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I can't believe that we would lie in our graves wondering if we had spent our living days well. I can't believe that we would lie in our graves dreaming of things that we might have been.
quote by Dave Matthews
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Old Houses
Empty Old Houses
Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it
Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it
Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them
Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them
Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them
Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life
Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father Xmas Song
Father xmas
Will be working all night today
So that he can deliver all the christmas presents on time
To the children and their families
Father xmas
Is living his workshop now
In his reinder to deliver the Christmas presents
To all the houses here at home
Father christmas
Won't have any time to sleep at all
Because all the christmas gifts have to be delivered by christmas
And he has to follow the clause in his contract or otherwise he will get fired
And he could even make the children upset
Because there will be no presents to open at christmas
Father xmas
Goes down through the chimney
And then he comes out in the living room of the houses
Inside of the living room of the houses at christmas time
Father xmas will find the christmas tree decorated and lighted up
Father xmas
Eat his shortbread cookies and drink his glass of milk
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father Xmas
Father xmas
Will be working all night today
So that he can deliver all the christmas presents on time
To the children and their families
Father xmas
Is living his workshop now
In his reinder to deliver the Christmas presents
To all the houses here at home
Father christmas
Won't have any time to sleep at all
Because all the christmas gifts have to be delivered by christmas
And he has to follow the clause in his contract or otherwise he will get fired
And he could even make the children upset
Because there will be no presents to open at christmas
Father xmas
Goes down through the chimney
And then he comes out in the living room of the houses
Inside of the living room of the houses at christmas time
Father xmas will find the christmas tree decorated and lighted up
Father xmas
Eat his shortbread cookies and drink his glass of milk
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They say that shadows of deceased ghosts Do haunt the houses and the graves about, Of such whose life's lamp went untimely out, Delighting still in their forsaken hosts.
quote by Joshua Sylvester
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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While we ourselves are the living graves of murdered animals, how can we expect any ideal living conditions on this earth?
quote by Isadora Duncan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lie In Our Graves
When I step into the light my arms open wide
When I step into the light my eyes searching wild
Would you not like to be
Sitting on top of the world with your legs hanging free
Would you not like to be ok, ok, ok
When were walking by the water
Splish splash me and you taking a bath
When were walking by the water
Come to my toes to my ankles to my head to my soul
Then Im blown away
When were walking by the water
Splish splash me and you taking a bath
When were walking by the water
Come to my toes to my ankles to my head to my soul
Then Im blown away
I cant believe that we would lie in graves
Wondering if we had spent our living days well
I cant believe that we would lie in graves
Wondering what we might of been
I cant believe that we would lie in graves
Wondering if we had spent our living days well
I cant believe that we would lie in graves
Wondering what we might of been
Would you not like to be
Would you not like to be
I cant believe that you would not like to be
Would you not like to be
Ok, ok, ok,
Ok, ok, ok,
Ok, ok, ok,
Ok, ok, ok,
Dont dance away
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Intruder Of A Family Affair
there are so many
who died taking with them
in their own graves
the lies of their lives,
it is unethical to judge them
the way you wanted to make them
divulge these secrets is an invasion
you destroy their territories
you burn their safe-houses
it is like stepping upon the
sand palaces of the ants
and then spraying their whole population
with pesticide
you think that you have served so well
those who are still living
look at them, they mourn and
still will mourn for the years
they feel being deceived
and tricked into a misery that they do not deserve
because you have taken hold of the truth of the dead
and revealed them to the grieving
(it is none of your business, intruder!
you deserve a thousand deaths!)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Generation to Generation
They destroyed themselves,
From jealousy.
And envy took many of them to their graves.
With self inflicting animosities,
They do to others as they wish.
With a hatred of themselves,
Heard on cussed exchanging lips.
Many of them are 'raising' children,
Like neglected pets...
Chained and leashed,
On trashed doorsteps.
Neglect is not understood,
Since many only comprehend handouts.
And living in sleaze like leeches,
Is a quality of life they only know and perceive.
They destroyed themselves,
From jealousy.
And envy took many of them to their graves.
From generation to generation...
