We need a place in which we may flourish and be ourselves.
quote by Timothy Radcliffe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Flourish
Flourish,
Dwell,
Unconditional,
Abject submission;
From coast to coast and from bed to bed!
And like the gold of Sheba,
But also like the showers which water the earth.
Flourish, flour, fish, his ours, hours, sour, soul, low, is row, howl;
From sea to sea and from bed to bed!
And like a starry frame afar off;
But i will flourish no matter what in the land of your sweet muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
quote by William Blake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mythical Leader
Is one of you the mythical leader
that we need? Reincarnated Plato.
With a sprinkle of Buddha, Christianity,
and the Muslim faith, so that everyone
can reach fulfillment. Everyone's heart
can flourish. Everyone's mind can flourish.
If there is one thing that we can wash the brain
from and it is racism.
Stop this oppressive behavior towards
difference and indifference.
I'm not this person.
Who is this person?
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Trust is to human relationships what faith is to gospel living. It is the beginning place, the foundation upon which more can be built. Where trust is, love can flourish.
quote by Barbara Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of Those Insecurities Kept Encouraged
If all one knows,
Is a superficial existence...
That 'is' their reality.
And 'all' they have come to know.
A collective reality,
Had not been advantageous...
To those marketing their values,
And varieties of it to keep a greeding fed.
An image picked to have all teased with it...
Has been the only priority,
To keep division a lucrative aspect...
Of those insecurities kept encouraged to flourish.
'Nobody knows...
Those troubles I've seen.'
You want to place a bet on that?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Allen Ginsberg
I have been listening to you, Allen Ginsberg
I can still hear you whistling a radio tune
I can follow you through history thoughts of yours
flow into mine
I follow you past WWI
and through the Battle of Versailles without a second glance
Past Hitler Mao Nietzsche Reagan Gogol
past Whitman Kerouac and Carson
I watch as you nod to Ghandi
And converse with Pope Paul VI and Nelson Mandala
We drift past Central Park quickly changing seasons
past Chicago streets and cute little back country California homes
I watch the death of many a thing beside you
i watch you connect you think you
Writing Howl, writing America, writing Death & Fame
I watch yourself deteriorate in body
but flourish in mind
and as you flourish i flourish
And we grow together and I follow you
and then you vanish
into the grape vines at the back of the fence
poem by Lex Newman
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Fates fickle hand
I have missed so many years of your life, but I know fate did not have us set to collide until it was ready
Most people place demands on relationships that are impossible,
making it impossible.
Love is but a moment in time, which only lovers can extend to fill their lives as long as they want it too
You have invited me in as I am, and that alone leaves me awestruck at times
Eventually you did collide with my heart
Love found its place amongst debris that was there
Sweeping away the dross, making a clean start in which to flourish
Fate has at last taken my hand and said now is the time
poem by Gordon D Wilkinson
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Autumn Wind
Autumn wind carry me away
To a loving place in which to stay
Where the sun shines above the bay
With kind words in which to say
Where love will flourish every day
Just hold me close
In my world you mean the most
Like the sun rising over the coast
Sitting by the fire pit
Marshmallows on a stick to roast
Champagne for us to toast
Autumn wind carry me away
To a place far away
Where the passion comes to stay
Where the winds of romance blows this way
With a love that lasts all day
Autumn wind carry me away
Autumn wind have your say
Autumn wind save my day
Autumn wind come to stay
poem by Joseph Whelan
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What Makes Us Human
I believe ability makes us intelligent, it distinguishes us from animals
I believe all have the ability to learn, to create art, to love
I believe we can let our ability go to waste, or we can let it flourish
I believe our ability that makes us human is our intelligence and good judgement
I believe many choose to ignore this ability and rely on animalistic instinct
I believe some humans treat animals better than humans
I believe to make this world peaceful we need to let our abilities flourish
It is curious that many people advocate humane treatment for animals, but treat actual humans inhumanely
poem by Lenore Lee
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Roses and Bravery
Roses are them who flourish like seeds of the wind,
The winds are forcing their lairs into the grass of happiness.
Free him, the brave one, who is the holiest prize of the world’s bliss,
Find him, in the meek world where he is a merely finest human character.
