This magnificent butterfly finds a little heap of dirt and sits still on it; but man will never on his heap of mud keep still.
quote by Joseph Conrad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Heap’s peak
Everyone has a heap,
Each heap has a peak,
Be it a mountain or an ant hill.
Priding on such heap one would die,
Each soul thus getting some respite.
15.06.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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At his own cost
Perfection sits on a heap of wastage.
Discipline sits on a pack of stresses.
Promptness sits on a sack of neglects.
One thus satisfies others at one’s cost.
20.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No company can afford not to move forward. It may be at the top of the heap today but at the bottom of the heap tomorrow, if it doesn't.
quote by James Cash Penney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry N Me
i've no vocabulary
only emotion
when i say i'm as fragile
as an egg
i say that after
i become an egg
if i say i'm a touch-me-not
i become a touch-me-not
before i say that
when i say i' m a heap of ashes
i reduce myself to a heap
before i say that
so many forms do i assume
before i say i'm that-
a ripple
a speck of light
a cave
a tear
a rain drop
the sky
the sea...
i don't brood over a word
nor do i brood over an emotion
that fleeting moment
i live through
simply finds its way by itself
and much to my amusement
you call it poetry!
is writing poetry that simple?
is this writing
poetry is all about?
is to be truthful
to one's heart an art?
21sep2009
15.15hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Heaps and growths
Every heap is as a result
Of some scoops from somewhere.
Every growth is as a result
Of some deaths from around.
Don’t beam with the heap and growth.
12.12.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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World peace
A mirage,
They are running after it,
A game,
Played by big players,
A net,
Cast by the biggest hunter,
And the whole world trapped into it.
Thou cannot look for it
on the heap of corpse,
On the heap of ruin,
Amidst the wail of widows,
Amidst the scream of orphans,
It will surely come,
When man will be
the centre of man's hopes.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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On A Miser, 3 (From The Greek)
Art thou some individual of a kind
Long-lived by nature as the rook or hind?
Heap treasure, then, for if thy need be such,
Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much.
But man thou seem'st, clear therefore from thy breast
This lust of treasure -- folly at thy best!
For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb,
To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom?
poem by William Cowper
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Butterfly...
Butterfly...my all..my own, Butterfly
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
The Sum-Up
It is not power and fame
That make success;
It is not rank or name
Rate happiness.
It is not honour due
Nor pile of pelf:
The pay-off is: Did you
Enjoy yourself?
A pal of days gone by
I reckon more
Of a success than I
Who've gold in store
His life, though none too long,
Was never dull:
Of woman, wine and song
Bill had his full.
Friend, you are a success
If you can say:
"A heap of happiness
Has come my way.
No cheers have made me glad,
No wealth I've won;
But oh how I have had
A heap of FUN!"
poem by Robert William Service
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On Wing and Wind...
My butterfly, I remember the
day we met. You bumped into me.
Well, sort of floated, from no where,
and from that moment, I recall what
I said, 'Well, my little butterfly,
where did you come from.?
Butterfly, you laughed, and responded,
'I picked you out, and just floated down,
and landed on your shoulder.
Butterfly, there are many that think
that a Butterfly, can't laugh, but you did.
They think that a Butterfly, does not cry,
but you have.
Can a Butterfly be happy, cause happiness?
Butterfly, of mine...you did.
Can a Butterfly, caused one to nearly burst
with joy? Butterfly, you did and you have.
Butterfly, there is not a moment, since I
met you, that I can not recall.
Some might wonder what a butterfly, drinks.
Butterfly, shall we let them know, we became
intoxicated, as we sipped the nectar of life.
As my butterfly and I floated through the
wonders of earth, I wish we could share the
joy we found, with all of this planet.
Butterfly, shall we always be together?
Butterfly, I do not mean, just here on
earth, I mean until the stars stop shinning.
Butterfly, I mean, until there is no moon...
no anything, but my Butterfly and I.
Butterfly...I think that we will. Butterfly,
I believe that we were meant to be.
Butterfly, Butterfly
butterfly, butterfly
fly in the sky
butterfly, butterfly
flies so high
butterfly, butterfly
lands on my thigh
butterfly, butterfly
motionlessly lies
butterfly, butterfly
gracefully dies
poem by Adryan Bates
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Just Felt 'a Slight Bump
A mother hare hit by a speeding car,
Blood on the road, disordered heap of limbs,
Fur, feet and floppy ears, what a mess!
Car driver, loud music blaring from his tape cassette
Scarcely noticed, but at night the leveret
Came out from where he’d crouched all day,
Approached the silent heap that was his mother,
Sniffed her gently, walked around but could not understand
Why she was cold and stiff who had been warm and loving.
Fucking callous speeding motorists, too
Don’t understand what dreadful carnage they can do,
What beastly pain and sorrow they can sow.
poem by Pete Crowther
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Don`t Do The Crime
Don't do the crime,
If you can't do the time
It's said that it just don't pay.
