En.Citatepedia^®.ro

After Auschwitz

Anger,
as black as a hook,
overtakes me.
Each day,
each Nazi
took, at 8: 00 A.M., a baby
and sauteed him for breakfast
in his frying pan.

And death looks on with a casual eye
and picks at the dirt under his fingernail.

Man is evil,
I say aloud.
Man is a flower
that should be burnt,
I say aloud.
Man
is a bird full of mud,
I say aloud.

And death looks on with a casual eye
and scratches his anus.

Man with his small pink toes,
with his miraculous fingers
is not a temple
but an outhouse,
I say aloud.
Let man never again raise his teacup.
Let man never again write a book.
Let man never again put on his shoe.
Let man never again raise his eyes,
on a soft July night.
Never. Never. Never. Never. Never.
I say those things aloud.

I beg the Lord not to hear.

poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet V: If I should learn

If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again--
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man--who happened to be you--
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud--I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place--
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

If I Should Learn, In Some Quite Casual Way

IF I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet 05: If I Should Learn, In Some Quite Casual Way

If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Baby You Laugh On...

My baby, you laugh on for

The tears you shed has no takers and

All say aloud, “Every baby must laugh”.

So my baby, you laugh on…

My baby, do you know a truth?

This world has more laughing babies

Than the weeping ones here and there.

The world has its data for you if you still want to confirm.

My baby, when you learn to laugh

Leaving all your concerns and worries

You begin to tell the world aloud and aloud

That you know the art of living

But I can`t lagh like you, my baby.

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Band of Gideon

The band of Gideon roam the sky,
The howling wind is their war-cry,
The thunder roll is their trump's peal,
And the lightning flash their vengeful steel.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

And men below rear temples high
And mock their God with reasons why,
And live in arrogance, sin and shame,
And rape their souls for the world's good name.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

The band of Gideon roam the sky
And view the earth with baleful eye,
In holy wrath they scourge the land
With earth-quake, storm and burning brand.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

The lightnings flash and the thunders roll,
And "Lord have mercy on my soul,"
Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod,
In agony searching for their God.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

And men repent and then forget
That heavenly wrath they ever met,
The band of Gideon yet will come
And strike their tongues of blasphemy dumb.
Each black cloud
Is a fiery steed.
And they cry aloud
With each strond deed,
"The sword of the lord and Gideon."

poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Am Trayvon Martin Too (Speak Aloud, Be Loud...)

I am Trayvon Martin Too
Je Suis Trayvon Martin Aussi
Yo Soy Trayvon Martin Tambien
Mwen Se Trayvon Martin Tou

(Speak Aloud, Be Loud…)

Speak aloud, be loud, and raise the decibels;
So the deaf, and the racist imbeciles
Can hear the storms that are brewing
Over this sad, and unfortunate slaying
Of this young combatant, and innocent brother.
Ring the bells of Liberty from one corner
To the next corner of the globe to raise awareness,
And to inform the world of the meanness
Of 'a few want be' masters of the universe,
Of a few who shoot first and later converse.
If you are not a cop, you should not behave like one.
If you are not a judge, don't act like you can deliver justice.
If you are a false prosecutor, stay away from a true investigation.
The Supreme and the World Court need to act without bias,
Without any preconceived notion of some unrealistic ideas.
They ought to practice fairness and call it like it is.
It is time that we see the real face of equal Justice,
Under the rules of laws that are fair and equitable.
We need to see all hands that are on the table.
May the bright rays of Justice shine upon our society,
And bring peace, and the spirits to live in harmony!

