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He that is far from his geir, is near his skaith.
Better learn by your neighbors skaith nor by your own.
He that spends his geir on a whore, hes both shame and skaith.
All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their own peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their own peril.
Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Doveglion, the use of a comma
Purity... before, I,
Stepped, to, the, Door, and,
At, the, Door—
And, as, I, passed,
Out, the, Door...
Line, orbit, locus:
Peril, deed, and, map, of,
Blaze! Peril,
Of, immediate,
Hunter: daze,
Whirl, of, supreme,
Migrator: pull, of, his,
Gravite, anchor!
Fact, act, of, me,
To, me: Knitter:
Cleaver, of, me, Intac
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A rose with a prickle
To pursue the ball, to kick the ball,
And to snatch the ball, is a thrill.
Of course, to lose it, to be snatched off
And to fail to goal, puts you in peril.
Deny you not the pleasure, fearing the failure.
A peril after a thrill, if at all, is good.
17.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.
Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stay At Home
Outside these, four walls lies, anarchy babe
Unnatural acts and sights abound
Glass glaring, eyes staring, young pairing, maybe
What does the world care if Im not around
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know
The bright lights, are like traps, for the unwary
You need a guard just to walk at night
Fights flaring, bombs scaring, pants tearing, maybe
How can you say it will be alright
And, I think Id rather stay at home
And my face not show
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
Where cold winds dont blow
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Outside these, four shores lie, countries of strangers
They have water that you shouldnt drink
Bad driving, crime thriving, lifes full of dangers
Its not that Im frightened to walk on the brink.
But I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the bad guys never go, they never go
Stay at home
With people you know, people you know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the pimples never show, they never show
Stay at home
Stay at home
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gold
Is it a fantasy of the parts of one’s soul?
Then gold is utmost in quality,
Foremost in taste, like a burden on the multitude,
Seasons speak well of those with gold.
It shines with spectacular charm
Like opening a treasure chest of marvels,
The same marvellous items we give to Heaven
And its compartments, its charming rivers.
We taste this element with peril,
What makes peril so perilous
And menace so strange?
The golden market is full of gold.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0300 Dante on Mowing the Front Lawn
Let's not go into the matter of that
dark wood in our back garden which
shames us in the eyes of our
prissy neighbours (we call it
our 'poetic arbour', where
camelopards roam) -
mowing the lawn - that's all I can manage
between poetic stints:
it's hell when you put it off -
the wife, the pointed looks from
those prissy neighbours, the
pricks of social conscience, and
the guilt...oh the guilt...
sins of omission, all that stuff, I'm
in and out of the confession box...
then when I get round to it at last
it's purgatory - the grass is long,
gets in the rollers at the hub, it's
wet at the roots, tears when it should cut,
bald brown patches revealed -
the neighbours' children do their
'watch and pretend to hide their suppressed
laughter with a hand and a smirk' act... but
it's sheer (sheared?) paradise when
it's done and I can look the neighbours
in the eye and dare them to
make some pointed remark in
the guise of compliment - how I hate
this pre-modern irony, Juvenal started it...
all this to get a whiff of paradise...
and now it's just rained this morning and
the bloody grass looks unshaven
already... lawnmowing, it's just
one eternal round - look,
the neighbour's out already with his
swanky new machine; it's
a real human comedy
(thanks to Adam and The Poetry Society for the initial inspiration)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And Why not for M 'lady Tara
On the outskirts of the city
There’s a place that’s very pretty.
A semi rural paradise
for those who can afford the price.
A small elite community
where the norm’s eccentricity.
If you should choose to garden nude
your neighbours would not think you rude.
The watchword here is tolerance
It would not rate a second glance
From neighbours who were passing by.
Although some might wonder why.
You choose to garden in the nude
because you want to they conclude.
28-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Common Soldier & the Politician
In times of problems and peril
The politician comes wagging his tail
Praying the soldier would bail him out
And he does so without fail.
