A Tale Of Starvation
There once was a man whom the gods didn't love,
And a disagreeable man was he.
He loathed his neighbours, and his neighbours hated him,
And he cursed eternally.
He damned the sun, and he damned the stars,
And he blasted the winds in the sky.
He sent to Hell every green, growing thing,
And he raved at the birds as they fly.
His oaths were many, and his range was wide,
He swore in fancy ways;
But his meaning was plain: that no created thing
Was other than a hurt to his gaze.
He dwelt all alone, underneath a leaning hill,
And windows toward the hill there were none,
And on the other side they were white-washed thick,
To keep out every spark of the sun.
When he went to market he walked all the way
Blaspheming at the path he trod.
He cursed at those he bought of, and swore at those he sold to,
By all the names he knew of God.
For his heart was soured in his weary old hide,
And his hopes had curdled in his breast.
His friend had been untrue, and his love had thrown him over
For the chinking money-bags she liked best.
The rats had devoured the contents of his grain-bin,
The deer had trampled on his corn,
His brook had shrivelled in a summer drought,
And his sheep had died unshorn.
His hens wouldn't lay, and his cow broke loose,
And his old horse perished of a colic.
In the loft his wheat-bags were nibbled into holes
By little, glutton mice on a frolic.
So he slowly lost all he ever had,
And the blood in his body dried.
Shrunken and mean he still lived on,
And cursed that future which had lied.
One day he was digging, a spade or two,
As his aching back could lift,
When he saw something glisten at the bottom of the trench,
And to get it out he made great shift.
So he dug, and he delved, with care and pain,
And the veins in his forehead stood taut.
At the end of an hour, when every bone cracked,
He gathered up what he had sought.
A dim old vase of crusted glass,
Prismed while it lay buried deep.
Shifting reds and greens, like a pigeon's neck,
At the touch of the sun began to leap.
It was dull in the tree-shade, but glowing in the light;
Flashing like an opal-stone,
Carved into a flagon; and the colours glanced and ran,
Where at first there had seemed to be none.
It had handles on each side to bear it up,
And a belly for the gurgling wine.
Its neck was slender, and its mouth was wide,
And its lip was curled and fine.
The old man saw it in the sun's bright stare
And the colours started up through the crust,
And he who had cursed at the yellow sun
Held the flask to it and wiped away the dust.
And he bore the flask to the brightest spot,
Where the shadow of the hill fell clear;
And he turned the flask, and he looked at the flask,
And the sun shone without his sneer.
Then he carried it home, and put it on a shelf,
But it was only grey in the gloom.
So he fetched a pail, and a bit of cloth,
And he went outside with a broom.
And he washed his windows just to let the sun
Lie upon his new-found vase;
And when evening came, he moved it down
And put it on a table near the place
Where a candle fluttered in a draught from the door.
The old man forgot to swear,
Watching its shadow grown a mammoth size,
Dancing in the kitchen there.
He forgot to revile the sun next morning
When he found his vase afire in its light.
And he carried it out of the house that day,
And kept it close beside him until night.
And so it happened from day to day.
The old man fed his life
On the beauty of his vase, on its perfect shape.
And his soul forgot its former strife.
And the village-folk came and begged to see
The flagon which was dug from the ground.
And the old man never thought of an oath, in his joy
At showing what he had found.
One day the master of the village school
Passed him as he stooped at toil,
Hoeing for a bean-row, and at his side
Was the vase, on the turned-up soil.
'My friend,' said the schoolmaster, pompous and kind,
'That's a valuable thing you have there,
But it might get broken out of doors,
It should meet with the utmost care.
What are you doing with it out here?'
'Why, Sir,' said the poor old man,
'I like to have it about, do you see?
To be with it all I can.'
'You will smash it,' said the schoolmaster, sternly right,
'Mark my words and see!'
And he walked away, while the old man looked
At his treasure despondingly.
Then he smiled to himself, for it was his!
He had toiled for it, and now he cared.
Yes! loved its shape, and its subtle, swift hues,
Which his own hard work had bared.
He would carry it round with him everywhere,
As it gave him joy to do.
A fragile vase should not stand in a bean-row!
Who would dare to say so? Who?
Then his heart was rested, and his fears gave way,
And he bent to his hoe again. . . .
A clod rolled down, and his foot slipped back,
And he lurched with a cry of pain.
For the blade of the hoe crashed into glass,
And the vase fell to iridescent sherds.
The old man's body heaved with slow, dry sobs.
He did not curse, he had no words.
He gathered the fragments, one by one,
And his fingers were cut and torn.
