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After My Death
After my death mourn me this way:
'There was a man-and see: he is no more;
before his time this man died
and his life's song in mid-bar stopped;
and oh, it is sad! One more song he had
and now the song is gone for good,
gone for good!
And it is very sad!-a harp too he had
a living being and murmurous
and the poet in his words in it
all of his heart's secret revealed,
and all the strings his hand gave breath
but one secret his heart kept hid,
round and round his fingers played,
and one string stayed mute,
mute to this day!
And it is sad, very sad!
All of her days this string moved,
mute she moved, mute she shook,
for her song, her beloved redeemer
she yearned, thirsted, grieved and longed
as a heart pines for its intended:
and though he hesitated each day she waited
and in a secret moan begged for him to come,
and he hesitated and never came,
never came!
And great, great is the pain!
There was a man-and see: he is no more,
and his life's song in mid-bar stopped,
one more song he had to go,
and now the song is gone for good,
gone for good!
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soft Sounds
Mute that trumpet.
Mute that horn.
Mute the cryin'
when babies are born.
Maybe they're cryin'
'cause they're here.
Maybe they're cryin'
'cause they remember fear.
Mute that trumpet.
Mute that horn.
The babies need quiet
like before they were born.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mute claimants
The child underwent kindergarten.
The teacher and the parents took credit.
The growth of the brain was a mute claimant.
The stiff cough was at last cured.
The syrup and the pills took the credit.
The white corpuscles were the mute claimants.
She was sexy to men around.
Her make up and costumes took the credit.
Her Oestrogen was the mute claimant.
He was in the heart of many women.
His purse and muscles took the credit.
His testosterone was the mute claimant.
Histories are woven by false threading
08.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Deaf-Mute
A deaf-mute brings a cup of tea!
A cup of tea with love so rare;
Love uncommonly seen, I stare;
How do I thank her for her charity?
Often by her mother chided;
A servant in her own house, unpaid;
A deaf-mute, she remains, since birth!
Wearing a smile and full of mirth;
A face quite content to the core;
I want to love her all the more;
My heart with anguish wants to cry;
For unfair things, men often try;
To scores of deaf-mute creatures,
God, a DEAF-MUTE, Himself remains!
poem by John Celes
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What A Friend We Have In Jesus / Old Rugged Cross
What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bare!
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!
And I'll cherish the old rugged cross
Til' my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou Art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou Art!
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Choose to Boot It Just to Mute
...and,
You may...
Risk your life for petty reasons.
You may...
Not believe it to accept it,
Just to find there's nothing there to lose.
...and,
You may...
Risk your life for petty reasons.
You may...
Not believe it to accept it,
Just to find there's nothing there to lose.
And 'then'...
You may,
Get dramatic in dismissing diplomatic moments toned...
When knowing love of life you own with a peace of mind condoned,
In and outside of your home,
Is not on loan droning in a moan groaned all day and night long!
And you 'dig it like the fresh scent of Spring!
Oooh Whoa noooo mo'...
...and,
You may...
Risk your life for petty reasons.
You may...
Not believe it to accept it,
Just to find there's nothing there to lose.
...and,
You may...
Choose to boot it just to mute.
And...
You may,
Boot it just to keep it mute.
...and,
You may...
Choose to boot it just to mute.
And...
You may,
Boot it just to keep it mute.
And then,
You may...
Do whatever it is wanted if you wanted.
Then you may,
Do whatever it is wanted!
And then you may,
Do whatever it is wanted if you wanted.
But then you may,
Boot it just to keep it mute
Or...
Then,
You may...
Choose to boot it just to mute.
Or then you may,
Choose to boot it just to mute!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The New House
NOW first, as I shut the door,
I was alone
In the new house; and the wind
Began to moan.
Old at once was the house,
And I was old;
My ears were teased with the dread
Of what was foretold,
Nights of storm, days of mist, without end;
Sad days when the sun
Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs
Not yest begun.
All was foretold me; naught
Could I foresee;
But I learnt how the wind would sound
After these things should be
poem by Edward Thomas
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Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?--
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ail prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?--
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Prithee, why so mute?
Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her--
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The Devil take her!
poem by John Suckling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song
Why so pale and wan fond lover?
Prithee why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee why so pale?
Why so dull and mute young sinner?
Prithee why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Prithee why so mute?
