Related quotes: There was a time when...

There was a time when only wise books were read helping us to bear our pain and misery. This, after all, is not quite the same as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics. And yet the world is different from what it seems to be and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings.

quote by Czeslaw Milosz
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ars Poetica?

I have always aspired to a more spacious form
that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.

In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent:
a thing is brought forth which we didn't know we had in us,
so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out
and stood in the light, lashing his tail.

That's why poetry is rightly said to be dictated by a daimonion,
though its an exaggeration to maintain that he must be an angel.
It's hard to guess where that pride of poets comes from,
when so often they're put to shame by the disclosure of their frailty.

What reasonable man would like to be a city of demons,
who behave as if they were at home, speak in many tongues,
and who, not satisfied with stealing his lips or hand,
work at changing his destiny for their convenience?

It's true that what is morbid is highly valued today,
and so you may think that I am only joking
or that I've devised just one more means
of praising Art with thehelp of irony.

There was a time when only wise books were read
helping us to bear our pain and misery.
This, after all, is not quite the same
as leafing through a thousand works fresh from psychiatric clinics.

And yet the world is different from what it seems to be
and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings.
People therefore preserve silent integrity
thus earning the respect of their relatives and neighbors.

The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,
and invisible guests come in and out at will.

What I'm saying here is not, I agree, poetry,
as poems should be written rarely and reluctantly,
under unbearable duress and only with the hope
that good spirits, not evil ones, choose us for their instrument.

poem by Czeslaw Milosz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crippled Crow

Beggar standin' on the corner sing your song sing it for a dime
Give them all the pain you carried down the line
Music's flying past their ears rising like a burble those who herd will follow
The out of tune ravings of the crippled crow movin' down the ladder slow
Where your friends on knee will help you
And the cup of tin you carry is just the ticket to get you in
Beggar standin' on the corner dry your eyes your time is nigh
The tears your tastin' are only salty time
Your music's lasted through the years
Goin' through your troubles for the herd to follow
The out of tune ravings...
The crown of thorns you're wearin' is just the ticket to get you in
The out of tune ravings...
The out of tune ravings...

song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I finish a book a week, I will read only a few thousand books in my lifetime, about a tenth of a percent of the contents of the greatest libraries of our time. The trick is to know which books to read.

Carl Sagan in Cosmos
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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Hoarder Or Collector (Fun Poem 101)

Some of us are hoarders
and we don’t know where to stop.
We say we are collectors,
of rubbish maybe.
For a long time I have loved books
and collected every waif and stray.
People gave them to me by the dozen
and I never turned them away.
My collecting went so mad
I have now ten thousand or more
within my library.
Enough is enough I would say,
but still more arrived.
Now I don’t live in a house anymore,
as it has become a library.
There are books in every room
and not just one or two,
but dozens and dozens of them.
Everywhere you go;
there are books here and there.
Now I must down size
and my problem is
which ones do I let go,
and then I think
I might want to read a couple of them.
I am confused at what to do.
I know if I don’t do it soon
we won’t be able to
even get into the loo!

19 April 2009

Author’s note:
Loo is a word we use instead of saying Toilet. And, yes, I have that many books and I do have to get rid of some.
DVH

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tried To Shower Away This Pain

I try to shower away this pain
But it comes right back to me
Hits me as I'm through
Then I'm filled with pain all over again

Sighing cause I have nothing to be happy about
Thought I could shower away this pain
But my thoughts just got washed down the drain

Now I realize I'm forced to stick with this pain for life
Wanting the pain to just go away
But I know that will never happen
Stuck here all alone

Wishing that someone would just kill this pain
Take it away from me for good
Cause I've tried everything to rid this pain and misery

And nothing works
Thought I could just shower this pain away
But that didn't even work
Thought I could drown out the pain

But now I'm stuck here writing away this pain
Hoping that it will relieve a part of this misery
Cause its hard for me not to want to die

Showering this pain didn't work
It stuck back to me like a magnet
I really don't want to die
But this pain is forcing me otherwise

January 1,2008
made up (kinda)

poem by Espn Chick
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It's Up To You!

If you are noble you are blessed
Each time you try to do your best!
Success or failure, who can say?
For both will come to you one day...

For now, before your fate is known,
It's wise if guidance can be shown.
Today's not just the hours sent
For there's a greater honour meant.

The good you do this day will grow
In ways that none on Earth can know.
Good works abound where faith is found
Helping those in pain that frowned.

Why only help the folks that smile?
Avoid the ones who live in style!
Seek out the people frail and poor,
They need your help and that's for sure!

If you are noble, kind and true,
Please help them out... It's up to you!

poem by Denis Martindale
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Life is short

It seems you forgot, our life is short.
There is no time to beg or extort for support.
Learn how to live yourself.
Take a book from the shelf and…
Delicately leafing page after page
you will find a wood sage.
People are like books,
some of them are good,
some of them are bad,
some of them are just mad,
some of them are not sassy,
they look more glassy,
they are not gassy,
they are classy
like books on the shelf
waiting for a warm hand.
Milliards of people are on the Land,
each one needs the right hand
so that to open it like a book and read.
If you manage to do it
you’ll succeed to learn a lot.
Remembering that life is short
you’ll learn how to burn the useless things,
how to leave the one without a gun
who troubles brings,
how to live with those you adore,
And… much much more.

Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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History Books

We read the history books
The death and destruction
That happened time
And time again
But remembering is futile,
Without total and complete consensus
War will happen again

The memories of the Elders
While we sit on the lap of danger
We are listening in awe
and disbelief
It could never happen here

Ten thousand dead!
The headlines blare
In some alternate universe
Separate from our cushioned existence

Their lives are marked by tragedy
Ours by the tragedy we have escaped
Our army is only numbers
Theirs dear departed souls

Their stories are separated by a barrier
Faceless, courageous people
Risk their lives each day
While we sit

And read the history books

poem by Hannah Rachnid
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Like Wisdom

Wisdom is like a number too bright, too river and sea,
It reminds us of God, to be polite and good and merry.
This living of excesses results in pain, but what is the suffering?
Learn this way and that but there is no happiness without pleasure.
Little wise kings are not great and big, men are of wisdom,
And the books they bind and afterwards read are surely wise.
The non-fool hits the table on which rests his simple divine
Manuscript from God, the Bible of His, the Sacred Scripture.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Constant Pain

You don't know what it's like to have Pain, every time you take a
breath or even breathe.
You don't know what it's like to have to hold your breathe each time the
bus turns a curve
You don't know what it's like when you're standing and you have to move
but you don't want to because you will be in Pain
You don't know what it's like to get up and know that you are going to be
in Pain most of the day
You don't know what it's like for your heart to beat fast as if you just
ran a mile even though you only walked a few feet
You don't know what it's like to be in never ending Pain
You don't know what it's like to sit and in be in Pain
You don't know what it's like to not want to walk because with each step
it will make your hip hurt
You don't know what it's like to sit on your bed and wait for your heart
to beat normally
You don't know what it's like to have Pain in your arm that is writing
this
You don't know what it's like to wait for the Pain to stop
You don't know that it's like to see your hand move because something
inside your chest is beating way above normal
You just don't know what it's like
You don't know what it's like to not want to sleep
You don't know what it's like to experience Pain every time your back his
straight
You don't know what it's like to have my Pain
You will never know what it's like to have my Pain
You will never know and you will never try
My Pain is my Pain, no one else's
It is my burden to bear. I bear it alone. I will bear it alone till I
change my mind
It's not anytime soon. I'm sorry.
You don't know what it like for something to bleed on your hand when you
don't know how you got it to bleed
You don't know what it's like to not want to take a deep breathe because
if you do, you will just be in Pain and sometimes, you just can't help it

poem by Matthew Bresette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Hundred Books

A thousand books my library
Contains;
And all are primed, it seems to me
With brains.
Mine are so few I scratch in thought
My head;
For just a hundred of the lot
I've read.

A hundred books, but of the best,
I can
With wisdom savour and digest
And scan.
Yet when afar from kin and kith
In nooks
Of quietness I'm happy with
Sweet books.

So as nine hundred at me stare
In vain,
My lack I'm wistfully aware
Of brain;
Yet as my leave of living ends,
With looks
Of love I view a hundred friends,
My books.

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Misery

Misery
By: Adam M. Snow

Here I am alone in somber;
as I rest calmly here in my chamber.
Suddenly there rose a clatter;
for I hear it calling out to me;
'Who's there that my eyes cannot see? '
I said as the voices replied,
'Misery is me, I am your misery.'

I rose from my slumber;
with haste of morning ember;
to be stopped by an essence of me.
'How can this be? ' I said. 'Truly it can't be me.'
This is too real even for a dream;
truly it cant even be a ream.
'So who are you to be a reflection of me? '
Thus he replied, 'I am your misery.'

He said he is my misery;
if that is the case how can that be?
for I've held this pain in for so long;
that I do not know what went wrong;
for I am also numb,
weary, dreary, and some;
for I know not what would become of me;
if I was to set it free.
For I know now that this will be the end of me;
to be killed by my own misery.

I reach deeply within myself letting loose of my feelings;
as my misery whispered in my ear; he said, 'Your time is near.'
Must this be, for I feel that I'm not ready?
For all the things that I have done, I am truly sorry.
This is truly the end of me;
thus my last words be,
'Misery is me, I am my misery.'

poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Misery

Oh, sweet misery
why don't you join me for the day
come out, come out
where ever you are
I figured we come out and play
sweet misery, sweet misery
I need you now more then ever
you left without a warning
I thought we'd always stay together
oh, sweet misery
is it time for hide and seek?
I'm looking for you
searching for you
but you won't make a peep
Sweet misery, sweet misery
don't give me a tough time
I just want to keep you forever
treat you just like you're mines
Oh, sweet misery
do you know you're all i have?
You just lead the way
I'll follow your path
Sweet misery, sweet misery
I can't go on with out you
are you giving up on me?
you know you're not allowed to
Oh, sweet misery
Yes, you have arrived
I knew you'd never leave me
I forgot to look inside.

poem by Vanessa Mercado
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Still it is fresh.