Then he made a hole in the very place
Whence the beautiful vase had been borne.
He covered the hole, and he patted it down,
Then he hobbled to his house and shut the door.
He tore up his coat and nailed it at the windows
That no beam of light should cross the floor.
He sat down in front of the empty hearth,
And he neither ate nor drank.
In three days they found him, dead and cold,
And they said: 'What a queer old crank!'
poem by Amy Lowell
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Related quotes
June to July
For Junealice Pardo-Vela passed July 4th 2010**
Without the turning of a month I remained a beautiful flower
My vase of narrow glass of narrow food and narrow light
This-too-shall-passing under a sun with slight movement
Slight lines slight light through an open shudder fell
Across a counter until I was only bright in places
And in others cast in shadow where my blossom’s edge began to fall away
But by the light of your window I held myself as straight as tall hiding petals as they fell within the glass
I was bright and smiled and you passed me
While I only hoped you were not afraid
But days do pass and inevitable seeds that flower in inevitable spring are picked and taken away to sit in windows in June
Even before July they start to set like the sun and by July the heat pushes down on them so hard that all they wilt can no longer be hidden
And it is then that you do see me
As sure as you see where I once was
For it is July and I have come to fall away
In the light of your window you see the space where I should be
Keep finding each little petal that I had hid in the glass
I was bright and I smiled as you passed me
In July I am brighter and I smile as I pass away
June has come and she has gone
Within the turning of a month I remain a flower
A beautiful flower without vase or narrow glass or food or narrow light or shuddering or pain or falling down to hide
I pass with the sun
Bright light now shining through a larger window
And I only hope that you are not afraid
poem by Alizon Kiel
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A Vase Built With Love
For Melvina Germain
Who suggested I write something about a simple vase.
A vase stood on the mantle piece
and two red roses within it stood
one for each heart for whom the vase belonged.
A century before on a potter’s wheel
the vase was carefully crafted by two loving hands
then fired in an oven to keep the love within.
It was then decorated with the same loving care.
The images on it told a story
of two lovers parted by a war.
It told how they had met down a leafy lane
and how their love had grown.
Then came the thunder of an approaching war.
It recorded their last kiss together
before the war tore them apart.
It also told of the years of agony
of waiting for his return,
then of the joys of reuniting,
and how after so long
their love began again to burn.
All this lovingly painted
so everyone could learn
that love never diminishes
even when separated by a war.
18 October 2008
poem by David Harris
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0068 The Connoisseur (2)
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
even the doorhandle, gently turned,
seems to speak a message
before the room entered, the first breath taken
of the room’s own air
and on the table, the grey-green vase seems
to be the host; the silent messenger: the furniture
somehow eternal in its order; every line and curve
within the room speaking of some
divine geometry; the shaded sunlight seems
to fall on tiptoe, touch in silent praise;
the air, to be refined; and the silence –
what does the silence say unspoken
as if it holds some god-smiled word,
some solemn laughter, about what
is there and is not there, has made
of this room, this ordinary room,
a shrine where one can worship without form
oneself?
the vase too holds itself both
open and reserved; its perfect curves
the subtle decisions of a history
of centuries, of generations
of human hands; of things made
for oneself, for others, for all else
where all else is known;
silent the vase; the room full of its sound.
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
you; moving forward with respectful quiet step
to touch this grey-green
Chinese vase
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Zen and the art of plastic flower maintenance
From time to time, when
I’ve been meditating, and
these things matter, I pick respectfully
the plastic flowers from their vase,
wash the vase, wipe the dust
off the leaves with a moist cloth,
dip the flower-heads in water
as one would give someone
a holy bath
and then replace them in
a slightly new position in the vase,
a slightly new position on the table.
absurdity and
something beautiful
have met and got along together rather well.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Consuming jealousy
I am jealous of the air you breathe,
of the soap that cleanses your body,
I am jealous of the rain that pours on
your face, and the sun that warms your
winter days, I am jealous of the way
you love the flowers and the vase they
wear, I am jealous of the sheets your
bed wears, that can touch every part
of your body, I am jealous of the mirror
that sees your face every morning day
and night. I am jealous yes I am, even
when you let my winds fly free and they
traveled to many seas, I am still there
facing my awe, consuming my flesh,
and my body speaking a language I can't
even comprehend, like a dark rose, that
lies on an empty vase, what do you do?
when the live you had, is gone and the
one you were living for, what is
there left? where do you go, what
doctor can cure the injured heart, doctor
love is just a tale, there's no cure for
the injured heart, nor there is for an
empty vase.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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A vase of flowers
I saw a vase of purple-pink roses
lying on your dark brown buffet
and simply had to have it.
