Related quotes: An essence defined by a...

Growth

An essence defined by a play on words.
A metaphor defined as proper.
The holy and bright.
A guidance upon ones sight.
Can we not see with out it.
Are our voices silenced once it is gone.
As in the grimly awful death.
A collage sits upon this mess.
In the right order one might have success.
From one writing to the next.
Forever stirred in portions large and small.
An emotion splattered upon the page in all red.
And as this rose grows, the green appears in the shape of a stem and thorn.
It came out of no where.
It was of the unborn.
Below the earth eating reserves to escape towards the light.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The depth and strength of a human character are defined by its moral reserves. People reveal themselves completely only when they are thrown out of the customary conditions of their life, for only then do they have to fall back on their reserves.

quote by Leon Trotsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rose

In my hand I held the rose
As I would a woman dear,
Within my fingers I held it tight
As I wished it would not disappear.
From the touch, sight and beauty that I knew,
When the kiss of beauty, once had blew.

I held the rose as I would a love
As I had held in memory and thought,
And then the rose I could not let go
For the same as a lover, she became my soul.
The stem became the body and the petals became the skin,
Then I held her lightly, within the wind.

The rose held me, as I had held her
The two of us had become one
Then the act of God had prevailed that day
For he commanded the wind to take the rose away.
And towards the heavens She had flew,
As though to join the love that I once had knew.

In my hand there laid a thorn
Though to remind me of the sting of death,
So upon the Earth, I then laid the thorn
So love of life could again be reborn.
I buried the thorn as you would a dream,
Knowing never again, will it be seen.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Who Are We?

Who are we?
Are we humans that have made ourselves provisions?
The hierarchy results in collisions
And we are unique, in the way we were.
The zebra is like a page of writing,
And we do not write like animals.
Our character is defined by the sun,
Making tools is our lust and our shade.
Let feelings be ridding us of pride
For this emotion is so huge that we suffer.
Occupy levels pleasing to the human soul.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Successful men are defined by thier actions;
Unsuccessful men are defined by actions not taken.

quote by Tom Rose
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rose To Remember....

i am reading about the death of a rose
i am reflecting about
death of freedom
it is all about a rose, a wilting rose, a brown rose,
a dry rose
each petal falling softly on the ground
a dry ground full of sand and pebbles
all footprints covered
abandoned, i am talking

about the death of a rose, the death of the freedom of the rose
the death of freedom, the rose of death, the freedom of death,

is it you now that i talk about? that i must remember?
have i met you before when i was but a thorn, a worm, a leaf?
was i the sand
a pebble, the wind? will you be a rose forever?
is there death in you?

i feel the wind, i smell the rose,
there is no death....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writing To

Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.

Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine

Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?

Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor

Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?

Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
With every sound, taste, and light.
The worlds get get oh so oh so bright
Understand that which is not so forthright
This is my night, and day.
So come on join me, please this way.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Woman Dear

In my hand I held the rose
As I would a Woman dear,
Within my fingers I held it tight
As I wished it would not disappear.
From the beauty that I had knew
When the kiss of beauty, once did flew.

I held the rose as I would a love
As I had held in memory and thought,
Then the rose I could not let go
For the same as a lover, she became my soul.
The stem became a body and the petals became her skin.
Then I held her softly, within the wind.

The rose held me as I held her
The two of us had became one,
Then the act of GOD prevailed that day,
For he commanded the wind to take her away.
Then towards the heavens I saw her flew.
As though to join the love that I once had knew.

In my hand there laid a thorn,
Though to remind me of the sting of death,
So upon the Earth I then laid the thorn
So the love of life could again be reborn.
I buried the thorn as you would a dream.
Knowing never again, will it be seen.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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The Red, Red Rose Of Sanity

There is a red, red rose
that grows outside my pane.
A pane that's never opened and where I must remain.
I don't know how long I've been here
or how many years.
All I seem to remember is a red, red rose appears.
As I look outside the pane that's spaced by iron bars,
the only other thing I see at night time are the stars.
The rose that grows outside my pane
I wish that I could touch.
The feel of it I do not know, but the sight's a red, red blush.