Once the peril is over
Lives are lost and medals won
The widow is patted on her back
And the politician's job is done
Then starts the silent battle
Then starts the difficult fight
The soldier's family lives on unsung
Through the lonely night
The politician spends a charmed life
And on his dying day
People who forgot men of steel
Applaud the man of clay
I wonder if there'd be wars
If politicians had to lead the charge
If our ministers became the soldiers
And the PM became the Sarge
Kishore Asthana
poem by Kishore Asthana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At the time...
A car pulled up, in front of a house, at four o'clock in the morning.
A man came out of the car, and stood in silence in the dark, dark dark.
Quiet as a mouse, a woman came out of the house, opened the gate and walked into a garbage bin, making a godawful clattering.
Drowsy neighbours, across the road, peeked out
from behind the nosy curtains of their boring bedroom.
But nothing happened, while the clouds moved on,
and the frail moonlight was well again.
Under a blanket of glittering stars, she handed him two suitcases
and he hurried 'round to open the boot but just then,
the toilet lights on the second floor came on.
The neighbours behind the curtains froze like statues.
Swiftly, the man and the woman crouched down behind the car.
In the quiet of the night, they could all hear the urine
gurgling long, loud and plenty into the toilet bowl.
Behind the car, the man and the woman started
groping and kissing and groping and kissing furiously.
The neighbours saw them do it by the light of the moon and stars.
When the toilet flushed, they quietly shut the boot,
tiptoed to the front, got into the car,
and the roar of the car engine died away.
The neighbours closed the curtains. Didn't say much.
Ate sandwiches and milk. Still couldn't sleep.
Started to make love loudly, as if to drown out forever
the drunken snoring beginning again
across the road.
Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
(1989)
poem by Simmon Tan
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No spiders in the city
There was once a girl that had a scream,
Which was unbelievably extreme,
She caused many neighbours to blaspheme,
For when she'd see a spider she'd scream,
By chance she heard something a bird said,
It claimed that it had been underfed,
For it lived where spiders rarely tread,
The girl believed the words that were said,
She upped sticks and moved to the city,
Which left her neighbours far from teary,
Although she found urban life gritty,
She endured the days that were dreary,
For what she had heard proved to be true,
Which led to her screams being subdued,
But there were things that were not in view,
When she saw them she altered her mood,
She'd come to learn somethings were untrue,
Things such as hard work will see you through,
However if only but a few,
Certain childish beliefs turned out true,
Monsters do live underneath the bed,
The horrid creatures filled her with dread,
She felt with spiders she'd been misled,
The true horrors were under her bed,
It became too much for her to bear,
She hated the creatures living there,
They led her to a state of despair,
So she thought she'd go and live elsewhere,
She moved back home to the countryside,
Her neighbours of course did not abide,
But they need not have heavily sighed,
The girl didn't fear spiders when spied.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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If ignorant both of your enemy and yourself, you are certain to be in peril.
A leaf for hand in hand
i can tell the neighbours
not to shout, scream in the night hours
throw their rubbish this side of residence
but the leaves from his trees
i sweep with resignation that
they at least allow me to potter around
to communicate in a certain, tender, soft manner
with the quiet neighbours
the echoes of my sweeping
the leaves blown by the wind
to settle in my garden, my porch
the only encroachment i do not bother
bring up to each other
as i gather the yellow leaves, shrivelled leaves
into a hill for my lmatch
the birds twitter, the next door children chuckle
their mother peering over the fence with
some fruits in her hands
the fruits that help us meet heart to heart
with an uneasy sweetness in between
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Peril of Her Pearl
In the center of her breast a dangerous pearl found its nest.
A myriad of wondrous color it changes her mood with mighty vigor.
In love it's a pale tint of pinkish white,
In hate it's a ebony lavender tainted night.
Streaming vibrantly, fervidly through her veins
Its substance burns until control it obtains;
She touches it and with vivacious forces her pearl coerces
Her simple mind, her innocent love-
Which God gave her from his angels above.
The pearl; it's the dangerous peril
Of a innocent girl.
Those temptations allure assail her innocent demure.
So lust she must and her pearl turn to dust,
The peril of her pearl of an infatuated girl.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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