“Who painted this, ” I immediately enquired
loving the picture more with each look
that I took of it
as it’s not your thing
to paint still life’s with flowers.
“I painted it. It’s like painting pillow slips, ”
you replied and astonished
I looked at it again
and this was on board
and not in water colours
but done with oil paint.
The folds of the cups were edged
in ridges along their lines
using the techniques
of your abstract paintings
and one smaller unopened bud
laid next to the bowl
almost running into your name.
Little pink flowers was in the background
where the transparent vase with green stems
was against the wall on a tiled floor.
[Reference: Vase with roses by Mandi Engelbrecht. (This painting belongs to me.) ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Vase
the vase where
your flower is put
is filled with
mosquitoes
do you still want to
put it there?
in this lousy metaphor
my body is the vase.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Farewell! -- But Whenever You Welcome the Hour
Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw
Its enchantment around him, while lingering with you.
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles --
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice has murmur'd, "I wish he were here!"
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd!
Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill'd --
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Flowers In A Vase
A bunch of flowers
Sat in a vase
Colourful and lonely
A mind looks at them
Wondering
What is it they have to say
Are they a thank you
Or a gift of love
Are they an apology
Or given in remorse
Perhaps they are for nothing
Given to bring a smile
The mind looks on
Wondering for a while
The flowers sit in their vase
Unmoved by thought
Or the reason given to them
A little water at their base
To keep them fresh for a while
They are the end of the day
Just flowers in a vase
poem by Matthew Holloway
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts
As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.
The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.
The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds
I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Equalizer
In a small hut on the hill
Lived a poor man named Bill
He could not spell it made life hell
At times there was no wood in the shed
The family went many times hungry to bed
But when he sat under the old Linden Tree
He had this feeling of being free
His gaze would wander over mountains and dales
Feeling tired but forgot what ails
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…
There comes a time when all is fair
But the lord of the manor was stroking his hair
His hand cradled a delicate crystal glass
A dozen red roses stood in a vase
On a table filled with food to delight
The view from the window a beautiful sight
His coat was pure silk the shirt out of lace
His mind from the wine in a haze
He lived in splendor every day of his life
Not caring for others strife
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…
poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Window Left Open...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...
god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.
another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.
old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.
even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.
while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...
the moth flew through a window left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Pearls of Verna Boone
I'd been alone for a year or so
Since Norma Jean had died,
I stayed in the house I'd bought for her
At the end of River Drive,
I'd felt her death as a fatal blow,
A crippling twist of fate,
For Norma Jean was my one true love,
Though I'd met her a little late!
I was past my prime when our eyes had met,
And she'd looked so young to me,
Her eyes had sparkled like diamonds set
As scarabs in sand and sea,
She saw the desert behind my eyes,
The emptiness in my life,
I stumbled over the words, but she
Said 'Yes! ' - She would be my wife!
I didn't know that she carried then
The seeds of a painful death,
Her face was flushed at the altar stone
And she seemed so short of breath,
I thought it merely a passing faint
That excitement had brought on,
As we stood in front of the Minister,
And joined our lives as one.
But then at home, she fell apart,
Collapsed on the kitchen floor,
I saw her lying, and coughing blood
Like I'd never seen before,
The doctor called, and he shook his head
As he left her there in the bed,
'I'm very sorry, ' the doctor sighed,
'But your lovely wife is dead! '
I cried and raged, and swore at fate
I smashed each wedding gift,
I wouldn't go to the funeral
But stayed at home and wept.
I cursed the heavens and thought that hell
Could never have been as bad
As a love that I'd waited a lifetime for,
A love that I'd never had!
The house next door was a rental place,
Stood empty for months that year,
But then a couple had moved on in,
I didn't see him, just her.
I thought that he was a traveller,
Was constantly on the road,
He came at night, and he left at dawn
In a battered and ancient Ford.
I had no reason to talk to them,
I sat at home with my grief,
I wandered out in the garden then
At one with each falling leaf,
But then one day, I heard her there
The other side of the fence,
Breaking her heart, as crying there
She sobbed with vehemence.
After a week of this, I climbed
The fence, and spoke to her,
'Why do you sigh, why do you cry? '
But she cried then all the more.
I walked around and sat with her
Quite late in the afternoon,
She smiled, and dried her eyes, and said,
'My name is Verna Boone! '
She said she'd only been married
Just a year this coming Spring,
But now that she knew the man he was,
Regretted everything,
He'd lost her money, just gambled it,
Had spent it on other girls,
And now they were left with nothing, he
Just wanted her mother's pearls!
