Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Empty
. .Who shall measure the heat and
violence of the poet's heart when caught
and tangled in a woman's body?
-Virginia Woolf
Every month,
the reminder of emptiness
so that you are tuned
to your bodyharp,
strung out on the harpsichord
of all your nerves
& hammered bloody blue
as the crushed fingers
of the woman pianist
beaten by her jealous lover.
Who was she?
Someone I invented
for this poem,
someone I imagined. . .
Never mind,
she is me, you-
tied to that bodybeat,
fainting on the rack of blood,
moving to the metronome-
empty, empty, empty.
No use.
The blood is thicker
than the roots of trees,
more persistent than my poetry,
more baroque than her bruised music.
It gilds the sky above the Virgin's head.
It turns the lilies white.
Try to run:
the blood still follows you.
Swear off children,
seek a quiet room
to practice your preludes & fugues.
Under the piano,
the blood accumulates;
eventually it floats you both away.
Give in.
Babies cry & music is your life.
Darling, you were born to bleed
or rock.
& the heart breaks
either way.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tangled In Love
By marcy levy and richard feldman
A modern man with an old-fashioned heart.
One look at her and I fell apart.
I was always the one playing it cool.
I got caught in the act, now theres no turning back.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got caught up, bought up, strangled, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
A long black dress and the call of the wild.
I was a fool to think she was just a child.
Out of my mind, out of control.
Knew that feeling too well, tried to run but I fell.
Chorus
I never meant to feel this way,
Now I always want to stay...
Chorus
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Poet And Woman
Woman, you are incomplete without poet,
Poet, you are also imperfect without woman.
The soil is incomple without the root of trees,
The sky is incomple without the clouds,
stars or the shining Moon,
The river is dead without the dancing of waves,
And, the poet's heart is a desert without a woman's love.
The forest is incomplete without the wild animals,
The sun is lost in darkness without its light,
The trees are but a row of emptiness-
without the chirping of the birds,
And, a woman is but half without a poet's imagination.
poem by Nazmul Haque
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Give Into Hate
Violence surrounds me
Violence in society
Violence in our eyes
Violence in their cries
Violence it's our fate?
Violence, it's too late?
Violence, no escape?
Violence, give into hate?
Is it human nature to act like animals?
We're all guilty, we're all criminals
Selfish species headed for a self destruction
Violent product of moral corruption
Violence for love
Violence because of hate
Violence, revolution
Violence of the state
Violence, you will find
Violence, it grips your mind
Violence, it's too late?
Violence, give into hate
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Violence
(tennant/lowe)
----------------
The sons and brothers, fighting for another cause
Anything to give their lives some meaning
Busy with their guns and dreaming
Far away from here
Said they would act (said they would act)
In self-defense
And all the others, running 'round so hot and bothered
Anything to give their lives some meaning
In the evening
Running around with guns and
Said they would act (said they would act)
In self-defense
With violence
Violence breeds
Violence
(ooh yeah, ooh yeah)
Violence breeds
Violence
(ooh yeah, violence breeds violence)
(ooh yeah, breeds yeah, breeds yeah)
(ooh yeah, ooh yeah)
The son and brother, when he gets home
He gives someone some love
And mutters: "woman, (mutters woman)
You'll never understand (never understand)
I did what i said (did what i said)
In self-defense
With violence"
Violence breeds
Violence
(ooh yeah, ooh yeah)
Violence breeds
Violence
(ooh yeah, ooh yeah)
(ooh yeah, violence)
(ooh yeah, violence breeds violence)
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
How Do You Measure Up?
If you measure yourself by ambition,
There will always be someone more ambitious than you.
If you measure yourself by money,
There is always someone wealthier than you.
If you measure yourself by power,
There is always someone more powerful than you.
If you measure yourself with material things,
There is always someone with more stuff than you.
If you measure yourself by where you are in life,
There is always someone farther down the path than you.
If you measure yourself by appearance,
There is always someone that appears than you.
If you measure yourself by God,
Then we are all the same.
We are all wonderfully and beautifully made.
God is love.
And love has no end.
So in God's heart,
You will always measure up!
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Look at the heart not the body.
We need to look at the heart of a woman not the body of a woman. As men we look at the body and think about sex. it is not right. we shouldn't look at a women because she have a sexy body and want to hit it. women have feeling to. we shouldn't treat women as sexy toys. we should love a woman because her heart is good. let's treat women with respect and love her for the right reasons, not for our own satifaction. look at the heart of a woman and see how her heart is. let us men stop being hoes and start treating woman right. so remember look at the heart of a woman not the body of a woman.
by louis sheffield aka Panda BEAR.
poem by Louis Sheffield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Memory of Edward Wilson, Who Repented of What Was in His Mind to Write after Section
Rigid Body (sings).
Gin a body meet a body
Flyin’ through the air,
Gin a body hit a body,
Will it fly? and where?
Ilka impact has its measure,
Ne’er a ane hae I,
Yet a’ the lads they measure me,
Or, at least, they try.
Gin a body meet a body
Altogether free,
How they travel afterwards
We do not always see.
Ilka problem has its method
By analytics high;
For me, I ken na ane o’ them,
But what the waur am I?