Freedom for them is meant to enslave.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Visit Malaysia Year: Fort A Famosa old graves (State of Malacca)
fort a famosa little jittery
just across the fence
a child's marble grave
the only things that warm
the old, broken graves
sunlight and their love messages
Around the A Famosa are many old graves some several hundred years old. They are of marble and broken in many parts. However, what keep them warm when visiting these graves are the sunlight and the love messages on these graves from love ones.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Souls Of The Churchyard
Looking out of the
stained glass window
at the churchyard graves
Watching the souls of the dead
rising and intertwining
with the souls of the living
As I step out of church
and adjust my eyes
to the daylight sky
I feel a soul step into me
and say...
I'll see you when it's your time
But for now live and love
because if your living
someday you have to die
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Life Of Man
What is our life? a play of passion;
Our mirth the musick of division:
Our mother's wombes the tyring houses bee
Where wee are drest for tyme's short comedy:
The earth's the stage, heaven the spectator is,
Who marketh still whoere doth act amisse:
Our graves that hide us from the burning sunne
Are but drawne curtaynes when the play is done
poem by William Strode
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Floods And Disasters
floods...floods...floods
nature made disasters
and man made disasters
circle the mankind
alll over the world
and warlords accept
the NOBEL PRIZE without shame
signing the war budget with fame
hurricaines...hurricaines...hurricainesalll over the world
what is this
on the sacrifice feast eve
are we sin ful
in turkey and in Phlipinnes
forgive us the ALMIGHTY
forgive all the manhood and the muslims
graves...graves..graves
all over the countries
what is this
candles...candles...candles
flowers... flowers...flowers
on the graves
and the children
innocent children playing on them
and talking with the dead
death and life
side by side
peace and war
side by side
after disasters
man made or nature made
some live in heaven
some live on earth
after disasters
life goes on
turning on and on
no change
some take the nobel prize without shame
disasters swept away
all my feelings
are we living or dying
not knowing
not knowing
poem by Metin Sahin
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While we ourselves are the living graves of murdered beasts, how can we expect any ideal conditions on this earth?
quote by George Bernard Shaw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Stand By The Graves....
i stand by the graves
of those who came before,
those who walked beside me
on this lonesome path....
those i worked with, fought with,
loved with, exchanged poetry
and thoughts with...
sang the songs of freedom with,
prayed prodigal prayers with...
those who burned too bright,
and fell like renegade stars.
who fell by drugs, violence,
hard living, or by suicide...
those who lived too hard too fast!
who took me in when i was a fugitive,
who took me for what i was.
those who dared to bleed
in an angry world....
those who cared without reason!
i stand by the graves silently weeping,
but i am not alone!
for the wind that rustles leaves and grasses,
forever chants their names with hope!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dying is mot much of a living when your young
The prescription pills, they comfort me
Telling me not cry,
no-one says a prayer for me as it’s
Midnight I now close my eyes,
But the nights air is out here with me
Reminding me of ghost from early graves,
Singing whisky blues with gritted teeth as my
Guitar sits crying the lost soul serenade
Dying aint much of a living and
Crying is not much more of a better disguise
But when your living on the run, its too late for forgiveness
So I embrace the steel of my gun with god as my final witness
My minds unraveling constantly
The ties of haunting imagery have become undone
Concentration on the barrel,
Dying is mot much of a living when your young
poem by Daniel Richards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life
What is our life? A play of passion,
Our mirth the music of division,
Our mother's wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss.
Our graves that hide us from the setting sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Reading a Vast Anthology
Love, death, sleeping
with somebody else's husband
or wife-this
is what poetry is
about-Eskimo, Aztec,
or even Italian
Rinascimento,
or even the high falutin Greeks
or noble Roman-O's.
O the constant turmoil
of the human species-
beds, graves, Spring with its
familiar rosebuds, the wrong beds,
the wrong graves, wars
unremembered & boundaries gained
only to be lost & lost
again
& lost roses whose lost
petals
reminded poets to carpe, carpe
diem with whoever's wife
or husband happened to
be handiest!
O Turmoil & Confusion-
you are my Muses!
O longing for a world
without death, without beds
divided by walls between houses!
All the beds float out to sea!
All the dying lovers wave
to the other dying lovers!
One of them writes on his mistress's skin as he floats.
He is the poet.
Not for this
will his life be spared.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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