'They're all I have to remember her, '
She sobbed, like a frightened child,
'They're worth a lot, but they're more to me, '
She looked at me, and smiled.
She took me inside and pulled them out
Three strings, they were very fine,
'He said that he's going to pawn them! '
Then she put her small hand in mine.
I was sad, alone and vulnerable,
I looked at her lovely curls,
She smiled at me, and she asked me then
If I'd care for her mother's pearls?
'I'll say they're lost, misplaced, I'll say,
He'll rant and rage, and more,
But he won't be able to pawn them now...'
Then she walked me to the door.
I took her home, and I placed the pearls
With the gems my wife had once:
'They'll be all right in the downstairs safe.'
It was then that she saw the gun.
She looked afraid, but she picked it up
And weighed it there in her hand,
I took it gently and locked it up
With the rest of my contraband.
'She must have watched as I spun the dial,
I know - I was such a fool! '
The sergeant sat and he stared at me,
And his stare was distant, cool.
He didn't believe a word I said
I could see that now, I'm done!
They put me back in a cell to wait
To be charged with Murder One!
She told them I had come over when
Her husband came home one night,
Waving a gun and ranting, then
Her husband put up a fight!
I'd shot him once through the head, she said,
Then taken her on the bed,
Stolen a fine pearl necklace,
Then beaten and left her for dead!
They found the gun on the floor, they said,
I knew that the gun was mine,
They found the pearls in my safe, they said,
It was only a question of time.
She sat at the back of the court while I
Was stood in the prisoner's dock,
And I noticed she wore her mother's pearls
With a nice new evening frock.
10 August 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Sonnet XCV: The Vase of Life
Around the vase of Life at your slow pace
He has not crept, but turned it with his hands,
And all its sides already understands.
There, girt, one breathes alert for some great race;
Whose road runs far by sands and fruitful space;
Who laughs, yet through the jolly throng has pass'd;
Who weeps, nor stays for weeping; who at last,
A youth, stands somewhere crowned, with silent face.
And he has filled this vase with wine for blood,
With blood for tears, with spice for burning vow,
With watered flowers for buried love most fit;
And would have cast it shattered to the flood,
Yet in Fate's name has kept it whole; which now
Stands empty till his ashes fall in it.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Kerrigan Boys
By jove it’s hot on the track today, my flannel is soaked with sweat.
I think I’ll sit in the shade a bit and wait for the sun to set.
I know of a decent camping place by the river beyond the town,
And I’d rather carry my swag through there after the sun goes down.
A touch of pride, well perhaps it is, though I haven’t much cause for pride.
It’s sixteen years to a day almost, since old man Kerrigan died.
Sixteen years and his place is sold and the fortune he left us spent,
For the road down hill is an easy road and that was the way we went.
Kerrigan, that was our father’s name, was one of the tough old sort.
And he held by graft as he held by God, and he hated drink and sport.
We lads were fond of a bit of fun though he kept us under the rein,
And we had to bow to the old man’s will, though it went against our grain.
He was kind enough in his hard old way, but we had to earn our keep,
Driving horses and milking cows, branding and shearing sheep.
No wonder we bucked a bit at times, for you know what youngsters are,
We mustn’t dance at the local hall or drink in Mulligan’s bar.
Well, those were the orders the old man gave, but we did it just the same,
Jack was two years younger than I, so I was the more to blame.
But I’ve often thought had he been less hard and left us a bit more free
It might have been better for him perhaps, and better for Jack and me.
The old man dropped in the yard one day where we had the weaners penned.
We picked him up and we carried him home but we knew that it was the end.
The neighbours gathered from miles around he hadn’t a single foe,
And the crowd that stood by the open grave spoke well of the man below.
We grieved a lot for the old man’s death though he left us wealthy men;
If we had not known what he meant to us we realized it then.
Our only sister had died at birth and our mother was long since dead,
And we found that we were the only heirs when the old man’s will was read
We were just a couple of country lads; we’d never been off the farm,
We’d been held in check from our boyhood up by the weight of the old man’s arm.
Good in the saddle and fair with our fists with a touch of the old man’s pride,
But the neighbours muttered and shook their heads when old man Kerrigan died.
Hard and all as the old man was for years he had kept a stud.
For the love of the horse for the horses sake is strong in the Irish blood.
But breeding was only a hobby with him a sort of a harmless craze,
Though I’d often thought that he had his fling way back in his younger days.