They feed me and bathe me and then they bring me back.
And then they give me shots and a pill they call Prozac.
It's then I become so quiet and no one even knows
that the only thing I live for is to see my red, red rose.
Sometimes I hear them talking as I sit there by the pane.
Most words I do not understand except the word 'insane.'
I think it means that something in my head isn't right.
How'd this happen to me? Why is this my plight?
I close my ears to all they say and see my red, red rose.
I often wish the pane was up so I could use my nose
to smell the sweet, sweet perfume I know the rose must give.
It's the only thought I have that makes me want to live.

Sometimes when the snow appears, my rose is gone away.
It's then I do remember, remember how to pray.
I pray that God will send the sun, the warmth and not the snows,
so I can look out of my pane to see my red, red rose.

Dedicated to all who have been institutionalized

poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Dedication. To Charlotte Cushman.

As Love will carve dear names upon a tree,
Symbol of gravure on his heart to be,

So thought I thine with loving text to set
In the growth and substance of my canzonet;

But, writing it, my tears begin to fall --
This wild-rose stem for thy large name's too small!

Nay, still my trembling hands are fain, are fain
Cut the good letters though they lap again;

Perchance such folk as mark the blur and stain
Will say, `It was the beating of the rain;'

Or, haply these o'er-woundings of the stem
May loose some little balm, to plead for them.

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Sight could not contain him

essence of love
fountain of love
god he is to be felt
subtly felt so that
you could concentrate
your energy on him
for sight is not enough
to contain him
too distractive
the whole world
would annihilate
if he should come into sight
stuffing an elephant
into a plastic bag?
keep god at heart
that is enough
that is the only place
in a man large
enough for god
keep it lit
keep it bright
keep it clean
keep it holy
he will call you
day and night
till you and him are one

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Hiding Emotion in Metaphors

I'm sitting here wondering
can i hide my emotion through words
writing in metaphors
when really its all plain
I'm broken
easy enough to say
but what does it mean
I'm in pieces
i don't work anymore
I'm broken
who says that to explain emotion
except a poet
finding metaphor for emotion
does it mean I'm sad, yes
does it mean I'm torn, yes
what does torn mean
torn like an old rug
torn like a dollar bill
ripped to shreds, broken
who needs a metaphor to explain emotion
when its laid out in front of everyone
my eyes are swollen
my body is bruised
my words are silent
my smile is fake
its all plain and simple
laid out like a flashing sign
i am broken
even though my emotions are plain
i still have to explain through metaphors
because people don't look for a simple answer
they look for the secrets people tell
is she holding back tears
is her smile today real
I'm broken
but people don't look to see me
they look to find emotion
encoded in this poem
hiding my feelings
in this metaphorical language
because people don't look
i am broken

poem by Audrey Marie Kay
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Truth and Lies

Is the truth beyond our lies,
Say what you want,
Watch what you say,
For our hidden lies, we must pay.

In the darkness of the night,
In the brightness of the day,
Truth and lies have gone astray.

Does your truth contain a lie?
Black as coal, the midnight sky.
Truth will shine,
It is the light,
To tell the truth,
With a soul so bright.

Is truth defined just in the mind?
In the Prince of Darkenss lies defined.
Love of the truth will scorn the Devil,
Our truth must stay at our highest level.

Of these shortcomings,
Are we aware?
That we speak of lies so unaware!
Every lie turns the truth aside,
Our secret truths, we sometimes hide.

poem by Philip Lore
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 45. The baby new to earth and sky

The baby new to earth and sky,
What time his tender palm is prest
Against the circle of the breast,
Has never thought that "this is I":
But as he grows he gathers much,
And learns the use of "I," and "me,"
And finds "I am not what I see,
And other than the things I touch."
So rounds he to a separate mind
From whence clear memory may begin,
As thro' the frame that binds him in
His isolation grows defined.