Speak aloud; make very loud noise, to slowly awaken
The sleeping spirits of our deceased civil rights leaders.
We cannot take it any more, we will not be weakened
By hypocrisy and the cowardly lazy behaviors
Of some of our elected or selected public officials.
We will not take it anymore; we will use our potentials.
We want fighters who are willing to improve our situation.
This is not the time to talk; this is the hour of decisive action.
Speak aloud to force the mute to speak and to cry for Justice.
Speak aloud so the deaf and the dead can hear our passion,
And feel our devotion and perseverance for Justice for all.
Speak aloud so the crippled can march and rattle along
With us all over the world, where our brothers and sisters'
Rights are being trampled and violated like some rusty canisters.

poem by Hebert Logerie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Wondring Aloud

Wondring aloud --
How we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset --
My hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
As we start both our hearts beating life
Into each other.
Wondring aloud --
Will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
Im tasting the smell
Of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
And I shake my head.
And its only the giving
That makes you what you are.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Thought Broadcasting

Silence is a silver ship
Traveling at the speed of the darkness,
Black holes are the edifices in which I
Build my thoughts-
Word by word,
Each and every syllable forms upon my lips,
And then broadcasted, aloud-
Thoughts are killers- thoughts can harm-
My thoughts can be heard from afar.
Within this room I write my thoughts
With a pen that is void of ink, or a pencil
That has no lead,
Invisible they are, but somehow,
These thoughts are broadcasted aloud.
Thoughts are killers thoughts control-
My thoughts can be heard from afar.
A silver ship with its sail to the wind,
A wild horse that canters across vast terrain, or
Pebbles that roll off of my fingertips,
That splash into the creek, one by one,
You can see, you can hear, as
My thoughts, broadcasted aloud.
My thoughts can be heard from afar.
My thoughts are a flame that only I can quench.
I am in control of what comes into my mind,
As my hands build the world from
The bricks of Time,
My thoughts control the world.
My thinking destroys those, whom I abhor,
My thoughts control the downtrodden.
Silence is a silver ship, or
The dome beneath which I dwell-
I build my edifice beneath this dome.
No one dares to enter, as
I have broadcasted a message to the world,
My eyes order the world away;
My thoughts are broadcasted aloud,
A bad thought can destroy, as good ones
Create and control,
My thoughts control the world…

poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Never To See Or Hear Her

Never to see or hear her,
never to name her aloud,
but faithfully always to wait for her
and love her.

To open my arms and, tired of waiting,
to close them on nothing,
but still always to stretch them out to her
and to love her.

To only be able to stretch them out to her,
and then to be consumed in tears,
but always to shed these tears,
always to love her.

Never to see or hear her,
never to name her aloud,
but with a love that grows ever more tender,
always to love her. Always!

poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

On An Old Roundel

Death, from thy rigour a voice appealed,
And men still hear what the sweet cry saith,
Crying aloud in thine ears fast sealed,
Death.

As a voice in a vision that vanisheth,
Through the grave's gate barred and the portal steeled
The sound of the wail of it travelleth.

Wailing aloud from a heart unhealed,
It woke response of melodious breath
From lips now too by thy kiss congealed,
Death

II.

Ages ago, from the lips of a sad glad poet
Whose soul was a wild dove lost in the whirling snow,
The soft keen plaint of his pain took voice to show it
Ages ago.

So clear, so deep, the divine drear accents flow,
No soul that listens may choose but thrill to know it,
Pierced and wrung by the passionate music's throe.

For us there murmurs a nearer voice below it,
Known once of ears that never again shall know,
Now mute as the mouth which felt death's wave o'erflow it
Ages ago.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tears

Eased can be
By whose words
A depressed heart
Afflicted, agonised
But in isolation
Bursting to self
Or
Outbursting aloud to all

Swept can be
With what broom
A cluttered mind
Guilty and shameful
But in isolation
Bursting to self
Or
Outbursting aloud to all

Consoled can be
With what method
A lost heart
Berieved and pathetic
But to the soul's brim
Let weep to the Lord
Or
Left done in Time's run

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

God Died Yesterday

Howl!
Vain mortal of helpless arm
Weep as though the tears will bring him back.
Aloud, wail! Cry aloud
The pillars of earth is shaken
Hay broken in twain.
Evil is done, good is gone,
What will you do now?
Oh mortals of all religious circles?