We got mixed up with a racing crowd and started to go the pace.
Forgot the sound of the old man’s voice and the frown on his rugged face.
For the road down hill is and easy road though it ends in a swift descent,
We were only youngsters, a reckless pair, and that was the way we went.
We staked for a win on the Chester colt on the strength of a trail he showed.
But someone got to the boy on top, we knew by the race he rode.
He lost ten lengths and he finished last it was useless to make a fuss,
For the men we met in the racing game were far too cunning for us
We backed him again in the Greytown Cup and he won by half the straight,
But we left our cash in the bookies bags, for he failed to draw the weight.
We cursed the jockey and we cursed the horse, and we sold him there and then.
We’d had enough of the racing game and the ways of racing men.
We could have got out of our troubles still if we put our hands to the plough,
But the life of leisure and cards and drink had got the grip on us now.
You may call it flashness or call it pride or simply a want of sencse,
But the publicans and auctioneers grew wealthy at our expense.
We sat and drank in Mulligan’s pub and gambled the whole night long.
We dealt in cattle and dealt in sheep and most of our deals went wrong.
As long as the banks would cash our cheques we didn’t care what we spent,
For the road downhill is an easy road and that was the way we went.
Then things got bad and a drought came on and it lasted over a year.
Our stock died off and our dams gave out and we knew that the end was near.
Our credit stopped and the bank foreclosed and our fathers place was sold,
For the road downhill is and easy road as the prodigal found of old.
Five years after the old man’s death together we took the track.
I wandered into the nearest pub and I had a drink with Jack.
Then he shook my hand and he wished me luck and I knew he was close to tears,
And I’ve never set eyes on Jack since then or heard of him now for years.
Somewhere out to the west of Bourke he’s humping his swag maybe,
Tramping along in the broiling sun and cursing himself and me.
I’d give two years of my worthless life, though it may not last that long,
For one more look at his honest face, one grip of his fingers strong
Well that’s the tale of the Kerrigan boys and the moral is near the end.
You’ll always have plenty of friend at hand as long as you’ve cash to spend.
We had our chance and we played the fool, it’s too late now to repent,
For the road downhill is an easy road and that was the road we went.
poem by Edward Harrington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Vase
Sit my love on this cliff
Shall we watch the ships sail
They sail like stars in the vast night
Flux of change like a shimmering sea
We meet in the hungry wind
Fragrance of peonies and bluebills
Now the west wind blows
Will you follow your heart?
Am I a secret constellation?
Are we driftwood going back to sea?
Harmonize with a vase of sorrow
A blue vase filled with lovers never to be
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0075 The Connoisseur
Do come in. I’m so glad that you came –
it’s good to have someone to
share one’s pleasures and delights with.
Some of my family think I’m
some sort of misanthrope, hiding away
with my collection of Chinese porcelain…
I tell them, it’s the opposite – I feel that
I’m in touch with the finest work of
contented men, creating some sort of memory of
perfection, for others to enjoy – I guess
you feel the same way about those poems
you write? Now –
your hands are clean? Not because of
this celadon Sung vase, let’s start with that –
but I’d like you to feel the outer layer
of skin on your fingertips touching
the surface of the vase and yet
not quite touching, feeling
the air between – silk on silk,
almost – I was going to say, the skin of
a young girl’s cheek greeting
another young girl’s cheek, but that wouldn’t
sound quite right – you must have
the same problems, with choosing just the right
similes and metaphors, that are
thrilling without being ‘clever’?
I don’t want to be pretentious about
all this – just feel the surface: not matt,
not shiny, the colour not bright, not blatant,
but not in hiding – and see
how the potter takes the vase’s curves and contours
from neck to belly, like a yacht,
like a horseman, like a lover – put
this vase in a room to itself and its stillness
fills the room with presence…
they talk a lot of nonsense about
connoisseurship – it’s just loving what
is fine, and long reflected over, and
as human an activity as can be. You meet
the maker in the art. And yes,
there are other connoisseurs who
love the roughness of a cracked, irregular
Japanese tea-cup, a one-off from a woodman’s kiln…
I expect you feel just the same
about poetry? How fortunate
we are, you and I..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Redemption Poem
When satan fell,
for one wrong mistake.
He was thrown in hell,
it was all he could take.
For there was still light in him,
but with it was now doubt.
Upon his face grew a grin,
all he did was rage and shout.
He yelled to God 'Why did it have to be me? ',
but he didnt answer,
and satan did see.
That hell was his to rule,
with unimaginable pain,
he would truly be cruel.
