Live among men as if God beheld you speak to God as if men were listening.
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Live among men as if God beheld you; speak to God as if men were listening.
Are You Listening
Are you listening to my words
When I say them
Do you hear me when I need you most
Sometimes I feel like you not listening
Are you deaf?
Am i not speaking clear?
If I clear my throat and speak louder
Are you listening to me
Do you hear the words from my mouth
Is my voice to low?
Maybe if I speak louder maybe even scream it
Are you listening
poem by Raesheka Antwine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Fooling Myself
I tell myself that I’m a great poet,
and people will listen because I have something to say.
But now I’m starting to wonder am I just fooling myself.
When I speak is anyone really listening or am I just fooling myself.
Are my words as meaningful as Keats, Poe or Angelou or am I just fooling myself.
Well, no matter if no one is listening or remembers my name I will never stop writing poetry.
Because if I tell myself I can live without poetry then I truly will be Just fooling myself
Mr U.F.O. Man (feat. John Ostby)
(feat. John Ostby)
Dear God it's me transmittin' from
This tiny place I live in Harlem
Oh heaven we have a problem
Cuz we lost all correspondence
And there's no more prophets
They've all been replaced with politics
And they have your people hostage
That's why I'm sending you this postage
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
Hey now
You're my father
And I don't know what's out there
So many of us are scared
Hey now
We got people shooting people
We live in warface
I'm not talking nuclear
I ain't got there yet
Why we got intelligent mouths
on Larry King with religious doubts
While the rabbi and minister fuss
Shit, another one bites the dust
So the yellow red black and white
Send missiles in the dark of night
Probably wanna stop but don't know how
That's why Lord, we really need you now
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
People around if you feel our vibe ride
Come on aboard there's enough room inside
We're flying high where heaven hides
Hope I see you on the other side
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
Why we got intelligent mouths (intelligent mouths)
on Larry King with religious doubts
While the rabbi and minister fuss (while they go
song performed by by Kelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0013 And, Friend...
and if you wonder, friend, why I begin
a poem thus – you are to understand
that it’s as if
we have been close friends all our life,
friends, as Kabir defined a friend
as if no-one ever tried to speak of friend before –
friends, who share the silences between their words
as much as sharing their most inward thoughts;
so, our conversation’s just as much
a continuation of our friendship,
wasting no time in speaking passing things,
sharing some new thought in turn
and asking more for listening
than easy agreement for politeness’ sake;
for, we’re listening to the allness of the all -
all that has been said and
all that cannot yet be said
but thought in silences, in pauses between speech,
all that we might say
when we find words in which to say it,
and because
there’s not much time, to say what we would say
and so, we speak of that which time
can never steal; so there is always time
to speak, and hear the silence
out of which speech comes;
listening for the unspoken
bringing miracles
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here We Go, Again!
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
You are getting on my nerves,
With those mumbles done.
Do you expect to be heard,
With those mumbles done.
Are you on the run,
With those mumbles done.
And if you're on the run,
Who is it from?
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
And I wont be the one to strain,
For what comes.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again...
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
And I wont be the one to strain,
For what comes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Big Brother He Is Listening
His ears are ever vigilant be careful of what you do say
Big Brother he is listening from you he's never far away
Your words he may put a slant on and one word in the wrong place
Could see you in deep trouble the court you might have to face.
The Government allows free speech free to a point maybe
But when mere words can land you in trouble that does not seem free to me
And big brother is listening and he hears what he wants to hear
The best way of freedom curtailment is the weapon known as fear
And big brother he takes note every time you speak your mind
And if he sees something he does not like in trouble yourself you will find
He is the Government watchdog your words can see you in jail
Big brother is always watching you he even checks your mail.
Big brother he is listening even when your friends you phone
And even those who live on their own in truth are not alone
For big brother is with them though him they cannot see
He remains as invisible and few as treacherous as he.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)
speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Like It Here (part Two)
i like it here
i speak my lines i deliver them and there is no one to listen
how do i know you listening?
but even if i know you are there
it does not really matter
i am here only to speak
and i do not want to hear you talking back
i like it here
this place is simply perfect
for my circumlocution
my monologue
the way i speak to the moon
when the stars are so silent and unminding
the way i talk to the river when it simply passes by its banks
the way i talk to a stone, a tree, a pole, a cloud,
the way i talk to a glass one day whose water i have all drank
the way i talk to a horse, a dog, a cat,
or even to a pillow all wet with my tears.
i like this monologue.
i burst and then i live anew
for another day
tomorrow.
yes, i like it too
talking to your picture that i keep many years ago.
