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Fickle Fingers Of Fate
The fickle fingers of fate befalls us
everyday of our lives.
Sometimes it brings us happiness,
other times it brings us misery.
Sometimes it brings us love,
other times it breaks our heart.
The fickle fingers of fate befalls us
in everything we do.
Our actions are governed
by its fickle fingers
day and night
in what we do and say.
Its waywardness leads us
down roads we should not go
or to mountains too high to climb.
It can lead us to valleys
where tranquillity lay
and to lives peaceful.
The fickle fingers of fate
will lead us as it may,
making up decisions right or wrong.
We are its puppet on a string
as the fickle fingers of fate controls
our destiny come what may.
30 August 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fickle Heart
So many hearts have been broken
in loves cheating game.
Everyone says it is a fickle heart to blame.
The heart that cannot settle down,
always on the move.
Like a bee hoping from flower to flower,
the fickle heart does the same,
only from lover to lover.
To the fickle heart, it is all a game.
Oh, such a shame.
One day the fickle heart
will want to settle down,
and when that day comes along,
there won’t be anyone around.
poem by David Harris
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In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer
Tune - "Go from my window, Love, do."
The sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retired to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
The prosperous man is asleep,
Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch
The surly tempest blow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lies the dear partner of my breast;
Her cares for a moment at rest:
Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
There lie my sweet babies in her arms;
No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my heart does ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
I once was by Fortune carest:
I once could relieve the distrest:
Now life's poor support, hardly earn'd
My fate will scarce bestow:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear-
O, wither would they go!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
O whither, O whither shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!
For, in this world, Rest or Peace
I never more shall know!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!
poem by Robert Burns
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A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate.
quote by Baroness Orczy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life Is Such A Fickle Thing
Life is such a fickle thing
one day your up the next day your down
when it seems you are on a merry-go-round
and the circles you spin in
are ever more decreasing.
Life is such a fickle thing
with love opening new doors
and closing older ones.
We just travel with it
never knowing what
tomorrow is going to bring,
as life is such a fickle thing.
15 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Fickle World
An addiction to a fiction,
A fickle world of photos.
To post a sole to all that prowl
A personal face logo.
A physical, synthetic thing
That world will try to con us in
That fickle world, for all that prowl
that fickle worls of photos.
poem by Peggy Pollock
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A Worthless Life
Long gone the passing time,
Yesterday seemed so long.
Though in my pocket there is no dime,
My mouth would not wet without my tongue.
Indeed the brutality of my years,
Aiming aimlessly for what is my.
While my legs fickle with fears,
I would not run away in caves to hide.
Praying the same old prayer,
The lord is my shepherd.
Though in my mind I suffer,
And the countless God bless you I heared.
Lest in my life I shall never want,
Yet struggling hard as the elephant.
Whose strength is no match for the ant,
Though ends meet are naught but vainly hunt.
The cursed sun, hanging up like a blessing,
Scorching the very sweat out of my body.
And though the birds in the night they sing,
There feathers would never fall fast from there body.
Is this the principle of a worthless life?
Or just another day of many days.
Though the bees may hide in hives,
There aim is to continue there hay
poem by Samuel Donkor
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No louder than the snoring tigers lolling tongue!
O’ my sleeping; weeping, thoughts.
Were like army blankets, you and I
observing; naught but sunbeams...
Naught...
But the lintel iron moonbeams,
under—which no one listens.
Nor speaks—but gibberish
No one sleeps, no one, dreams.
But even so’ it’s a sentry’s landscape
that’s foolhardy bold as any heaven
that’s nonsensical, as any song,
Sung in rhyme—one learns to love.
(That’s as still, as any silence
Hammering... in the darkened thereafter.)
“My own horrors anthem shot shall roar an alarm”...
No louder than the snoring tigers lolling tongue!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Tongues
the tongue
of my body
is in the nerves
the tongue
of my soul
in the heart
the tongue of
my mind
in the head
the tongue
of truth and deceits
in the mouth
the tongue of
the World (Creation)
in the words
of God
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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An Ugly Duckling
Satan you think
that you are
positively
oh so lovely,
but your insidious
insincere soul,
is really really
disgustingly ugly.
Your face
is mirrored sadly
not so clean
it shows
evil lean mean
the enormity
amassed of all
your vile sin.
You have deliberately
purposefully
put humanity tormented
through or in.
It shows
clearly
hideously
the enormity
of all the lying
heinous vile sin.
You have
cravenly
gleefully
indulged in.
