is exhibited , mind is reasoning for gain
Sympathy in demand, goals are well defined
Designed wisest of creation, to beautify the land
All are racing, purpose unknown
The day is not far of, You may wonder
where is my created men
One day will see, only stones and
stones are moving around
poem by Santosh Sharma
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Completing Cycles
The Juggler throws
his batons at the sun.
The sky throws them back again
like rain,
each and every one.
Surely by now he knows
what it is he’s gaining?
Come Mr. Juggler,
look at it from your point of view,
just how long has it been raining?
On you?
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bag of Bones
Just a bag of bones
At which life throws its stones
Time passes, I hear them creak
If only they could speak
Ask now! Before it's too late
Of their life and fate
I hear them groan
Against life's pressure
Against others measure
Am I just a bag of bones?
RG
poem by Robert Green
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Words
Sticks and stones may break your bones,
but words will never hurt you.
Stupid, lazy, burden, cripple and helpless.
These are just a few of the words I
heard a mother say to a child.
And now, she sits there wondering
why her 35 year old child is not as out
going as I, and why her child seems afraid to even
try.
Well, the reason is as simple as words.
Great, smart, good, able and excellent.
These are the words I heard when I was child.
Yeah, sticks and stone do hurt you,
but so can words.
You Protest Not
For the weak...Meak of words...striped of my
path to your highway i cry..mean is the horse
throws me on the flooe on purpose...i weep for you...: >)
poem by Is It Poetry
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Rival Entreaties
climbing on the umblical hill
ahead of the contours,
a denier
alters the chemistry of hate in negative space;
fauna of the earth springs black stones,
man made, on the glistening sex of
lotuses, a forgetfulness ensures
the conceptual withdrawl of the red bull;
hand in hand a sea walks towards the tender beach
to dazzle the hidden sun,
light was inside his body, but he was still
groping for the sleeping lips of a virgin,
into her broken promises; the debris throws up
the severed limbs to negate the will
to live, words must betray a step down, maintaing
a clueless trauma, there was fearlessness,
but no dignity, you have drawn a horizontal
line hugging the boundaries of truth
and lies, I recall buddha to smile in the
eyes of death
poem by Satish Verma
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