I was asked to memorise what I did not understand; and, my memory being so good, it refused to be insulted in that manner.
quote by Aleister Crowley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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Least said soonest mended
Least said soonest mended
I am condemned to wonder why
I cannot make an apt reply.
When someone has insulted me.
I find I can quite easily
but only when it is too late
Why can’t I just retaliate?
when someone has insulted me.
At the time immediately.
Perhaps I’m taken by surprise
perhaps because I am too wise.
When someone has insulted me
to take the insult seriously.
Though I must say in self defence
I am not quick to take offence
when some one has insulted me
I hold on to my dignity.
I will not be an easy mark
to be hurt by some chance remark.
Perhaps they weren’t insulting me
but merely meant to disagree
I simply smile and let it go
I do not really want to know.
If they were insulting me.
It hasn’t worked as they can see.
20-Aug-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Captain Hale, alone, without sympathy or support, save that from above, on the near approach of death asked for a clergyman to attend him. It was refused. He then requested a Bible; that too was refused by his inhuman jailer.
quote by William Hull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Kind
we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Insulted
Insulted?
Not!
No longer am I.
I stuck focused,
With determination.
My heart would not abandoned...
A desire craved,
Within me gnawed.
And tight jawed I stayed,
On a path others said...
I was delusional and crazed.
But no delusion were the gifts,
To me The Almighty,
From birth to me gave!
Insulted?
Not!
No longer am I.
And...
At least I tried,
Not to show it!
And today with a growth,
I've been blessed to display.
I could care less who insulted me.
Whether or not,
It is known I know it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Being a star has made it possible for me to get insulted in places where the average Negro could never hope to go and get insulted.
quote by Sammy Davis, Jr.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXX: Good Vs Bad
Good is always in simple mind, bad always thinks how to trick
Good is always in simple way, bad always finds the escape
Good is always in simple manner, bad always fakes to cheat
Good is always in simple purpose, bad always has a catch
Good is always in simple reason, bad always uses layered lies
Good is always in simple trust, bad always changes the side
Good is always in simple life, bad always watches his back
Good is always in simple word, bad always talks complicated
Good is always in simple fun, bad always tired to understand
Good is always in simple hope, bad always tries to control the world
Good is always in simple choice, bad always looks what’s the point
Good is always in simple act, bad always counts the advantage
Good is always in simple thing, bad always exaggerates what have been
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Consultation
‘How are you feeling in general? ’ he asked.
‘Pretty good most of the time then I get these occasional black periods when nothing makes sense and I fear the worst’ I replied.
‘Hmm, any suicidal thoughts? ’ he asked thoughtfully as if embarrassed to ask the question.
I thought for a moment.
‘Well, not really. No, not really’ was all I could say.
He made some notes at this point.
‘And those times of feeling good’ he asked ‘what are they like? ’
‘Like the sun is shining and I feel on top of the world’.
‘But there’s no real reason for that? ’ he asked ‘you just feel good and that’s it? ’
‘Yeah’ I replied.
‘What about your libido? ’ he asked as if enquiring what brand of beer I liked.
‘Funnily that’s pretty good’ I said smiling.
He frowned.
‘Is there any guilt that you feel? ’ he probed.
‘Do you feel guilty when you feel good or see others around you far less well off than you are? ’
‘I guess I do. I feel bad that I can’t feel that good all the time and also sad for those worse than me’.
‘But not real guilt? ’
‘No. Not really’.
‘So you feel bad at times but not guilty? ’
‘Guess not’
‘Do you ever feel bad about not feeling guilty? ’
He knew I was lost at this point and changed tack.
‘When did you last masturbate? ’ he threw in.
‘Can’t remember’ I said startled.
He made some notes.
‘So, you feel guilty about masturbation? ’ he continued.
‘No, not at all’.
‘But you don’t remember when you last did it? ’ he said with a manner of distaste and disbelief.
‘Not really’.
At this point I did not know where all this was going.
‘Do you go to church? ’ he asked.
‘No’
‘Why not? ’
‘Can’t see the point’
‘So why are you here? ’
At this point the confessional ended.
I had been diagnosed as not having enough guilt or grief or angst to be normal and no further help or counselling could be offered.
But, at long last, I felt truly guilty.
So, perhaps, I will find redemption one day.
poem by David Keig
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Your Turn To Remember
I was always the one
Who did the thinkin'
It was me, i'm sorry
I who made the plans
There was never a thought
We might do somethin' between us
It's so clear i think
I'm beginning to understand
I was the one who had to
Lay it out and pay it out
I would work all night
Even though i wanted to
Play out and stay out
Now it's your turn to remember
And it's your turn
To try to understand
But you never would, would you?
When the time came
For stayin' together
You refused to even
Talk about for ever
It was easy telling me
You love me
And i was a little late in
Finding out the truth
The rule of love was there
You had to bend it
Now the damage is done
It's impossible to mend it
I can't mend it
Now it's your turn to remember
It's your turn to feel a little pain
I feel a little better
Talkin' about her
Yet her memory's not good for me
The skies are not so grey now
I've found a new tune to play now
It's a better song
It'll be followin' on
And when the time came
For stayin' together
You refused to even
Talk about for ever
It was easy telling me
You love me
And i was a little late in
Finding out the truth
The rule of love was there
But you had to bend it
Now the damage is done
It's impossible to mend it
You know i can't mend it
Come on babe
It's your turn to remember
Your turn to feel a little pain
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Abasement, degradation is simply the manner of life of the man who has refused to be what it is his duty to be.
quote by Jose Ortega y Gasset
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memory (Thy Shall)
Thy shall not slumber,
Thy shall not wake,
A memory so fragile,
So delicate it may break.