Is holiness a form of desirability? Is it spherical or saintly?
The world of the ground is not the sea. It is the earth and stones.
Hear him, who understood nothing to God, as a good man might,
As mightiness has understood calamity and bravery of another comrade.
Is the circle of light a perfect stone which carries no concrete nature
Other than its hardness and softness at times. Roses are them who flourish.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Will Nourish
I will nourish.
And will grow.
I wish to encourage,
Others uncertain to flourish.
And know they too can soar.
I will nourish.
And will grow.
I wish to encourage,
Others uncertain to flourish.
And know they too can soar.
OH
I
Will
Nourish!
And I will grow.
This is what I want,
And I will make it so!
Yes...
OH
I
Will
Nourish!
And I will grow.
This is what I want,
And I will make it so!
Yes...
This is what I want,
And I will make it so!
I will nourish.
And will grow.
I wish to encourage,
Others uncertain...
To flourish,
With courage.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0102 This is a disposable poem
This is a disposable poem.
Under each stanza
is a perforated line
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
you may read it stanza by stanza
and throw away each as you read
or having it read it through,
shorten it stanza by stanza
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
since many poems on this site
benefit from curtailing
because amateur poets
tend to be uncertain
about their work
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
and as a result either repeat
the essence of their poem at the end
or comment on it which takes
the power out of it
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
you might want to save that
previous stanza but as for
the other stanzas, here’s
a suggestion
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
enjoy being a critic and
dispose of them with a flourish
in one of these ways
certainly not both for reasons
which will become apparent
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
one method is to place
a waste-paper basket so called
at an optimum distance
far enough away to enjoy throwing
the ball of scrunch-up
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
but near enough not to miss;
do it with a flourish,
feel good, feel judgmental,
feel superior, feel right
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
or alternatively take this disposable poem
into the smallest room to read
for as long as it takes, this varies,
then put it behind you so to speak
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
again with a decisive gesture
though of course due care and
you may wish to accompany this
with some rather biblical utterance
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
such as, I shit in judgment upon
the works of the ungodly
and as for the works of the infidel
I put them behind me
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
and they shall be carried away
by the waters of righteousness yea
as though they had never been
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
aaah that felt good
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flourishing Idle
as life comes to an end, everything ceases no one
the solution leads nowhere to found, friends have gone
sometime brothers forget your name, ostracize by
many, only your own name is hardly be remembered,
whom you think that will not leave you, even at the
end of time
now you’re alone in the paradise you drunk...wake up!
Brothers’ time looks no goodbye, it's just move slowly
waiting you to drift into a memory of history that you
die, for each bottle of wine or rum; never the hard
drink would hold, to makes you happy, nor life always
say that every day is a holiday, always ask that vices
and lapses made you crazy and made every step
forwards uncertainty of no where to be found
face and flourish the idle in you, leads your own, the
high way is near and far looks the same; the clouds
seems it cloudy but its sunny, the ice melt and pour to
the ground, seen no drops but the air brings back to the
sky, see every breath and smell the touch, its nothing
but a returning home to the flourish land of creation
come to your senses, spoiled the day with your closing
eyes and moist the surface of your pupils, the answer
lies in your decision, always go what is nothing to reach,
yet! full which is empty to suck, life is not all what
it takes only a swing of what is today and live time of
tomorrow, Flourish your idle my Brethren..............
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Children
They have dreams
And aspirations too
So step back
And let them bloom
Prune to flourish
Don't pluck them
This principle governs life
Yet you eat the young
Fighting for Identity
And a sense of place
What will the future be
When you cannot see
How your actions
Affect eternity?
We have cheaters
Haters and killers
We have rapists
Masochists and arsonists
Yet you blame the children
When you raised them
Step back
And let them bloom!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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The Tree of Liberty
WE’LL PLANT a Tree of Liberty
In the centre of the land,
And round it ranged as guardians be,
A vowed and trusty band;
And sages bold and mighty soul’d
Shall dress it day by day:
But woe unto the traitor who
Would break one branch away.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty
For the vow that we have made;
May it so flourish that when we
Are buried in its shade,
Fair Womanhood and Love and Good,
All pilgrims pure shall go
Its growth to bless for happiness—
O may it flourish so!