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Measure Of Men
what is the measure of one man
is it the measure of one's strength
I think not
is it the measure of one's stature such as height
I don't think so
is it how wealthy one is
not even close
or is it how much power one possesses over another
not impressive
can a measure of a man be measured with a yardstick
well it can but that park doesn't show he's a man
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting him
can be measured with a ruler
the tolerance of a man for another man attacking his country
can be measured with a grain of salt
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting the one's he loves
now that can only be measured within a whisper
you can only measure a individual man or woman
with how big their heart is and
what qualities lie within that heart
such as dignity for what he works for
such as a stable household for his famly
compassion for people in need
the understanding of what's right and what's wrong
the pride of not what he has done but what
his wife and child has done
the sweat
the blood
and the tears he spars
to keep his marriage from falling apart
once you find a way to measure those things then
and only then will you be able to say
that is
because that is certainly
the real measure of all men
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Violence means violence
Violence means violence and that
Has a dangerous precedence.
Violence can not counter violence
Without the equipment of non-violence
That has a appearance in the
inner heart of soulfence.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Body is word
Body is word
You poet say
What to do with this word.
This wordelastic
Puss and pull used
To measure sky with word.
Try to understand
This bodyword
That is redy to go
Beyond this world.
You poet here just to
Cross and act as guard.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Catherine
on top of me is a woman's body
after
a moan is another woman's body
a door opens
for a woman's dressed body
a window closes
for a woman's naked body
Catherine
wolverine in a woman's body
pure cotton
dangling softness in a man's naked mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Chauvinist
I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat
Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!
Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!
I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
My dreams are of a
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alankar(Decor) -71
The Passionate Nuisance(Pantoum) -
a Malay verse form consisting of an indefinite
number of quatrains with the second and fourth lines
of each quatrain repeated as the first and third lines
of the following one.Permissible, but less common, to use the L1 and L3
of the 1st quatrain in the same order as
originally written to end the poem with L3 of the 1st quatrain.
Rhyme Scheme: abab bcbc cdcd dede eaea
'I feel fatigued, I want to stop writing'
No sooner than I felt so, just born next
A spark tempting me not to stop writing
Between my mind and my heart a conflict
No sooner than I felt so, just born next
A pantoum to twist me tangled of lines
Between my mind and my heart a conflict
Many times twisting me tangled of lines
A pantoum to twist me tangled of lines
Never I thought I would be caught in one
Many times twisting me tangled of lines
Just help me come out well o'my dear one
Never I thought I would be caught in one
What a passionate nuisance you are dear
Just help me come out well o'my dear one
Do not break my heart to cry o' my dear
What a passionate nuissance you are dear
A spark tempting me not to stop writing
Do not break my heart to cry o' my dear
'I feel fatigued, I want to stop writing'
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Women And Poems
With as much pain as a human being becomes a woman,
That much pain makes a woman a poet.
A word takes a long year to be made,
a poem an entire life.
When woman becomes a poet, she is totally a woman.
Then she is mature enough to give birth from her suffering heart,
Then she knows how to care for a word.
You have to be a woman first if you want to give birth to a poem.
A word without any pain is fragile, breaks when touched.
Who knows more than a woman all the lanes and alleys of pain!
poem by Taslima Nasrin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Troublesome Woman
a woman of trouble knows how to weave words, fabricating them
into little monsters, not of lesser significances that litter in that
pestering pond that she creates herself,
she likes what she is doing and she likes
trouble, she makes trouble, she will die without trouble,
so sometimes she pulls out her teeth for trouble and cuts her hair for trouble
because you see her ugliness and you are caught in a reflex of telling
her
that she is ugly
and there again the trouble begins, you start it by telling her the truth and she will not like it,
she seeds the conflict and you pick it up, the conflict becomes yours
it is growing and spreading and she will be laughing because
a war is born
and she says, it is not her war, you started it, it is yours now.
she hides in the light and makes many shadows that soon she will fear herself,
she will mumble names, this so and so is trying to kill her, and she must
take revenge,
to justify her quest for violence,
violence begets
violence
her mottoo and she sees to it, that violence is created even without her
she fears herself though and hates the mirrors on the walls
she lists her enemies, plans her schemes of destroying them ahead
of their plans destroying her,
she has a lists of the faults and shortcomings of her friends,
(she has no friends in her heart
she has no heart in her body
her body has no soul)
she writes:
the sun is hot
the moon is a slut
the air is pushy
the wind is bitchy
the sea is salty
the child is naughty
her mother is ucky
her father is sickly
the world is leaky
everyone is pricky
the system is kinky
the priest is hankypanky
the mayor is itchy
and so on and so forth
a woman of trouble always falls short of herself measuring her height
against the rest
she will be either taller or shorter and this makes her so
unsatisfied
always comparing herself she feels always defeated, there are always
more of them than her so she feels so empty like a hot baloon
pulled by the air up
(only to burst at the end)
she floats she pulls everyone to her to anchor her emptiness
she will be devoured soon by the big mouth of her own
troubles, the horror of her own big mouth devouring her own body
like a movie
she will shout herself so loudly using the remains of her own tongue
she will hear
the screams from inside her but she will not listen still as inch by inch
the big mouth swallows her
noisy, garrulous, hysterical she will make her last scream
she is gone
her own mouth and sharp teeth have tasted her
she is gone
and what shall be written about her is this bitterness of cannibalism
and the ending lines shall be
(as she is finally consumed)
let eternal rest be granted to her Oh Lord!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Heart of a Poet
The heart of a poet is too soft
more soft than petal of any flower
the heart of a poet is too mild
more mild than water of any spring
The heart of a poet is too melodious
so melody springs out from heart of a poet
The heart of a poet too genius
so, he picks up jewels from deep ocean of wisdom
The heart of a poet is more transparent
more transparent than any crystal
So, the poets are!
poem by Ramesh Rai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!