Empty
Can this be my poem?—this poor fragment
Of bald thought in meanest language dressed!
Can this string of rhymes be my sweet poem?
All its poetry wholly unexpressed!
Does it tell me of the dreams that wandered,
In the silent night-time, through my brain?
Of the woven web of wondrous fancies,
Half of keenest joy and half of pain?
Does it tell me of the awful beauty
That came down to hide this sordid earth?
Does it tell me of the inward crying?—
Of the glory whence it had its birth?
Only as the lamp, all dull and rusted,
Tells me of the flame that is put out,—
Of the shiny hair and happy faces
Lighted, when its radiance streamed about?
Only as this piece of glass, now lying
In the shade beside me, as I sit,
Tells me of the soft hues of the rainbow,
That the morning sunshine gave to it!
Only as this little flask, now smelling
Of the dust and mould with which 'tis lined,
Tells me of the lovely subtle fragrance
Of the perfume that it once enshrined!
Only as a picture, blurred and faded,
Tells me of the bloom of colour there,
When the painter's soul was with his canvas,
And his paint was bright, and fresh, and fair!
Only as the wires and keys—notes broken,
Odd and scattered—tell me of a strain
That once filled my very soul with rapture,
But can never be spelled out again!
Only as a bare brown flower-stalk tells me
Of the delicate blossom that it wore;
Of the humming bees in silken petals,
And the downy butterflies it bore!
Only as a crazy boat, sun-blistered,
Drawn up high and dry upon the sands,
Tells me of the blue and buoyant billows
Bearing breezy sails to foreign lands!
Only as a little dead lark, lying
With bedraggled wings and withered throat,
Tells me of the songs it heard in heaven—
Trying to teach me, here and there, a note!
Oh no! oh no! this is not my treasure—
This is but the shell where it has lain;
It is gone—the life, and light, and glory,—
And 'twill never come to me again!
poem by Ada Cambridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Demon voice
he tells me to fight not to walk away
he tells me to scream not to talk rational
he tells me to hate not to forgive
he tells me destroy not to create
he tells me to give in
he tells me to kill
he knows i'm getting weaker
he knows it's almost his time
he knows he will be free
he knows he will have fun
he knows it will be a bloody ride to the end
he knows the end is death and so do i
poem by Paddy Jansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nature tells me
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my riches for I am not
much richer than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my beauty for I am not
much beautiful than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my kindness for I am not
much kinder than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my generosity for I am not
much generous than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my logicality for I am not
much logical than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my judiciousness for I am not
much judicious than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my poetic mind for I am not
much poetic than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my prides for I am not
much prouder than her.
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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Christmas 2010
Christmas is the time that tells
That God was born a baby boy;
And He was called ‘Emmanuel’
(‘God with us’) , and brought us joy!
Christmas is the time that tells
That love of God was born on earth,
Becoming flesh in virgin’s womb,
Proclaiming the ‘King of Kings’ birth!
Christmas is the time that tells
That Word that was God became man,
And dwelt amongst us for some years,
And suffer in all ways, He can.
Christmas is the time that tells
That peace returned to heart and soul,
And brought back hope to sinners too,
Who aim toward a heavenly goal.
Christmas is the time that tells
That prophecy of birth of Christ
In Scriptures came to be fulfilled,
As angel choirs sang in Highest.
Christmas is the time that tells
That God chose poverty at birth,
To know how tough life on earth is,
And showed how woes can become mirth.
Christmas is the time that tells
That Christ was born to save mankind
From sins of present, future, past,
And peace came back to heart and mind.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 07-12-2010
poem by John Celes
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No Adequate Explanation
I have no adequate explanation-
I just know-because my heart tells me!
As though in a state of suspended animation,
I wait, and shall, because my heart tells me! !
They say there is a mate for each-
I say mine is you, because I feel it in my soul!
No sacrifice is too much, which leads me within your reach-
I know-because I feel it in my heart, which you stole!
I have no doubts, we are a Divine truth-
You know-because your heart tells you so;
I just believe, I need no form of proof-
You believe-because your heart tells you so!
I know it is but a matter of where, when or how-
Yet, because my mind tells me so, I wish it were now!
Maurice Harris,3 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I love him
They say we are too young,
They think we are dumb,
They feel we are lying,
They tell us to wait,
They bealive we arny ready,
They must not believe in their heart.