Quit, quit for shame, this will not move,
This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her;
The devil take her.
poem by John Suckling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Me You Are…………
Building the wall of confidence, all around my ribs
Inspiring, when am alone, even in noise
Showing me, the fairy way, when I get confused
Hauling me from, those atrocious affairs, that matters
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Pursuing illusion, enlightening my life
Reaching, as a shadow at the time of tide
Intimacy, in the dream that comes into my mind
Yielding smile at my labor, creating zeal at my failure
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
At every insult and every admire
Youth mind, mine even if retires
Occupying for me, the seat of mentor
Uprooting all solitary despairs
Aspiring not to be worry, else to fear
Reinforcing skeleton by self-esteem of yours
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Enriching my each moment, being even so bare
Animating my life, that anyone can't imagine
Nursing me, to special from alone
Grasping me in the midst of up and down
Enlivening those deadly postures of dreams
Lightening by a heavy power as thunderstorm
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Forgiving me for each-every mistakes done
Organizing such beautiful ceremonies
Rearranging me, trying to make me genuine
My life you are, I can't remain alone
Eagerly, have awaited for you, oh my feminine!
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
poem by Nibedit Nahak
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Silence of the mute
Silence of the mute
among us the live
embracing our ways
betraying us all
That is the real terror
That is
Silence of the mute
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So by the time I got to Michigan I was a stutterer. I couldn't talk. So my first year of school was my first mute year and then those mute years continued until I got to high school.
quote by James Earl Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The past is only the present become invisible and mute and because it is invisible and mute, its memoried glances and it's murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.
The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.
The Loneliness Of The Untiring Writer
with equanimity i write for this audience,
deaf,
blind,
mute,
....imagine some monkeys and rats, and worms and squirrels
mute, blind, deaf,
i have no regret at all,
their hearts are bigger than the islands of paradise,
the mute claps with three hundred hands,
the blind sings with all the angelic voices in tens of hundreds
the deaf dances like some kind of a wiggling worm
vitally replicating its numbers geometrically
there is still this
wanting to be caught by a hungry
black bird
it is the silence of the mute that speaks so loudly
like a speaker of the house,
it is the restlessness of the deaf that shakes me,
and i tremble like a cymbal clanging ceaselessly
the chants of the blind, mystifies me,
scented cinders, lighted candles, fireflies on the trees
conclusion: we have become one happy family
and tonight, i will be writing some more for them
I've got no other valuable audience anyway.
and, let me finally add,
it is only my dead mother who still loves me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lines Written on Hearing of the Death of Charles I.
Great, good, and just! could I but rate
My griefs to thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world to such a strain,
As it would deluge once again:
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies,
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds,
And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds.
poem by James Graham
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In My Craft or Sullen Art
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art
poem by Dylan Thomas
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O Good Solitude
It is hard to pay tribute
To the silence here and peace
The mind fresh and fair
The heart, soul so clear
O great solitude thanks
To recollect the flowery moments
And touch the face of dreams
We can bring joys to this world
When we sit side by side, hands in hands
O great solitude! so cute you seam
And the burden of griefs
We throw away the dust of mind
The spirit remains so kind
For hours we can whisper
For long we can stay together
There is no one to part us
Let us feel together
The next century will remember me
When it touches your soft empty hands
poem by Abdul Sattar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Have Found Each Other
Mute they wander,
Meeting yonder,
In the wondrous Spring new-born,
That though old as Time's first morn,
Brings fresh youth to all the living,
Now held fast, now far retreating,
But through hearts in oneness beating
Ever fullest bloom is giving.
Mute they wander. E'en the eye
Speaks no thought. For from on high
To their souls sweet strains have spoken
From the wide world's harmony,
Born of light, the darkness broken,
In the dawn of things to be.
Power crowned-
Earth around
Like a sun-song rolled the sound.
Mute they wander. Sweet strains ending-
Eye nor tongue dares yet the lending
Speech to thought.
But lo! quick blending,
All things speak! They sound and shimmer,
Bloom in fragrance, ring and glimmer,
Tint and tone combining, nearer,
Meet as one-with all their thinking
In one beauty, higher, clearer,-
Heaven itself to earth is sinking.
But in this great hour of trysting
Life is opened, its course brightened,
Growth eternal calls, enlisting
Every spirit-power heightened.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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