The days that are still to come are the wisest witnesses.
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And to say that society ought to be governed by the opinion of the wisest and best, though true, is useless. Whose opinion is to decide who are the wisest and best?
quote by Thomas Babington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The writer isn't made in a vacuum. Writers are witnesses. The reason we need writers is because we need witnesses to this terrifying century.
quote by E.L. Doctorow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Centre Decentred
Witnesses scrambled
History pages
Committed to truth
Burned
Things left unwritten in the stars
Destined silence
Deeply wombed
Made mute
Centre decentred
Witnesses entangled
Beards of sages
No wisdom proof
Learned
Things unread off the scars
Raged vilence
Sons untombed
Dressed to shoot
Centre decentred
Witnesses gambled
In dice of cages
None to soothe
Earned
Behind brain bars
In a twisted lense
A soldier’s doomed
Lost boot
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Druid Extinction
Wisest ones in days of old
Masters of arcane wisdom
Seer-Bards, future foretold
Made extinct by Romanism
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Memories
let me be that poem
that witnesses your
secret yearning as
your glance falls
into that well of
heaven of his
a tightly guarded
glance that lifts
the veil of longings
to let a fruitful
imagination warm
up your nights
let me be that poem
that witnesses you
open yourself up wholly
to your loved one
without the fear of
losing, brushing his hair
counting each strand
as a blessing you have won
let me be the poem
that witnesses the tears
you let loose the years
years of care and love
expressed with deeds
denied in words
each word of
those years of sacrifice
is now a roll of tears
down a floodgate
greeted by his
heartaching silence
each dropp of tears that runs
thicker than the years
swifter than memory
purifying the window of love
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Elocution At 3: 01 A.m.
adroitly
i, in the years of my confusion
have seen
the accurate face of
reality's
contours which i, have,
so gladly
taken, and you
who, have taken love,
so blindly,
trusting in the
safety of its hands
so gladly,
suffer.
i, in the soft
touches of
patience, as time
witnesses,
silently, tread
upon
the numbness of
feelings,
and so gladly,
accept,
all that there is,
on stretched
metaphoric imagination,
shall
survive, upon one
empty
glass to another,
on these
coffee days,
on dawning days,
rainy or sunny,
it does not
matter anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We are witnesses to view these deeds
we are here
the living witnesses
to view God's
creations,
the compact grain of sand
containing the whole
of this universe
the drops of rain
his blessings to the earth
the wings of birds
the flights of flocks
we are pilgrims
we come naked
we go home naked
we take nothing
we bring nothing
here we are as witnesses
in awe
in wonder
to God's wondrous deeds
Praise Him
forever
the 'hands of my heart are clapping'
my lips are singing
my heart is jumping with joy
Praise Him
Our God forever....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Battling Days
So, sit you down in a straight-backed chair, with your pipe and your wife content,
And cross your knees with your wisest air, and preach of the ‘days mis-spent;’
Grown fat and moral apace, old man! you prate of the change ‘since then’—
In spite of all, I’d as lief be back in those hard old days again.
They were hard old days; they were battling days; they were cruel at times—but then,
In spite of all, I would rather be back in those hard old days again.
The land was barren to sow wild oats in the days when we sowed our own—
(’Twas little we thought or our friends believed that ours would ever be sown)
But the wild oats wave on their stormy path, and they speak of the hearts of men—
I would sow a crop if I had my time in those hard old days again.
We travel first, or we go saloon—on the planned-out trips we go,
With those who are neither rich nor poor, and we find that the life is slow;
It’s ‘a pleasant trip’ where they cried, ‘Good luck!’ There was fun in the steerage then—
In spite of all, I would fain be back in those vagabond days again.
On Saturday night we’ve a pound to spare—a pound for a trip down town—
We took more joy in those hard old days for a hardly spared half-crown;
We took more pride in the pants we patched than the suits we have had since then—
In spite of all, I would rather be back in those comical days again.
’Twas We and the World—and the rest go hang—as the Outside tracks we trod;
Each thought of himself as a man and mate, and not as a martyred god;
The world goes wrong when your heart is strong—and this is the way with men—
The world goes right when your liver is white, and you preach of the change ‘since then.’
They were hard old days; they were battling days; they were cruel times—but then,
In spite of all, we shall live to-night in those hard old days again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Power Is Involved Only The Creator Permits
A repeating of false allegations,
Does not diminish a truth observed.
There is a quality to it,
That will not be disturbed.
And insisting a belief,
To increase deceptions...
Will not provide followers with relief.
These days lived people are in the midst,
Of being eye witnesses...
To the decline of liars and their existence.
A power is involved only The Creator permits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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June 8th,2009 for Ezra, Wyatt and Kurt
three days before my first reading
I am out in the rain
the air: cool deep thick
I feel like
a bedbug
under a wet mattress
the gray of the sky
wraps between the black boughs
then around the green leaves of the trees
that stand as sentry witnesses
in the corners of my yard
June is indecisive
July knows what she wants
August sits pregnant in the heat
September shuts down like
a lover who's had one last fling
and despises herself for it.
this is early June
this day's made it's decision
wet, damp, sullen
'so it goes, ' said the dead writer
'so it goes...'
three days before my reading
I look to between the wet black branches
two mating squirrels are fighting
their squabble reminds me of my own
three days before my first reading...
I roll my poems through my head
walk across the yard to the shed
I wonder who
cleaned Auden's gutters
in the spring?
poem by R. James Sterzinger
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Days
- Album: Reality
- Lyrics and music by David Bowie
Hold me tight
Keep me cool
Going mad
Don't know what to do
Do I need a friend?
