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Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace Proposal
Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Generals
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Spider Silk
Its lining is that of silk,
Like a from a spider,
For it their spiders are webbing
To determine for the workers to liven their salary.
To test an exam for the student,
Who lightens the silk for the dress he was given
By the tailor.
He exchanged the silk of a spider for its spit.
Spit has venom.
Student is dead from silk.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Love does not dominate; it cultivates.
quote by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only he is free who cultivates his own thoughts, and strives without fear to do justice to them.
quote by Berthold Auerbach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whoever cultivates the golden mean avoids both the poverty of a hovel and the envy of a palace.
Crying for her first emperor…
Her tears mingle wearing his crossed-collar
Blue silk blouse in bed
And, when there dried, she's interned in clay.
With her terracotta army,
With her terracotta, stalwart, horse.
Oh she's crying for her first emperor…
For her first loves dynasty,
Oh she'll excavate - all those undeserving,
Others and weep, whilst!
Her stalwart horse pulls… at the bit.
And until her - jade-black hair!
Turns grey and falls from its pine-cone-braids.
And, rest on her moon, washed, collarbones.
She'll remain resolute! Warm in his robes…
In his crossed-collar blue silk blouse
In his crossed-collar blue silk blouse
Until one day, she'll be rapt - naked
Warm beside him; again in his loving throes.
But until then he'll be engaging in a war
Far, far out of her hollow weepings reach…
He'll be trembling in his gun-boots.
Driving his chariots, over the rank and file…
Of her dream terracotta army,
Sent to bring him back to her bedchamber!
On a stalwart, horse, sent to…
Sent to… Sent to…
Sent to rescue; him from drowning.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Clay Woman
Clay woman, baked too long
Stone cold, deep red, stand
Clay woman, heat too high,
Brittle with the remnant demand
Too long in the kiln
Not set at bake but sear
Scorched beauty remains,
But not a breath be near
Can't breathe too hard,
Clay woman may turn to dust
Can't look too long
For clay woman may combust,
And above all else,
Do not touch her heart,
Her back will break,
Her wounds will smart,
Clay woman, baked too long
All hope and joy abstains,
Clay woman, heat too high
Can my tears salvage my remains?
poem by Eowyn Aurora
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Modern Love XXXIII: In Paris, at the Louvre
'In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen
The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce
Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce,
Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!
The young Pharsalians did not disarray
Less willingly their locks of floating silk:
That suckling mouth of his, upon the milk
Of heaven might still be feasting through the fray.
Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight,
They conquer not upon such easy terms.
Half serpent in the struggle grow these worms
And does he grow half human, all is right.'
This to my Lady in a distant spot,
Upon the theme: While mind is mastering clay,
Gross clay invades it. If the spy you play,
My wife, read this! Strange love talk, is it not?
poem by George Meredith
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Whatever seeds each man cultivates will grow to maturity and bear in him their own fruit. If they be vegetative, he will be like a plant.
quote by Giovanni Pico della Mirandola
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I believe that happiness is nothing but a chimera, a state of mind that man cultivates, clinging to the image of the future.
Camelia Oprița in The enigmas of the soul (November 2017)
Submitted by Alexander
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Silk
Passionate touches
Chocolate kisses
Silk perfection
My body and soul on fire
My eyes glow incandescence
My mind and body sway and rock
You slip into my world
Breathing heavy and high
Fly
Bold and black connections
Silk and creamy perfections
Still life
Real love
Here we go
Lets ride
Lets dance
Lets play
Silk romance
You are my…
You are my…
You are mines
Worth more than all wealth
Greater than any king
Finally the real thing
Silk love
My skin
Milk chocolate
Your skin
Caramel
And we swirl and blend
How does it feel?
Silk feelings never end
His scent
My fragrance
Honeysuckle and milk
His power, my vulnerability
my push, his stroke, our affection…..silk…perfection.
poem by Danielle Beechum
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Fresh Harvests
Neuroleptic liquids
Are dripping from the pipes,
Watering veg'tables
‘Til they're healthy and ripe.
The tranquilizing streams
Rushing in on the crops
Irrigate ceaselessly—
Flowing, never to stop.
All of the fresh harvests
Are kept under control.
Nature has been harnessed—
It's kept under control.
The land is fertilized
With processed compost soil.
The disinfected dirt
Should prevent any spoils.
Sublimated climates—
The seasons are sedate—
Make for better growing
While the plants procreate.
All of the fresh harvests
Are kept under control.
Nature has been harnessed—
It's kept under control.
Stabilize conditions
By commanding the air.
Plow the fields, sow the seeds,
Working so unaware
That calmer, compliant
Production will produce
Pesticide soaked plants
Washed in subtle abuse.
All of the fresh harvests
Are kept under control.
Nature has been harnessed—
It's kept under control.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Clay Thoughts!
there are some hard truths,
we often fail to believe
rather we succeed to forget
we are made of clay....
yes clay, i mean it
molded to be a wonder called human
still u feel reluctant to walk barefoot
feeling the mud itself is dirty for you! !
i am no exception
the extreme of identity crisis
the thought that disturbs u and me
we are clay
poem by Felix Lama
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The best way to make a silk purse from a sow's ear is to begin with a silk sow. The same is true of money.
quote by Norman Ralph Augustine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birdsong
I am eagle; don't be fooled by red silk
heels that sound so much like clanking clay
on hardwood floors where you and I one night
did lay when there was no heat left
to warm a chilling breast,
when your dense chest fell wet on mine.
I found a feather when you left,
it lay upon a pillow drenched in you.
Perhaps it was inside. It matters not,
as I have since then eaten it
and cannot prove to you that
it did, in fact, exist.
Before I'd ever heard your name
or pictured how you might have looked,
before I'd seen your constant face --
the one that waits inside dark eyes
to see if I can truly fly, or if instead
you might just plant my pinioned feet
into your waxy wood-grained floorboards,
making plumage turn to twigs that dangle
down a perfect fruit which you could pluck
from your soft bed while I grew old and weary
(but I was eagle; I grew light and wild) --
long before I'd brushed your flesh, these wings
had taken me to heights much higher than those red
silk shoes, those platforms to your dreamworld.
Knowledge cultivates your seeds and does not sow in your seeds.
quote by Khalil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knowledge cultivates your seeds and does not sow in you seeds.
quote by Kahlil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perhaps there is an idea among Japanese students that one general difference between Japanese and Western poetry is that the former cultivates short forms and the latter longer ones, gut this is only in part true.
quote by Lafcadio Hearn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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