But what good's working hard
When all they give you is your cards
And you know there's not much you can say.
So you take what they give
You've no money to live
And your family don't understand.
After all these years
They will end up in tears
With a mountain of bills in their hands.
(chorus)
Now your lesson is learned
There's nowhere to turn
And it's no use pleading for help.
When you're left on the heap
When you're left on the heap
There is nothing to keep you
From going and helping yourself
From going and helping yourself.
The dilemma you've found
Is you're morally bound
Now your morally bound
Now your moral code needs a review
So what do you care
You know life isn't fair
And for years they've been stealing from you.
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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what do we do to Mother Earth?
do not burn
let the leaves fall to the ground
let them stay there
layer by layer
heap upon heap
let mother earth
hug all the leaves
let the affection be
strong and heavy
let the leaves die
and rot and become
water and become dust
to dust
let all of us see this dust
we shall do what mother earth
and nature loves best
to dust we shall return
and be its permanent part
close to the bosom
of mother earth
forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Long Snake, Short Ladder
Curled around that massive tree
old Satan waiteth patiently;
while up above the monkeys play
all their lifelong summer’s day.
Scrambling up and up they try,
to be the first to touch the sky.
At the very top, each finds
the sky still out of reach,
although not out of mind.
So with a final upward leap,
defying gravitational laws,
they tumble headlong, an untidy heap,
into old Satan’s yawning jaws!
poem by Brian Taylor
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Butterfly, Butterfly
Hoping to catch your eye
Circling around you, oh my
Butterfly, butterfly, come into the light
Oh, what a beautiful sight
Flying so gracefully
Into the sky, the butterfly
Trying to catch a butterfly
Fly, fly, fly, butterfly
There he sets upon the mums
I'm having so much fun
Here's another on the sill
Your standing so still
You go to touch him
There he goes, the butterfly
I hear a tapping on the window
It's the butterfly, fly, fly, fly
There he goes into the sky
Flying so high, the butterfly
I'll see you another day
Butterfly, butterfly, away
poem by Sharon Adamson
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Apparition of a Butterfly
Upon a fuzzy vista – vision blurred –
I tried to focus; nothing ever solid
Came to view, but undeterred, I blinked
An eye to try again. Through the mist
A coloured hue; polychromatic flames
Had flickered at a whim; a rhythm bore
A thrumming too: a naturalistic hymn.
Behold! Were I to find a synonym to
Reproduce or recreate
The apparition of a butterfly,
Evolving through the waning vapour,
Drawing on a sigh from this romantic.
Glory be! The raging sun above
Had fired his furnace, flaming off
The hangers on. Now I saw the flare:
His time has come. He spread a tortoiseshell –
A scene of Mother Nature at her best.
I lay in peace in knowing I was blessed.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly fly
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly fly
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Great Motherboard
How the human brain
Like a mammoth mother board
Assimilates and stores up impressions
Some sad, some joyful
Some daunting, some frightful
Some difficult to decipher and decode
Heap on heap, they pile.
Through recollections, vague or vivid,
Dreams, words and thoughts,
One time or other, they reel back and forth
As on a computer screen
Some deleted forever, some etched deep
Some irrecoverably lost
Some able to be retrieved
Some mouldy, sending out a stale smell
Some spreading a fresh aroma
Delectable to the senses
Some filling us with a zest to live
Some making our eyes swell
But without them
How vacuous human life
How hollow….how banal!
poem by Valsa George
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Africa
Heap of wood,
Kindle the fire in Africa!
With narrow windows above the guardrooms.
To the African civilizations,
Unique and creative;
With cultures and edifices to tell a story.
In the middle of the desert road,
From the orient and the occident;
On the mountain skirts and forests to tell a stroy.
Where are the Executives?
Of fresh and natural colours;
The epics and the braveries will greet you.
Where are the Legislatives?
The modus operandi is based on culture! !
Where, the governments rules with tribalism.
Where are the Judiciaries?
Like the artistic works around;
But, nature's love is what we share in Africa!
Heap the wood,
Multinationals with spoken languages;
Is there any hope for us? Oh Africa!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Second World War Soldier's Return
A short brown soldier
Fought the world war
In the Burman land,
For four years,
With his skin tearing away,
On bieng removed,
Drinking rum,
Ducking bullets,
Sharpnel from crumbling
Buildings and glass windows,
He was shot and removed
To the heap of dead,
The family getting
The news, did last rites
For him, the war ending,
His parent's mounning
Their dear son's death,
Still part of lasr rites
Conducting saw
The apparition of their son,
On the doorway,
They howled in horror
When their son
Told them he has returned
Crawling fron dead's heap
And reached home
To the amazement
Of the villagers talking
Of the second birth of the soldier.
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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