I believe in my heart,
My heart dosent think, it speaks,
My heart dosent lie, it tell the truth
My heart dosent think, it speaks,
My heart dosent wait, it goes straight for the prize,
And my heart is not to young to love,
I will follow my heart,
It tells me I love him,
It tells me I need him,
It tells me I want him back,
It tells me it is broken because of him,
It tells me I LOVE him
poem by Kate Kerney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am empty, old, poor, but smell good
got a fresh one... everytime we look for food,
vegetable, milk, fish, and even our eyes want
to see fresh beautiful women and handsome
gentlemen... a part of us is something that
tells that we came from fresh origin
remember when the first time we meet our
husband and wife... they were so sweet and
tender.... like a first morning dew, waiting the
early morning to come, beneath the horizon
dawn of the earth and sky
it is the present that tells the past, for today
is the present and it tells that iam fresh until
you lost your appetite of what is today
today is what you saw, in the yesteryear's, for
it does not close my dear, it is only your eyes
that closed, ages... is moment to live....a state
of wisdom to share...a grit.... to hold on too..
with you
as you steer at me...iam old....rotten...broken...
yet so sweet to smell... like as years gone-by,
the smell remind you the fragrance you want...
is yourself that lives in me......it is in me that.....
is in you.... we smell
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Baby's got blue eyes
Baby's got blue eyes
Tomorrow I'll be blue as well
Baby-he's made out of lies
Tomorrow I'll have no colour to tell
Baby's got soft hands
Tomorrow he will tear me apart
Baby-I think he just pretends
Tomorrow he will break my heart
Baby's got sweet voice
Tomorrow much wiser I will be
Baby-he tells me to rejoice
Tomorrow there'll be no joy to see
Baby's got wings he wants to fly
Tomorrow I will have no nest
Baby-he sings my dreams to the sky
Tomorrow he'll leave me at our best
Baby he tells me love I mistrust
He tells me I should trust him more
But baby not to believe you I must
For baby-sweet darling- you've done that before
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr. Green
Green leaves tell you
How green your mind is,
Wide boroughs tell you
How broad your mind is,
Velvet grasses tell you
How soft your hair is,
Clean water ponds tell you
How your tears are,
White clouds tell you
How your floating thoughts are,
Birds in group tell you
How you enjoy friend’s company,
Peacock tells you
How you dance in rain,
Lion tells you
How to react with pride,
Deer tells you
How you enjoy your freedom,
And environment tells you
How you can become Mr. Green.
poem by Biswajit Ganguly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Value of Rubies
Virtuous woman
Valued beyond rubies
Till time and wear
and truth and tear
steals the light
Better for value are you
women of ill repute
in dimly lit
alleys and taverns
Who, when paid:
Tells you they love you
When you know they don't
Tells you to trust them
When you know you can't
Tells you this matters
When you know it doesn't
Though who tells you
they stay
by the hour
till time is up
and do
and you sit in bed
smoking
watching
her ass
as she leaves
Glowing ember
turning to ashes
flickers, fails
and finally
dies.
poem by Carsten Thomsen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Candlelight
So many bees, who know so much
that only bees can tell,
gave their life’s devotion
to this single source of light;
silent whisper for your attention
to what it has to tell your sight,
before its substance burns, returns
into the upper air…
gently burns on altar, or scented in the bathroom’s grace;
or here in front of you, gentle hypnotist
for the wandering mind;
to which it has so much to tell..
tells of humility; gently burning
in a stable, before a birth;
tells of loving-kindness; gives itself,
yet asks for nothing but to be itself;
tells of worship: worship, first, of what the bees are;
and here in this honey-coloured form
is their own worship;
waxing silent in murmured devotion;
warming miraculously, into liquid wax;
only love can be so liquid;
only love can reach so far;
liquid, warmed into this present light:
the candle’s flame you know so well
yet cannot shape or hold;
already, candle hints to you
that there is that beyond all sense:
for round its light, air’s gently warmed:
drawing the flame itself into the invisible above
like the soul that’s yearning for its homeland;
and beyond, within, that air you cannot see
unless it moves some other thing,
it lights the space – space which is not
bathroom, altar; but all space;
candle tells you of all that;
draws the mind with steady, silent truth
to all creation in a single flame;
flame that asks for naught of you
but your attention; which it will reward
by telling you in stillness,
what you worship in yourself;
the light of self, that shines before all men
and glorifies its maker
like a gentle flame that cannot be put out.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mirror
Standing in front of the mirror,
The reflection tells me to look behind.
The focus of the mirror is myself,
And also what lies behind.
I can move to the left,
I can move to the right,
But to the mirror I am always within it's sight.
As are things past.
I look out a window,
It tells me to see what lies ahead.
In the window, I do not see myself.
I see others.
I see nature's beauty unfolding.
I know I am there,
But I am just merely a part of the surroundings.
To the mirror, it is all about me.
The mirror tells me to worry about how I look.
The window tells me to worry about how the world looks.
The eyes are the window to the soul.
Not the mirror.
The mirror deceives.
To the mirror, everything is backwards.
As I look into my own eyes.
My soul becomes filled with self.
As I look into the eyes of another.
My soul becomes filled with life.
While the mirror holds my reflection.
It is the window that holds the truth.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The Fortune Teller
There's a fortune teller
that tells it like she sees it.
But how do I know that
what she sees is true?
Maybe it's all hokum
and then what will I do?
She tells me I will meet
the man in my life
that will sweep me off my feet
and make me his wife.