A memory so lost,
So unwanted it tears apart,
Until it dies,
It shall go back to thy start.
A powerful memory it may be,
Or a memory that shall be overlooked,
Thy one shall let it see,
How thy memory is like a book.
But how powerful thy memory is,
It has to be stronger than a good memory,
A memory that has passion and feeling,
A memory that has greatness and becoming myself, I, and me.
Until that kind of memory is shown,
Thy memory shall be looked upon near and far,
Thy memory shall be kept hidden,
Until it shall be who we are.
Thy shall not slumber,
Thy shall not wake,
A memory so fragile,
so delicate it may break.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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The birth of poetry for M lady Mary Gordley
The birth of poetry.
Before the advent of the written word.
When all knowledge was passed on orally.
then history relied on memory.
Men had to memorise all that they heard
Perhaps this was the birth of poetry.
The tribal elders found they could recall
in simple rhyming verses best of all.
Easily committed to memory.
Long, long before recorded history.
The elders chose and trained one man to be
The current guardian of their legacy
of knowledge they had garnered carefully.
When all knowledge was passed on orally
Then history relied on memory
Poetic piers
http: //blog my space.com.poetic piers
12-May-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Apples + Oranges
What if the sun refused to shine?
What if the clouds refused to rain?
What if the wind refused to blow?
What if the seas refused to wave?
What if the world refused its turn?
What if the stars would hesitate?
What if what is isn't true?
What are you going to do?
What if what is isn't you?
Does that mean you've got to lose?
Digging for the feel of something new
What if the silence let you dream?
What if the air could let you breathe?
What if the words would bring you here?
What if this sound could bring you peace?
What if what is isn't true?
What are you going to do?
Digging for the feel of something new
What if what is isn't you?
Does that mean you've got to lose?
It came from your thoughts
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Adore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Making Love With Memories
You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.
We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.
I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.
And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Used-Up
Many people
one might meet.
On city sarcophagus street.
Are dead.
It’s just.
No one...
has gotten around,
to burying them yet.
This is what became
of the brokenhearted!
Who refused
to get their act together!
Who refused
to walk with faith!
Who refused
to embrace the light!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Change
The other day I walked accross the street
i couldnt believe what I appeared to see...
as I looked at a poor boy who came to me
I asked him his name and he didnt know
he just asked me for change.
I asked where is your mum?
he just asked me for change
I asked where is your dad?
he just asked me for change
I asked will someone come?
he just asked me for change
I asked why are you sad?
with no response to my question there was a pause...
but then once again he asked me for change
see, as i watched him dissapear with his pain
I realised that he actualy asked me...
for a change.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Punch Drunk
We got to the pub, and were served our food;
Everyone, it seemed, was in a good mood.
Then, in walked a man who was really drunk;
He was refused service, so he threw a punch.
Thankfully, the barman ducked out of the way,
But he pushed the panic button straightaway.
The man was angry, and he started swearing;
At him, the customers were, very soon, staring.
From swearing, he was politely asked to refrain;
To which he answered ‘I've got a villa in Spain! ' (?)
Both customer and barman were beginning to seethe.
The Duty Manager asked the antagonist to leave.
The door of the pub, the man was shown;
Now, in every local pub, he is well-known.
From all pubs in the city, he is now banned;
I guess his day didn't turn out quite as planned!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Appels Oranjes
what if the sun refused to shine?
what if the clouds refused to rain?
what if the wind refused to blow?
what if the seas refused to wave?
what if the world refused to turn?
what if the stars would hesitate?
what if, what is isn't true?
what are you going to do?
what if, what is isn't you?
does that mean you've got to lose?
digging for the feel of something new
what if the silence let you dream?
what if the air could let you breathe?
what if the words would bring you here?
what if this sound could bring you peace?
what if, what is isn't true?
what are you going to do?
digging for the feel of something new
what if, what is isn't you?
does that mean you've got to lose?
it came from your thoughts, your dreams and visions
ripped up from your weeks and indecisions
what if the sun refused to shine?
what if the clouds refused to rain?
what if the world refused to turn?
what if the clocks would hesitate?
what if, what is isn't true?
what are you going to do?
what if, what is isn't you?
does that mean you've got to lose?
digging for the feel of something new
does that mean you've got to choose?
the feel of something new
does that mean you've got to lose?
the thoughts you cannot lose
what are you gonna do?
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do you understand
Do you understand,
That I'm not good,
In school,
Or with guys,
Or at love?
Do you understand,
That I'm not good,
At making friends,
Or at keeping friends,
Or keeping boyfriends?
Do you understand,
That I'm not good,
At deciding things,
Or at math,
Or at telling the truth?
Do you understand,
Anything,
I say,
Or do?
Do you even,
Understand me?
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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The Sandman who sleeps near-by a dustbin
Oh! The sad fading memory re-kindles.
That desperate fragile man was crying on a rainy day
And he was soaked in a cobbled narrow street.
I offered him a small colored note
But he refused.
And I gave him a big note that too he refused calmly.
Then only I realized that he was starving.
Unfortunately all the shops were closed and it seemed to be a public holiday in a memorial of a bygone puppet President.
[ *Sandman- The genie of folklore who makes children sleepy; in allusion to the rubbing of their eyes as if there were sand in them.]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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