Till felled by gold as bards have told,
In the Old World once it grew,
But there its fruits were ever sold
And only to the Few:
But here at last, uncurs’d by caste,
Each man at Nature’s call
Shall pluck as well what none may sell,
The fruit that blooms for All.
By gold ’twas felled as bards have held
In the Old World where it grew,
But here the power that there dispelled
Its life shall be its dew:
The evil bout of Time is out,
And gold no more a thrall,
Shall here but build for Truth and gild
The fruit that blooms for All.
Then sing the Tree of Liberty,
And the men who shall defend
Its glorious future righteously
For this all-glorious end—
That happiness all men to bless
Out with its growth may grow—
Our Southern Tree of Liberty
Shall flourish even so!
poem by Charles Harpur
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Same Place, Same Time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
The coffee’s hot
And the company is good
Conversation flows, as it should
A joke or two
And when all is said and done
We’re right back to where we begun
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
These crowded streets
I balance tight roped on the curb
Car screeches past, a scream is heard
De ja vu
Yes I’ve been here before
Time moves slowly as traffic stalls
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Break
It was good
You were sublime
I’m so glad that we spent the time
Time is short
What we have is rare
Love is oxygen with you there
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Copyright 2006 (updated 2010)
poem by Colin Coplin
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Oh For the Swords of Former Time
Oh for the swords of former time!
Oh for the men who bore them,
When, arm'd for Right, they stood sublime,
And tyrants crouch'd before them:
When free yet, ere courts began
With honours to enslave him,
The best honours worn by Man
Were those which Virtue gave him.
Oh for the swords, etc., etc.
Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then!
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men
Were all the ramparts round them.
When, safe built on bosoms true,
The throne was but the centre,
Round which Love a circle drew
That Treason durst not enter.
Oh, for the Kings who flourish'd then!
Oh for the pomp that crown'd them,
When hearts and hands of freeborn men
Were all the ramparts round them!
poem by Thomas Moore
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In The Early Afternoons Like Morning Glories
In the early afternoons like morning glories
I flourish under the sweetness of your sunny eyes
while in the blaze of your pretty smile my solitude
reaches out to you in a kind of invisible embrace
as if I am always flourishing in your blazing presence
drawing, continually drawing your radiance to me.
Sometimes there is only darkness when your soul
drops to the depths of a kind of sheer depression.
In the early afternoons like morning glories
I flourish under the sweetness of your sunny eyes
see a myriad of butterflies fluttering nearer
that visits me gently like the way I love you
and as the night sets in my life is ever folding,
closing and waiting for the sunshine of your touch.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Place
There is a place
In my heart that still dances
A place in my soul that sings
- And sings, and dances and dances -
A place so deep, so set
A place that even the mundane drudgery
The routine day-to-day
Can not kill
A place so close, so distant
A place that was, and is yet to come
A place where belief originates and lives
The birth place of
The most human humanity
The most divine divinity
A place where
Majesty, mystery and magic still speak
A place of all origins.
Some will not hear it any longer.
But, I still listen...
Waiting... hoping... trusting...believing...
The Place... is real.
It's way out there - it's everywhere...
It is ever within.
This Place... is my place.
It has called to me by name
Since the day of birth,
It's name is simple and profound;
I call him
Jesus.
He calls me
'My child.'
It's to him we go.
It's for us he came.
He is where I belong.
I am always on the Way
To the Place
Where he is.
The Place... home.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Definition of happiness
ITS A place we have all been to:
a place were difficulties are forgotten
were only joyful events are certain
its a place you cant go to everyday
when you get there not long enough you can stay
a place safe and secure
a shield that deflects any bad thing that could accrue
a place were poise and pride are not neglected
a place were negative thoughts, ideas are not selected
a place far away from here
a place that does not recognize fear
a place that needs along time to get to
yet you arrive and forget any negative thing you have been through
a place that effects so deep
a place were you cant fall asleep
a place that does not exist
yet we have all been there I still insist
a place that’s not defined as a dream or a fantasy
a place that is only called happiness and ecstasy
Yet it is the most beautiful place
where sound of laughter and shape of smile race
on ones face like it would be in grace
poem by Ayesha Sartawi
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