Your vile corrupted face
your whole vile body,
vibrates revoltingly
sickeningly,
intensified mirrored evil
incarnate,
festering within depths
rotting your insipid soul,
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Gossips warning
Gossips warning
~
The forked tongue of the gossip
Carries a serpents poison
Spreading words with malice
Without truth or substance
The thought they conceive
Birth pain and hatred in the innocent
Lies, lies and more lies
All in the name of a good story
Little whispers and messages
Behind the back of others
May as well be sharpened knives
Et tu good friend
No look to the eyes
No questions for honesty
Just the vile poisoned tongue
The bile of the gossip
Now facing a stark warning
Do not cross the poet
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Dreams
There is naught in the pathless reach
Of the pale, blue sky above,
There is naught that the stars tell, each to each,
As over the heavens they rove;
That I have not felt, or have not seen
Clad in dull earth or fancy's sheen.
There is naught, in the still, mauve twilight
When the dreams come flitting by,
From lands afar of eternal night,
Or lands of the sunswept sky,
For countless spirits within me dwell
With heaven's efflugence or dark hell.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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In this world of change naught which comes stays and naught which goes is lost.
quote by Madame Swetchine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Irony Of Delay
what the heart wants to speak
the mouth tries to hide
the teeth grits in anger
the tongue genuflects upon its tail
then the right time comes
the heart speaks
but by then the body has become weak
the mind too fickle
and so when finally the heart has spoken
what true love is there
the niche is ready for the funeral
of the limbs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Is A Fickle Lady
Golden threads and silver needles
cannot mend this heart of mine
that has been broken
just one too many times.
Love is fickle lady
that takes us on a merry dance,
who when she’s finished with us
will disappear with a second glance.
We have no way of knowing
when or where she’ll come along.
We only know it
after she has gone.
Misery and heartaches
always adorns her path.
It is always there for everyone to see.
As love is a fickle lady.
8 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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“See saw Libra”
Yes, I’m a “See Saw Libra”
Yet, balance is my utmost goal
Scales of justice must be even
To gain redemption of my soul
It’s true I’m prone to extremes
And known for amazing swings
Some would see me as quite fickle
In truth I’m not one who clings
Virtues include insight n’ astuteness
Some say that I’m a “Know it All”
Lord knows I bite my tongue enough
‘Lest on me bad karma should befall
Yes, I’m a “See-Saw Libra”
Unique as stripes on a zebra
poem by Ray Lucero
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Comrade
We naught six yet never four
compact at times of fall or soar
could penetrate aloft than core
yes! the bond none could bore
To step on fire or over planks
fear; we hath none-as gathered all
To leave the tracks on river banks
on deep waters, through that shoal!
How naught apart the heart and souls.
why back the faded track we go?
Unnoticed naught the far set goals
though aloft, yet live earthy-low
Moments as people dreamed to Luna;
paths were often lead to point.
all sought so much lithe persona;
His, Her prejudice has joint
The sobbing of the sun on parting,
the grinning of the stars at night.
The pain on back of pretty smiling,
was not joker's but Donald's fright.
To unjust sight, sought merely waste
to weary eyes 'twas gold
The chemical bond abides no caste
Afore them, We stand Bold.
The freezing period of Dark eclipse
Bothers not our dwell-
-them, Whose lives were in ellipse,
to ransom them from hell.
His avid tongue to destroy
to delet the barely known existence
His tricky motions on decoy
To burgeon all of our hindrance!
Seldom not, we entice unite
seldom not, the great escapades
naught even destiny could fight
The longing laughter of comrades.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Specters Overcome
The pain of life ebbing,
coaxes forth vocal declarations.
Alien to one's true character,
as the mind ravaged by infirmity.
By specters, rationality over run.
At the tottering sense of logic, demons feed.
Control of all response ceded unwillingly,
to gargoyles and despots of vile intent.
Such display alien, to sane normalcy.
All without depressed disdain, suffer naught.
Lend your prayers with those of others
this malice, by warriors of virtue conquered.
Be it known to those who mourn.
Spirit warriors of the Supreme, stand ready.
With sword's flashing blades bared.
To escort stalwart legionnaire home.
Let it be well remembered by all.
As the soul ascends to purer station,
left to view naught but, empty shell.
Play space for those, yet to be vanquished.
Rest assured, when the battle is won.
Those demons who ravaged, suffering souls.
They will be banished, driven away.
Peace, stricken souls will at last know.
08Nov09
poem by Kurt Hearth
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At the close of the day when the hamlet is still, and mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, when naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, and naught but the nightingale's song in the grove.
quote by James Beattie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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