To all the lost souls,
he was their Dark King.
With their blood in his bowl,
in their pain,
for him they would sing.
Over the eons he became insane,
but there was still light in him.
Hidden in a deep part of his soul,
a place he forgot to know.
And one day their blood spilled out of the bowl,
he felt something stir.
A sadness so deep,
with a pain so true.
He could never sleep,
so the pain was all he could know.
As he sat there,
with tears in his eyes,
he thought noone was there,
noone to hear his cries.
He heard a voice,
and this is what it said 'Son why do you cry? '
He couldnt believe what he heard,
and was voiceless.
God said 'Son your here by your own choice'.
And with that he felt,
in numerous times,
all the pain he had delt.
And now he seen,
that little light,
he could find that little gleam.
He fell to his knees,
for all to see.
He prayed to God,
saying 'Father can i be saved? '.
'Am i doomed to live a life in this darkness? '.
And God said to satan 'My son all you had to do was accept your choice',
and then he said 'My son ive forgiven all your sins, and i will make your soul pure again'.
And satan said 'My father i have waited eons to come home'.
And God said unto him 'You are forgiven, but this shall be your home, for this realm has made you strong'.
And then he felt all the pain gone,
with a heart now light.
His soul was now strong,
his black wings now turned white.
He knew now what his job was,
he was here to punish the evil.
But now he knew kindness,
but also he knew,
those that were evil,
were the ones he slew.
As God looked down at his son,
he seen what he knew would be.
His fallen son was now a keeper,
of all that was worldly bound.
His son did his duty,
and never uttered a sound.
For satan was white and new,
doing a job God could never do.
Satan could punish now,
with justice and right.
He finally accepted the choices he did sow,
he was God's beautiful angel,
so truly bright,
he was God's most beautiful shining light.
And God thought to himself 'There is hope for all my children.For I will always be there in their hheart and soul.I am their forgiveness and salvation'.
And as time went on,
satan did his job without break.
His heart was growing long,
he finally had all he could take.
He fell to his knees,
and said to God 'Evil is all i see, and my light has grown dim'.
He prayed for peace of mind,
and a life,
where he satan could be kind.
He prayed for a life without strief,
so simple and nice.
And God said to him 'Satan my son, you have done what no other would, your love for me let you do what you could'.
And satan said to him 'Father please, hear me in this.My only goal was to serve you forever.But this task you gave me could not be done for all time'.
And God sat there and thought,
for long he could not see.
This terrible gift he had bought,
given to satan alone from me.
And God said to him 'My son you have a pure heart and soul'.
He thought of his gift to him,
a job he thought his son could handle.
But his son's heart had grown heavy and dim,
soon it was to be but a flickering candle.
So God said to him 'My son i have done a terrible thing.I have given you a job, that has caused you pain.Your strenght has kept you sane.This i give you son, ask of me one thing and i will see to it it's done'.
As satan was on his knees,
he thought of what God promised.
Satan made his cries heard,
and this is what he said.
'Father I love you with all my soul, you are what saved me, you again made me whole.This is what I ask of you, give me peace of mind, and a place at your side, give me an angel to love, make her my bride'.
Satan said to him 'Father this is all I ask, this is all I want.For me to be back at your side, with my love for you I will not hide'.
God looked upon his son,
with tears in his eyes.
His son was home,
with his father in the sky.
And God said to his son 'You have lived a life in pain and misery, but I now see that you were always pure and whole.My son I will give you this, come home to me, and be by my side, come home, and find love, and piece of mind.My son now you can be gentle and kind'.
Satan looked upon his father,
with tears in his eyes.
He went a little further,
into God's light,
to be with him in the skies.
All satan could say was 'Father I am home, with you my Lord.My mind is now at peace.Father you have given me the greatest gift.You gave me your love and light.You haved saved me from the dark, with you at my side, I will never again be trapped in this eternal night.I will be your son, always at your side.I will do your bidding, but I ask of you.Please Father never make me kill again.This is all I ask of you father'.
God was not surprised by this,
for he knew his son was pure and true.
This was not something he would miss,
for his son was now new.
For the rest of time forever,
satan stood at God's side,
For his love for God would fade never,
his son glowed from his love for him,
his love for his Father he would never hide.
Satan was evermore pure and white,
he was God's greatest angel,
he shone so bright,
with his radiant light.
Gone was the darkness in his soul,
and eyes clear and blue.
His love for his father had made him whole,
he loved everything he knew.
When time was coming to an end,
and all was doomed to die.