Hide in dust, clergies of vain narratives,
Shave your beards of religion,
Gainsaying priests.
Hell oh hell’s victory,
Bobbles of immortal writs
In grandest shame of ancient confusions.
Vain ecstasies of lying zealots
Spirit, Hell, Demon’s men
In combined war against truth.

Alas, falling standards of heaven’s path,
Cross in sin and Sin in cross.
Holy men in filths and shame
Dead hopes of waiting pilgrims
Heaven’s empty and hell of myriad
With titles of error unlike Him.
Howl! Cry aloud,
God is dead.

poem by Macaulay Akinbami
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Benediction

Read this poem only aloud
read it as slowly and with such solemn dignity

as if it were the whole great human race
declaring itself to be truly great

read it as if it were
as indeed it is

not words but a great sounding bell
and you are that great bell

so large a bell so low its boom
that it is more vibration than a sound

struck in a temple courtyard
by a robed monk so full of love

that he merges into love itself
every time he sounds the bell

and as its sound now travels up
into the clear mountain air

the goatherds and the goats hear in its sound
the meaning of their life

and in the fields the workers raise themselves
and know what blessing is

and in the valley the silence after each stroke
becomes more real

as the echo fades
and the air knows itself

this poem is the sound of the human heart
listening to itself beyond all words

hearing praise and gratitude and love
knowing themselves in stillness for what they are

this poem is what is beyond all words
smiling sorrowing as it seeks for words

as it vibrates out into the silence
the wonder of the unspoken

the magic of all that’s yet unmanifest
the thoughts yet to be thought

hear in this bell the sound that tells to all
that there is enough love

in one single human heart
to nourish the whole world

hear this bell sounding aloud
sound out eternal in your soul

* * *

[work in progress]

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Prosody?

Prosody:
it’s about - it means - what poetry does,
and how. I guess..
In Greek, it just means ‘tune’. That
should give a clue. In Latin,
the word they used meant
‘song added to speech’.

So ‘poetry’ is pretty well
indefinable. It’s – well—
whatever it means to you.
And how the hell it does that. There
are rules but,
it finds its own. For
one thing above all
really matters: poetry is
what it does. What it does. If
it doesn't do anything for you
that's it. No theories –
just that. Be glad.

Aristotle tried to help
with his ‘Poetics’. Good on drama.
But poetry? Let’s fast forward to
Ezra Pound: poetry’s function is, he said,
‘to charge words with meaning
to the utmost possible degree’.

Now put all this together and
I believe it’s saying,
poetry’s not - never was -
shouldn’t be - couldn’t be -
just words on the page, like this, but, it's
me saying them to you, strongly, here and now,
charging them with meaning
to the utmost possible degree..

So if your child comes home with
as homework, ‘Analyse this poem by..’
- Angelou, Silverstein, Neruda,
Hughes of both hues black and white,
Milligan, Budowski, Pralutsky –
tell them, go back tomorrow and say
politely, ‘Teach, Dad’s a practising poet and
he says, why not have a class comp in
reading that poem aloud, and who
makes most sense of it and keeps us
listening down to the
tips of our toes; and by the time
we’ve all had a go and decided
who’s the best, we’ll remember it
for the rest of our lives and maybe, Teach,
not need to ‘analyse’ it much and
only after that? '

So here’s to the next poem
that you read aloud, or write to read aloud,
charging it with meaning
to the utmost possible degree.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Need You

Knowing
Is what people tell you
That youre thinking wrong
Embrace you,
But they really mean so long
You talk to them
They laugh aloud
Yet they run to you
In any crowd
Please talk to me again
I need you
Were dancing
We will come and dance near you
We want to learn
Let us come and sitar with you
Distort my ears when
The musics loud
Yet you raise your hatchet
In the yellow crowd
Please talk to me again
I need you
Knowing
Is what people tell you
That youre thinking wrong
Embrace you,
But they really mean so long
You talk to them
They laugh aloud
Yet they run to you
In any crowd
Please talk to me again
I need you

song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

catch Them Young' I Say..