black and white and scented
with moth balls.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazy Enlightenment
now my soul speaks
now it is spoken before
it has spoken
before it has attempted
to speak
to my body to my mouth
seeing itself
in itself seeing
the beauty of the mirror
mirroring itself
upon itself
it is there
there is no question
there is no answer either
it is there
we have not seen it
we feel it
it is there listening
to us listening
to those awakened
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Conversations That I Hear
i am into conversations
i do not speak much i listen well
like an absorbing sponge
and people suspect what i am
up to, but i keep on listening
to people who still have
the vigor to speak and
brag and expose what is
inside their guts
what they feel foremost
is important for i like to dwell
more on feelings rather than
logic and directions and
useful advices on how to live
and die perhaps,
and so this time i am inside
a bus bound to a far place
a hundred fifty kilometers
from where i live
an old man, i am surprised
talks much, complains and
scolds his grandson who is
there born to tolerate him
beyond the threshold of his
incompetence,
as he talks and sometimes
subside into murmur,
the grandson keeps on
listening to his apple ipod,
not minding what the old
grandpa is up to,
i smile and fall silent again.
the bus speeds its way to
the winding road climbing
a mountain,
the wind on my face is strong
and my eyes seem hurtful
to the flashes of trees
and bushes
along this road to another
city
the old man is asleep now
his grandson still busy
with his own
music
night is approaching
the headlights of the bus
pierces the road
like what a conscience does
to my heart
this time i hear myself
in a last ditch of conversation
to myself
before i also get a dose of
my own sleep
inside the bus now
silence reigns like a boa
who just swallowed
a whole pig.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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For DIONY
dO NOT BE like god
who must speak in crooked lines
i am not your
loyal servant and i have less time
now to
analyze what you really want to mean
to me
speak clearly
for i am listening
do not murmur
do not eat your words like supper
lest i suffer
and do what you do not want me to do
i am far
you are 12 thousands miles away from me
she is married
and her husband is crazy
buying a gun and bullets
speak clearly now
tell me about the story of your true love
her being lonely
this Helen of Troy of Yours
and the impending game of death and pain
teach me now
how not to sow the apple of discord
the envy and sorrow
the death of morality
the crucifixion of integrity
speak clearly now
or i will be the one to end this
poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr. U.F.O. Man
Dear God it's me transmittin' from
This tiny place I live in Harlem
Oh heaven we have a problem
Cuz we lost all correspondence
And there's no more prophets
They've all been replaced with politics
And they have your people hostage
That's why I'm sending you this postage
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
Hey now
You're my father
And I don't know what's out there
So many of us are scared
Hey now
We got people shooting people
We live in warface
I'm not talking nuclear
I ain't got there yet
Why we got intelligent mouths
on Larry King with religious doubts
While the rabbi and minister fuss
Shit, another one bites the dust
So the yellow red black and white
Send missiles in the dark of night
Probably wanna stop but don't know how
That's why Lord, we really need you now
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
People around if you feel our vibe ride
Come on aboard there's enough room inside
We're flying high where heaven hides
Hope I see you on the other side
If you're listening Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus tell him we're on earth and
Things are worse than they have ever been now
Father, it's urgent we need u
Come down
Why we got intelligent mouths (intelligent mouths)
on Larry King with religious doubts
While the rabbi and minister fuss (while they got fuss)
Shit, another one bites the dust (another one bites the dust)
So the yellow red black and white
Send missiles in the dark of night
Probably wanna stop but don't know how
That's why Lord, we really need you now
God we need you now
If you listen Mr. UFO man
Speak to Jesus
Tell Him we're down on earth
People around if you feel our vibe ride
Come on aboard there's enough room inside
We're flying high where heaven hides
Hope I see you on the other side
song performed by by Kelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Afraid to Speak
There are words that my mouth is too afraid to speak.
I fear if I speak them then all that I know will be destroyed.
But then again I am also afraid if I don’t speak them I will never grow.
And without growth all I hold dear could fade away.
What should I do?
Should I live in fear and never speak the words?
Or should I take a chance and speak them in hope of growth instead of destruction?
I don’t know.
Who would believe a man as brave as I am would be afraid to speak three little words…?
“I Love You”
The Same Story, The same History
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made....
why always speak of descrimination
why always speak of war
why always speak of class
why always speak of injustice
why always speak of poverty
why always speak of rebellion....
why not speak of equality
why not speak of peace
why not speak of respect
why not speak of wisdom
why not speak of production
why not speak of working together...
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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S.O.S.
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
I'm shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'll be standing here and I'm miles away
Making signals hoping they'd save me
I lock myself inside these walls
'Cause out there I'm always wrong
I don't think I'm gonna make it
So while I'm sitting here
On the eve of my death bed
I'll write this letter and hope it saves me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm stuck in my own head and I'm oceans away
Would anybody notice if I chose to stay?
I'll send and SOS tonight
Wonder if I will survive
How in the hell did I get so far away this time
So now I'm sitting here
The time of my departure's near
I say a prayer
Please someone save me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm lost here
I can't make it on my own
I don't wanna die alone
I'm so scared
Drowning now
Reaching out
Holding on to everything I love
Crying out
Dying now
Need some help
Is anybody listening?
Can you hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening?
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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