Satan now with a heart so kind,
and he asks his father for a gift.
He asked God 'Father you have granted me peace, and love, and being by your side.But why will you let mankind die? '
And God said to his son 'My son, mankind has become evil, and corrupt.They have shunned me for far to long'.
As god said this to him, he noticed his son's eyes dim.
And he could not understand why,
that this little event,
would make his sone cry.
And satan looked upon his Father,
his Saviour,
his light.
Satan said to God 'Father at one time I forsaked your name, I cursed your very being.I was more evil than any human being that has ever been born.But as with me they can be taught, the lessons that there actions have brought.Please Father forgive them, and be their light.Your the only one that can save their souls.For me do this Father'.
As gos looked in his son's eyes,
all he could see was true love.
As his son fell to his knees,
with his wings white as a dove.
His son looked him in the eyes, and satan began to cry.
He said to God 'Father I will give my soul to help mankind.For they are like me, they just need peace of mind.For them I will die, so they can be forgiven.I do this for you Father, this im my choice.Let your heart hear your son's voice.Do this for me Father, spare mankind.I will give all I am, to teach them to be true of heart, to love eachother, to be in your flock and find your light.Father I give them my soul, and you my life.Just stop this disaster from happening, and spare their lives.If you do this for me Father I will be at peace to give my soul and life to save them all.I do this for them, to prevent their fall.Please Father do this for me'.
As God listened to these words,
he truly couldnt believe,
these words he heard.
For his son couldnt bear,
to see them in pain.With so much ove in his heart,
all satan could was care.
He would give his life,
to end their strief.
To bring all the lost children,
into his Fathers light.
God could see,
with clarity of mind.
That his son on his knees,
was truly kind.
More so then his Father,
who had given up on mankind.
His son would lose it all,
to prevent their fall.
So there stood and thought,
what his actions had bought.
He would now lose his son,
satan was gonna die.
He put his hands on his son's head,
and he began to cry.
For his son he got back,
was asking to die.
His son wanted to banish their dark,
with his love so pure.
And God said to satan 'My son if this is your wish, than i grant it to you.Your life for theirs, a second chance they will get.To come into the light, and know my love.My son with the soul of a dove, you will be apart of their hearts.This I do for you for a fresh new start.For I cannot bear to lose you.Especially now that you are so kind.But I onlt do this for you, because my love for you knows no bounds.You are my true son, the kindest around.So son know this for your life they will live, but you will be with them, a part of their souls.For this way I will not truly lose you'.
As satan heard these words,
his heart filled with joy.
For through him,
they would live.
For his heart and soul,
and love for them unbound.
He would save their lives,
his love would make them whole.
He would be a part of them,
his love would be spread around.
He would save them all,
with his radiant light.
He would stop their fall,
he would bring them out of the night.
Satan looked at God,
and as he rose he said 'Father im ready.To give my life and soul for them.I know your sad Father, but remember I will be apart of them all.I will be the light and love in their hearts and soul.I will always be with you my Father, but it is my time to prove to you my love.Let the light rain from Heaven, a healing from above.Father it is my time to go, but remember this, we all fall from the path, we all shy from the light, but we also can be forgiven.By you my Lord'.
As God heard his son say bye,
he knew he would be lonely now,
all by himeself in the sky.
His son that was once evil,
and shunned his name.
Was giving his life,
to get rid of all their pain.
The son who served with all his heart,
was walking into the light,
to give them a new start.
God's heart broke a little,
as he seen his son die.
Everything now seemed brittle,
and he began to cry.
Fo Heaven had lost a soul,
who was truly selfless,
to die for them,
to make them once again whole.
God said to himself 'Mankind you have been forgiven, ..through my son's sacrifice for you.He gave his life, so I would spare you all.Satan gave himself to stop your fall.His soul and love now live in everyone of you.Though I never thought that it would be a fallen ones soul, a soul that was truthfully was always pure, even though he was evil, and did terrible things.My son showed me everyone could be forgiven.His love and wisdom saved you all.Now in Heaven I hear the angels call.For they have lost a brother.Be happy humans, for now your souls are white and pure now.Through my son's actions, his ultimate sacrifice for you.You are all now in my light.Be at peace my children, and remember the sacrifice satan made for you.Remember that his love for you, made me lose a son.But I forgive you for all.With your hearts now light, sing for him and stand tall.Now I will grieve for my lost son.Satan come back to me'.
As the world began anew,
people woke with light to see.
The world was fresh,
like the morning dew.
Satans sacrifice had saved them all,
he gave everything,
for mankind to love again,
and save them from their fall.