I will blend two minds and will shout aloud
To the world, ' Here is the final human mind'.
I will infuse two hundred passions in to it and will sing aloud
To the throngs, 'Here is a mind that sans no glory heard ever'.
I will invent two million ordinary mortals and will speak
To their hearts, ' Here is your role model to frame a mind still'.

I search for the minds to be blended
And many minds flash before my eyes.
I like none - 'All are too narrow', I tell.
I search for the minds once again
And many more minds flash by, none appealing.
An agony strikes me, 'Where are those great minds? '

A millenium passes,
In the drought of mothers who give birth to none great
My blending dreams remain as a mirage
And I begin to write an elegy on the death of minds.
In the inner self of my mind that can never be blended with any other
A nightmare roams with all its scaring images.

I will blend two minds one day but I will not tell about it.
Or else I will tell someone to find them and catch them.
' Catch them young', I will tell him.

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Lonely Lola Cherry Cola Girl

Lonely Lola Cherry Cola girl
How much did they pay you for your smile
Alone in your own creaming soda world
Maybe you were happy for a while
Lola you're a star tonight
Don't let them
Pluck you from the sky
Lonely Lola everybody knows
Everybody calls themselves your friend
But later on tonight when it gets cold
Lola who's a gonna love you then
But there's something in your eyes tonight
Forget them
And take it in your stride
My friends told me 'bout
How you've been getting out
But no one seems to know your name
Slide on through the crowd
And let them talk aloud
They only want to hold ya
And so you I'm a Lonely Lola sure
Everybody gets that way sometimes
And only Lola you could know the cure
Wait it out and Lola you'll be fine
Its easy if you try tonight
Don't sit there
And keep on asking why
My friends told me 'bout
How you've been getting out
And no one seems to know your name
Slide on through the crowd
And let them talk aloud
They only want to hold ya
Do they really know ya lola
Lonely you're on fire tonight
Don't sit there
And keep on asking why
My friends told me bout
How you've been getting out
And no one seems to know your name
Slide on through the crowd
And let them talk aloud
They only want to hold ya
Do they really know ya Lola
Do they really know ya Lola
Do they really know ya Lola
Do they really know ya Lola
Do they really know ya Lola

song performed by by Bic Runga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Black Flames

In a dream, a dream, a dream
I walked through a raging fire
With flames the blackest of black
I felt no cold nor heat by their touch
But the eyes, the eyes watching me
I felt a feeling swell and die
Saw the world in full horror
In decay and demise and death
The world is a dying place
Filled with hate, envy and greed
Upon which the blackest flames
Dance, rage and scream
With a horror they scream aloud
Like a banshee calling
To death, while death is watching
I walked through a wall of fire
Where the flames were black
Darker than the night or shadows
All the while I felt nothing
Nothing but the eyes upon me

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When a Migratory bird soars up

If you agree my friend, then I could have hide my sad poem
Underneath your precious wings as I cannot fly with these iron feathers.
When you migrate to a better place perhaps someone picks it and reads aloud;
'When I was in the cradle my poor Mom asked; ' Do you want to be a man or a bird? '
I said; ' Mom! I want to be a man and fly as a bird in the sky.'
Then she said; ' You'll be a poet some day my dear son and crawl on this misery planet like a reptile.'

[ Migration is probably the most awe-inspiring natural phenomenon.- Collins Atlas of Bird Migration.]

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Vanitas

May praise aloud from crazy crowd suffice
to raise the proud endowed with mazy vice?
Dance on! Advance, leave shirkers low their lice,
and, unforesworn, work for new dawn's fresh spice …

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!