Well I need one now
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
All I've done
I've done for me
All you gave
You gave for free
I gave nothing in return
And theres little left of me
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
With redeyed pain I'm knocking on your door again
My crazy brain in tangles pleading for your gentle voice
Those storms keep pounding through my faded heart
I'll play your sooth my sorry soul
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Days in Red
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
And moon of glowing dark
Sky deep and high
Days days days in red
Flowing on hours in night
Where love lost its flight
Once those were alright
Now they no more spark
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red
Flowing memories at sight
No feeling seems now right
But love's still inside
Come come babe now close abide
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Oh Happy Days
Oh happy days,
Everyone likes you.
Oh happy days,
Please stay today.
Oh happy days,
Sweet like honey.
Oh happy days,
loving family ties.
Oh happy days,
Giving us strength.
Oh happy days,
Children out playing.
Oh happy days,
On the green grass.
Oh happy days,
With boundless optimism.
Oh happy days,
I give thanks.
Oh happy days,
Dreaming for more.
Oh happy days,
Warm and bright.
Oh happy days,
Like love eternal.
Oh happy days,
And glad memories.
Oh happy days,
New hope prayers.
Oh happy days,
With smiling faces.
Oh happy days,
Holidays and health.
Oh happy days,
With close friends.
Oh happy days,
Generous and giving.
Oh happy days,
Shiny rainbow dreams.
Oh happy days,
Till the very end.
Oh happy days,
Always and forever.
Amen.
poem by Rowina Mallick
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The Days to Remember
Do you remember the days?
The days of Cinderella wanting to go the ball
The days of the seven dwarfs
The days when you believed in it
I remember those days
The days you held your mother’s hand
The days when you wished on a star
The days you believed that wish would come true
Do you remember the days?
The days of jump rope
The days of secret hand shakes
The days you believed it was just so easy
I remember those days
The days when you would hide and they would seek
The days of spending all day playing ball
The days you thought it would never get hard
We all remember those days
poem by Ambra Milton
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It Is Disgusting How Our Standards Are Being Degraded
Why didn't witnesses stop a gang rape?
Why are there shootings on our streets?
Why are there crimes committed for everyone to see?
Why is there homelessness and hunger?
Decadence and disrespect?
No discipline and racism.
And all of this marketed without end?
On TV screens and movie houses.
And video games sold and made for our children.
To entertain their temptations, whims and sins?
Who knows 'why' witnesses didn't stop a gang rape?
Maybe everyone wanted to get a shot at being on 'reality tv'.
OR...
Maybe they were fascinated by the idea of public sex!
You know how these kids can get?
Where do they get such values?
And it is disgusting how our standards are being degraded,
Isn't it?
'I for one,
Am deeply appalled! '
And 'all' have been deeply moved to apathy.
Which is the correct reflection of this society.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Day 1
Happy days!
Days of fun
Days of shine
Days of sun
Happy days!
Days I won
Days I earned
Today has just begun
Happy days!
Days I dread
To wake up
With a burning head
Happy days!
For which I wait
With furnished fear
And hollow hate.
Hymn XVII: Jesus, From Whom All Blessings Grow
Jesus, from whom all blessings flow,
Great builder of thy church below,
If now thy Spirit moves my breast,
Hear, and fulfil thine own request!
The few that truly call thee Lord,
And wait thy sanctifying word,
And thee their utmost Saviour own,
Unite, and perfect them in one.
O let them all thy mind express,
Stand forth thy chosen witnesses,
Thy power unto salvation show,
And perfect holiness below!
In them let all mankind behold
How Christians lived in days of old,
Mighty their envious foes to move,
A proverb of reproach - and love.
From every sinful wrinkle free,
Redeemed from all iniquity,
The fellowship of saints make known;
And, O my God, might I be one!
O might my lot be cast with these,
The least of Jesu's witnesses!
O that my Lord would count me meet
To wash his dear disciples' feet!
This only thing do I require:
Thou knowest 'tis all my heart's desire
Freely what I receive to give,
The servant of thy church to live;
After my lowly Lord to go,
And wait upon thy saints below;
Enjoy the grace to angels given,
And serve the royal heirs of heaven.
Lord, if I now thy drawings feel,
And ask according to thy will,
Confirm the prayer, the seal impart,
And speak the answer to my heart.
poem by Charles Wesley
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Hymn XVII: Jesus, From Whom All Blessings Grow
Jesus, from whom all blessings flow,
Great builder of thy church below,
If now thy Spirit moves my breast,
Hear, and fulfil thine own request!
The few that truly call thee Lord,
And wait thy sanctifying word,
And thee their utmost Saviour own,
Unite, and perfect them in one.
O let them all thy mind express,
Stand forth thy chosen witnesses,
Thy power unto salvation show,
And perfect holiness below!
In them let all mankind behold
How Christians lived in days of old,
Mighty their envious foes to move,
A proverb of reproach - and love.
From every sinful wrinkle free,
Redeemed from all iniquity,
The fellowship of saints make known;
And, O my God, might I be one!
O might my lot be cast with these,
The least of Jesu's witnesses!
O that my Lord would count me meet
To wash his dear disciples' feet!
This only thing do I require:
Thou knowest 'tis all my heart's desire
Freely what I receive to give,
The servant of thy church to live;
After my lowly Lord to go,
And wait upon thy saints below;
Enjoy the grace to angels given,
And serve the royal heirs of heaven.
Lord, if I now thy drawings feel,
And ask according to thy will,
Confirm the prayer, the seal impart,
And speak the answer to my heart.
poem by John Wesley
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He is the wisest man who does not think himself so.