With their souls now white and pure,
they mahe the world great.
With his soul and love,
now apiece of everyone.
Mankinds souls soared,
as white as a dove.
They praised God's name,
with love and joy.
Satans sacrifice was not in vain,
as he kept his promise to his Father.
His life had made the world sane,
with his light and love,
within their heart.
Satans sacrifice was for love,
his life gave them all a new start.
As God sat and cried,
for his son he lost.
Mabey he wouldnt have died,
if he hadnt given up.
His actions had brought this on,
the one mistake he ever made.
Something his son couldnt take,
for his soul was to pure.
His heart broke as he seen,
what was happening to mankind.
Mabey if I hadnt given up on them,
this wouldnt of been.
Now my son is gone out of love,
for he cared for everyone but himself.
He was my son,
my light,
my dove.
As God cried,
he heard a voice in his head.
It said this 'Father remember I will always be with you in your heart.When I seen you give up on mankind, it broke my heart.I loved them to much to let them die.So I made the choice to give everything I was, all my light, soul, and love to save them.So do not be sad Father, for I have redeemed myself for everything ive done bad.I gave myself for them to remind you that everyone, no matter how bad or evil they were, or the sins they commited, can all be forgived.This is why im now apart of them all, to guide them on the right path.The path to the Kingdom of Heaven, to you my Father, my Lord.Always remember what I did for them Father, was because I loved them all, and needed to remind you that we cant give up on the ones we love.Always remember me Father, your son will always be with you in your heart'.
As God heard his son's voice,
in his soul and heart.
He knew satans choice,
was all about a new start.
As he realized this,
he couldnt cry.
For now he knew,
that his son had to die.
For satans love was bright,
and blue.
And it showed God,
his son's true light.
In the end,
with satans sacrifice for humankind.
He helped the world to began again,
and his sacrifice was for all of them
He put his Fathers mind at peace,
and saved all humankind.
And God would love them all,
for his son's sacrifice of love.
He would never give up on them again,
so he set free one white dove,
they knew they had been forgiven,
they knew they were loved..
poem by Nick Wingler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deepest Depression (revised)
Staring at the walls...at the pictures that hang there
each photo...of it all
each step of our relationship..that started, with lust, wanting and care
the last picture that is hung
showing the ultimate happiness, of us being in love
I GET THE DEEPEST DEPRESSION
just staring at these things...
the photos on the wall
and the finger that holds my engagement ring
looking around the room, looking at it all
now just filled with dread, n, doom
the dieing roses in the crystal vase
marks the symbol..of the day
when it all was lost, n, went away
the photo album that we made
starts with the pictures of our 1st date, where it started
the last picture is of us, in love
3 days, b4 love was departed
is of the day you proposed, look at it, we are so in love
a red box that had matched
the teddy bear with the red herat attached
in which you gave to me b4 the proposal, inside it held the ring
to unite our love, to bring
us 2gether, from now til 4ever
I GET THE DEEPEST DEPRESSION
JUST LOOKING AT THESE THINGS
the 2 wine glasses,4m which we drank, sealing the deal
a begining to our new fate
n to our proposal, we gave, love cheers, and thanks
the card thats hung,4m the dieing flowers in theyre crystal vase
that you gave.....to me..b4 you kneeled onto 1 knee
uttering the most 4 words a man can say...
all of it is now gonn..just taken away
just in such a short time....3 damn days
I GET THE DEEPEST DEPRESSION
JUST HOLDING THESE THINGS....
the pictures, the wine glass
the teddy bear with the red heart attached
the photo album, the 1st photo, in which we started
the courtship, that blossomed into a beautiful relationship
the last photo, hung on the wall...its left me so broken hearted
the cards i kept in a shoe box, from you, giving to me through
no reason @ all, my birthday, holidays, n anniversary
each card filled with words of love, each card, having its own diversity
I GET THE DEEPEST DEPRESSION
JUST HOLDING, N, TOUCHING, OR LOOKING AT ALL OUR THINGS
to the life we had, the home we made
that just vanished...poof, went away.....
DEEPEST DEPRESSION OVER EVERYTHING....
ESPECIALIALLY THE FINGER THAT WEARS MY ENGAGEMENT RING.....
poem by Krissi B'williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Does It Feel To Fly
from a walk early morning
you enter the door
of your house
you see a glass vase
with a red rose
alone in the
living room
you go near and smell
the rosiness
of the rose
and gaze at it
as though it is the only
rose of your
home
you feel
a heart with wings
you fly
like a very light feather
on the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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