About the use of language: it is impossible to sharpen a pencil with a blunt axe. It is equally vain to try to do it with ten blunt axes instead.
quote by Edsger Dijkstra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Pencil
Sharpen your pencil and let me use it,
For the righteous works of some people are clearly evident;
But those thst are otherwise cannot be hidden.
Sharpen your pencil according to the promise of life,
And like a tree planted by the waters of love;
For the sins of others are ahead of them while,
The sins of others trail behind them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Great literature should do some good to the reader: must quicken his perception though dull, and sharpen his discrimination though blunt, and mellow the rawness of his personal opinions.
quote by A.E. Housman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pain Is My Friend
tellng me,
the pain,
that is always with me,
tells me the truth,
blunt
oh so blunt,
never lies
not once
i refuse it,
i shut out the pain,
not wanting to listen to its whispers.
but then im alone
with my broken heart.
that has blocked the world out,
with its ice barracade.
im souless
that was then,
now,
i let it in,
the pain,
because
the pain,
has been with me,
for oh so long
when others deserted me.
the pain stayed
now,
pain is only friend
poem by Emogirlnadia Hathway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Because There Is A Wall
Once we had been dear,
We could not stay apart.
You were then my shadow,
I was your special part.
Often in my glum mood,
You blew as fresh spring breeze.
Your smile could clear clouds,
My mind soared up the ridge.
But now you are so far,
I Can't touch you at all.
Your look seems queerly blunt,
Because there is a wall.
Is that wall so hard,
That can not be broken?
If your love is so hurt,
You can hurt mine even!
But your wordless blunt look,
Throws me to my life's end.
Do not break heart in piece,
Pure love always transcend.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Itch, Itch, Itch
should it not annoy me
what comes from single addition sound
itch, itch, itch
scratching my finger point
my heart is like free market
my brain is like full garbage
itch, itch, itch
there's worm army in my back
I get itch in my leg
itch, itch, itch
it's an itch in my mouth
I have sharpen my nail
I want to jump and scream
can I come to scratch you into pieces
the hands that touch me impolitely
the blunt mind that speaks empty
itch, itch, itch
you are just itch for me
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Sad song of a remote village factory girl
Her soft fingers are ideal for a piano reeds to make a classic musical note
But she struggles with hard steel and turn them into tools.
Sharpen tools go to the market and she comes home with a blunt heart.
She re-counts her small daily wage for her wedding dress
But her partner still fights to earn something.
In her fading dreams she hears the wedding bells
While the boy who writes his beautiful curriculum vitae to another World.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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One does not sharpen the axes after the right time; after the time they are needed.
She Shall Not Guess
Even if I died no sound should tell it her.
Death babbles, but the calm of her dear eyes
In vain would ask, no tell--tale breath should stir
The lips still treasuring a thought unwise.
How vain my life has been in its disguise,
Left unregarded, her least pensioner,
Yielding to all, unasking even with sighs
The dole of hope not Heaven could quite confer.
--To--day behold me on this page her name
Over my own inscribing, with no prayer,
Nor daring even to kneel in my distress.
What I have written in this candle's flame
Shrinks ere 'tis finished, and the incensed air
Bears but betrays it not. She shall not guess.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Unabused
The bone line travels
from flesh to flesh,
tears into blood.
I was not crude, not blunt.
Dew teasers,
were my guests with luggage
of pain, ready to dip to taste
the language of surrender.
There was no acrimony
between enemies.
Across a hot blazing desert
walking barefoot to find you
in a vein of green water, O my curse
I will scoop you into my poem
to become a daisy.
poem by Satish Verma
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Traces of my touch
I've pushed the borders
I left the stations
The trains are equally sad
The passengers equally busy
I've crossed the moonlight
I've swum the seas
The drops are equally wet
The depths are equally low
I've touched the treetops
I've opened the nests
The boughs are equally fragile
The root is equally deep
Nothing has changed
But the traces of my touch
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Middle of Madness
I can hear every tick of the clock.
My body is showered from nervous sweat.
Oh no my pencil tip broke,
and I must stop to sharpen it;
all the while losing time.
My mind has gone as blank
as the paper which I’m writing on.
Tick – Tock goes the clock as time moves on.
Times up the voice shots;
My hand goes limp and my pencil falls to
rest upon the edge of the paper.
I let out a big sigh of relief, for the madness has subside,
For my mid-terms are done.
Exile In Majestic Silence
EXILE IN MAJESTIC SILENCE
esspeecee
# Exile in silence,
Majestic silence
Silence, but not to:
blunt senses.
To sharpen…
be more eloquent…
be greater creative…
inside the within,
and within….
[Silence is golden] #
# ‘No-Entry’ board:
to din and bustle,
to topsy turvy,
One way traffic,
Bubbles of subconscious,
For synthesis / creation.
[Silence is golden] #
# In silence,
I discover:
my dichotomous me:
material me,
subtle me,
soul,
mind.
Enjoy - emancipation,
Identity / Reality
Total nihilism,
Void ness in pan-existence
[Yes! Silences is golden] #
Copyright reserved by the Author
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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Ode to Pencils
Pencil o pencil
What would i use to trace the stencil
Possibly crayon, marker, or a pen
Unfortunately they are back in the den
Could i use a pencil with color
They might be much taller
So thanks for the pencil to be born
It is easier to draw when there aren't torn
That is my ode
I hope you thought it flowed
poem by Kristi Miller
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2: 58 A.m.
he has seen
blunt dreams and he
wishes that one may
finally opt for
a change,
he has seen insistent
dreamers
praying
for the realization of their
own deaths
slow deaths,
painful ones that they can
boast before
their suffering gods
somehow he thinks
that this masochism must be
stopped
but no one listens
the blunt dreamers
thrive
multiplied in millions
almost stopping
the earth's capacity for
more revolutions
he hopes somehow
that beyond this global blunting
and lengthening of sorrows
thickening of the veins
of wrong blood flowing
all creatures
the earth included
is sick only for a certain time
trembling in heat
and panicky about syndromes
feverish
and then it begins to
auto-heal itself
back to its fighting form
back to serving
those who doubt themselves
and those
who live despite
the aftermath of that
self-destruction
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shall I care?
Shall I care at all, that in the dreams and in the languor of time
My poetry does not show me and my inner most being and prime
For my poems are fragrance, and not a credible reflection
Words like shadows in disharmony dance and daunt imagination
But I do care, for life will be over so soon,
And I will be lost, forgotten as my being never happen
Like a small candle in mid day bright noon
And my quill idle, blunt and not sharpen
yet, like barley bending in harsh summer winds throng
And rising again and again
So would I, free and unbroken rise from agony and pain
Day long, night long change my sorrow into words of song
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All rights reserved
You can go at the premiere it's at Disneyland.
quote by Emily Blunt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: LVIII
It might not be. Some things are possible,
And some impossible for even God.
And Esther had no soul which Heaven or Hell
Could touch by joy or soften by the rod.
She could not really love me. The day came,
How soon, how late, I need not to devise,
When passion prayed its last, and only shame
Stood for my portion in a world grown wise,
And I went forth for ever from her sight
Knowing the good and evil. On that day
I did her wrong by anger. Now life's light
Illumines all, and I behold her gay
As I first knew her in my love purblind,
Dear passionate Esther, soulless but how kind!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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You can't break my spirit, it's my dreams you take.
quote by James Blunt
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don't confuse being stimulating with being blunt.
quote by Barbara Walters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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