You have been in use.
Your lips are a sucked one,
The breasts a cupped one,
The nape a smelt one,
The thighs a kneaded one
And the part a pierced one.
I don’t mind; you are fresh to me.
I read books read by others.
11.06.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Diary Of Me

Umm pum-pum-pum
Pum-pum, pum-pum, pum-pum
Look behind myself
As I reflect on all the memories
The times they come and go
Lost everything from friends to Family
If I could turn back the hands
There would be some things I'd change about me
I know that my past is not what my future holds
Where I come from
Who could believe
All the pain and misery
Look in my eyes and you'll see
The diary of me
Rewind my life
Just go back and correct all the wrong
And ask God to direct my path
So that I can make it home
And if I could turn back the hands of time
There would be some things I would change about me
But I know that my past is not what my future holds
'Cause
Where I'm from
Who could believe
All the pain, misery
Look in my eyes and you will see
The diary of me
Years ago a child was born (a child was born) (ooh)
And raised without a man (without my... father, and wonder why he's in these streets) (ooh)
My mother's gone (mothers gone, yet still... found the strength to pray for me) (ooh)
But still reached out her hand
Just open the book (na-na-na-na-na-na)
Turn the pages of my life (na-na-na)
And you will read
A true story about one man's journey
Where I'm from (ahh...)
Who would believe, yeah
That all the hurt and pain and misery (ahh...)
Look in my eyes (ahh...)
You'll see the diary of me (pum-pum-pum-pum-pum)
Where I'm from (where I'm from, who could believe) (ahh...)
Who could believe (the hurt and pain and misery)
(Look in my eyes) in my eyes (and you will see) (ahh...)
(The makings of) the makings of
(My diary) my diary
(Where I'm from) look in my eyes (ahh...)
(Who could believe) you'll see
(The hurt and pain and misery)
(Look in my eyes) (ahh...)
(And you will see) yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah
(The makings of my diary)
(Where I'm from...) (ahh...)

song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Hundred Thousand Marching

One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.

poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Diary Of Me

Ummm pum pum pum pum pum
Looked behind myself
As I reflect on all the memories
The times they come and go
Lost everything from
Friends to Family
If I could turn back the hands
There would be
Somethings I'd change about me
I know that my past is not what my future holds
Where I come from
Who could believe
All the pain and misery
Look in my eyes and you'll see
The diary of me
Rewind my life
Just go back and correct
All the wrong
And ask God to direct my path
So that I can make it home
And if I could turn back the hands of time
There would be somethings I would change about me
But I know that my past is not what my future holds
Cause
Where I come from
Who could believe
All the pain, misery
Look in my eyes and you will see
The diary of me
Years ago a child was born (A child was born)
And raised without a man (without a man, raised in the streets)
My mother's gone
But still reached out her hand
Just open the book
Turn the pages of my life
And you will read
A true story about one man's journey
Where I'm from
Who would believe, yeah
That all the hurt and pain and misery
Look in my eyes
You'll see the diary of me
Where I'm from (where I'm from who could believe)
Who could believe (the hurt and pain and misery)
(Look in my eyes) in my eyes (and you will see)
(The makings of) the makings of
(My diary) My diary
(Where I'm from) look in my eyes
(Who could believe) you'll see
(The hurt and pain and misery)
(Look in my eyes)
(And you will see) yeah yeah yeah yeah
(The makings of my diary)
(Where I'm from...)

song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pain...and...Joy

You Are The Pain and The Joy

You are the Pain and the joy
on the stage of life.

You are the pain hunger and the joy
of food on ones table.

You are the pain of the homeless,
and the joy, of the home,
in His heart.

You are the pain on a bitter,
winter day and the joy, in
the warmth of the sun.

You are the pain and joy, in the
solitude, of those moments alone.

You are the pain and joy, that
lingers in ones heart.

You are the pain in music that is bad,
and you are the joy, in my song
of life.

You are the pain, in the tragedies
of the world, and the joy in the
goodness of people.

You are the pain of the orphans of
the street, and the joy, in a
mothers love.

You are the pain, in a sometime unjust
world, and the joy in the spirit
of ones heart.

You are the pain, in the loss of
loved ones, and the joy, when they
are seated at His table.

You are the pain of self destructive
addiction and the joy in redemption.

You are the pain, in the sicknesses of
this world, and the joy in the
hope of recovery.

You are the pain in the misery of the poor,
and disenfranchise, and the joy, in
the parts of society, that attempts to,
raise them up.

You are the pain and you are the joy,
in all things. For you see, in life, there
can not be joy...unless there is pain.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In LIfe...Unless There Is Pain...There Can Not Be Joy