This use may lie in blood and breath
Which else were fruitless of their due,
Had man to learn himself anew
Beyond the second birth of Death.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Thorn That Grows

The thorn that grows beside the rose
can let its prick be felt.
It also is a sharp reminder
of the pain that can be dealt
to the lover of beauty
that takes no care
to adore the rose
but not beware.

For all the beauty in the world
lies side by side with pain.
And all the glories of what you love
cannot always remain.
I do not languish myself with pity
nor do I live with pride.
But to live in fear of pain that comes
is to believe that beauty has died.

The thorn that grows protects the rose
as love protects the heart.
But if the thorn is missing
might not the rose depart?

poem by Edwina Reizer
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However, the sovereignty of the states is constitutionally defined and recognized, while the powers of the local government in Puerto Rico are defined by, and subject to alteration under, federal statutory law.

quote by Dick Thornburgh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Love That I Found Defined In Me

The love that I found defined in me.
Reduced all the fantasies,
I kept deceived.
When I saw you,
That moment I knew...
Mixed reactions disappeared.
I felt a deepness clearing and near,
Flowing to bestow...
Upon me.

The love that I found defined in me.
Removed all desires to be free.
You held the key,
To unlock that need in me...
That kept my secret beliefs,
No one could be there to release..
This in me.

The love that I found defined in me.
Needed no one else to complete.
You had the magic.
Fantastic,
Indeed!
And in me...
What it was you had,
Fixed a piece of mystery...
That teased!
And freed a gladness.

The love that I found defined in me.
Needed no one else to complete.
You had the magic.
Fantastic,
Indeed!
And in me...
What it was you had,
Fixed a piece of mystery...
That rid from me the sadness.

And you held the key,
To unlock that need in me!

Growing to show...
We know,
This is love!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Here I Come-4

Holy holy is He
So merciful
Lion and King
Wonderful Counselor
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

Most High God
Holy holy
Prince of Peace
Mighty Redeemer
King of Kings
Most High God
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

Take my sins
As far as the east
Is from the west
Purge me
With your precious blood
Shelter me
From the storms
Cover me
With your glory
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

You are so holy
You went to the cross
For me
So holy
You bled for me
So holy
You paid a price
I could not pay
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Light

The stars afar
Glitter and gleam,
A light in the night
Upon the earth good and green.

The sun not outdone
Every morn grows and glows,
With a light so bright
As to give beauty and bloom to the wild red rose.

The cosmos light both day and night
Ever does show and shine,
Giving cause to pause
And praise God, all the time.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Taste of Cold Dregs

(a whisper reaches your ear:
‘nobody likes the taste of cold dregs…’
and you attach no meaning to it)

you linger reposed beneath the sinking light
the soft yellow glow that rightfully
belongs
to yesterday

and your face reflects
in the thin sheet of glass
behind which you remain
separate
from everybody you’ve met
and everybody
you’ve yet to meet

your fingertips resonate with your
identity
your mind resonates with
nothing
(it seems you‘ve misplaced your identity)

emptiness
and a pretentious cup of tea
is all you’re living for

and you are defined only
by tea leaves and a herbal scent
upon your breath

(and you’ve never seen the future
in your tea leaves…
you’ve never even looked)

your imprints defile
a cracked cup
splattered with fading
flowers

and as the world passes by
you remain on your stool
(reflecting the soft yellow light)
sipping and sipping and sipping
your life away
In tiny portions

leaving only the fingerprints on your cup
and the cold, black dregs
(which taste bitter on your tongue)
to suggest
that you were ever there…

poem by Abby Koning
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Life Graph

The way I perceive the life
shrouded in the mystery
its up and down curves
none can guess but destiny.

Challenges, the hall mark of life
paint it with red or green
acceptance of failures gives direction
success gives a sheen.

Biggest philanthropist, the life is
providing opportunity at every stage
those who grabs it with both hands
ink their name on every page.

Life graph is never smooth
and should not be so
death is defined by a smooth line
a beating heart must know.

Vagaries of life draws its graph
So never pity it and destroy
bonded, life can never be
crib not dears but enjoy.

poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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