She tells me I'll have babies,
that they will make me proud.
She tells me she sees sunshine
and not a single cloud.
And so I feel better,
better than before.
But before I leave,
before I leave your door
Let me look into your eyes
to see if these are lies.
Oh fortune teller let it all be true.
My time is running out now.
It's all up to you.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Where Shall I Greatness Buy?
Mom tells me to finish my homework quickly,
When I ask why? , she tells me
“You should become great as great as your dad”.
When I ask, where is my dad Mom?
She tells me, “He is now god’s guest.”
Again when I ask Mom,
“Can I not become great by being the god’s guest”?
She slaps me gently and tells me,
“Now just shut up and get your homework done”.
Little later when I ask she says,
“Your Dad fought like a tiger,
risking his life, he never bothered.
His gun has brought him greatness
and the honour of being the god’s guest.
Again when I ask,
“Do people become great when they fight”?
If so, I will beat in the school,
My friend Philip, with my might.”
Now, Mom calls me stupid and gives me a push.
Crying I go to sleep in her lap,
Now she says, “Tomorrow I will
give you pocket money for ice-cream”.
Wiping my eyes when I ask,
Mom! ”Can I by saving pocket money,
try greatness buy”?
Tell Mom, “From where shall I greatness buy”?
She tells, “Oh god help me”
and begins to cry.
poem by Dr. Sandeep Kumar Kar
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What We See In The Rainbow
We see it only after the rain
We see in it a glimpse of pain
Where hope is there to show a way
When we feel very down and astray
When we talk about the pretty rainbow
There're so many things with it that show
That tell us to make the best of things
That moves around us in life's ring
It tells us the thing that is main
Is to watch out life in the fast lane
And tells us to only think positive
And stop thinking negative
And it tells us in this world asleep
Still water runs deep
So be careful and never sigh
And take encouragement from rainbow high.
Seema Chowdhury
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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The Smoke Of Truth....
from fire
always comes out
smoke
this is the one
that tells the truth
when it goes out
of the window
it tells the skies
it shows
the telltales
to the earth
intertwines
with the rays of
the sun
bearing witness
then
gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Rainbow
I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.
Genesis ix. 13.
SOFT falls the mild, reviving shower
From April's changeful skies,
And rain-drops bend each trembling flower
They tinge with richer dyes.
Soon shall their genial influence call
A thousand buds to day,
Which, waiting but their balmy fall,
In hidden beauty lay.
E'en now full many a blossom's bell
With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure clothes each grassy dell,
In brighter tints arrayed.
But mark! what arch of varied hue
From heaven to earth is bowed?
Haste, ere it vanish, haste to view
The Rainbow in the cloud.
How bright its glory! there behold
The emerald's verdant rays,
The topaz blends its hue of gold
With the deep ruby's blaze.
Yet not alone to charm thy sight
Was given the vision fair;?
Gaze on that arch of colored light,
And read God's mercy there.
It tells us that the mighty deep,
Fast by th' Eternal chained,
No more o'er earth's domains shall sweep,
Awful and unrestrained.
It tells that seasons, heat and cold,
Fixed by his sovereign will,
Shall, in their course, bid man behold
Seed-time and harvest still;
That still the flower shall deck the field,
When vernal zephyrs blow;
That still the vine its fruit will yield,
When autumn sun-beams glow.
Then, child of that fair earth! which yet
Smiles with each charm endowed,
Bless thou His name, whose mercy set
The Rainbow in the cloud!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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An Angel for My Friend
I want my friend to have an angel,
for he's an angel to me,
he isn't just a friend, oh, no,
he's more like family.
He's not always around. Most times
he's with the other teens,
but he takes the time to talk to me,
and I know what he means.
He says the world is hard and soft,
a good/bad place to grow,
and the more we learn about it,
the more there is to know.
He tells me that I'm handsome and strong,
he tells me when I'm wrong,
he tells me that I'm funny and smart,
he says that I've got heart,
he helpsme with my homework,
he's going to teach me how to swim.
Well, I want my friend to have an angel
just like him.
(By: Eloise Greenfield)
poem by Sydni Smith
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Severed Tail of a Home Lizard
Wriggling tail really tells
That soul and body ride together,
But whose divorce
Death always seeks.
Wriggling tail really tells
That pain is a pin,
Which pricks on
On all the severances.
Wriggling tail really tells
That visible and invisible
Are synchronized
On all beings in universe.
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Tarot Woman
I dont wanna go
Something tells me no, no, no, no
But traces in the sand
The lines inside my hand say go go go
Beware of a place
A smile on a bright shiny face
Ill never return, how do you know
Tarot woman, I dont know, I dont know
She can take you there
The entrance to the fair, my, my, my
Ride the carousel
Cast a music spell, you can fly, fly
Something in the air
Tells me to beware, no, no, no
Her love is like a knife
Shell carve away your life, so go, so go
song performed by by Rainbow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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