Poetry
Poetry begins with pain
(like any other kind of birth)
but though it breeds and feeds on earth,
it aims at not becoming back again
and reaches to the roots of things
in search of the eternal springs.
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
(W – 2011) Random Musings – 007
Passion breeds poetry
Poetry feeds passion
But mine is dispassionate passion
And passionate dispassion
So I breed nothing
I feed nothing
I remain
Passion, dispassion and poetry
All rolled into one.
18 Definitions Of Poetry
1) Poetry is what is Beautiful in words –
2) Poetry is the deepest feeling words can tell
3) Poetry is the soul of each one of us
4) Poetry is the morning light after the longest night
5) Poetry is a dream of dreams in a world that needs dreams to be
beautiful
6) Poetry is the Search for God and the Love of God in all holy writing
7) Poetry is Reality itself when it is doing what it should
8) Poetry is you and me and all of us when we are kind to each other
9) Poetry is more than we can say or know- deeper than the deepest
silence and quieter also
10) Poetry is the place we go to in ourselves when we need to cry out loud
11) Poetry is Love words of love and the first spring of the young lovers first
song
12) Poetry is all we are when our minds are right and strong
13) Poetry is what saves us from all the other words
14) Poetry is what ceases to exist when Cruelty comes
15) Poetry is Love and Blessing and Kindness again
16) Poetry cuts through the icy sea within and sends chills down the spine
17) Poetry is what is recollected in tranquility but also tried and tossed in
tempest on the most difficult seas
18) Poetry is open to more than what it has been It is what others have not yet created and will so long as we are human and in search of the Sublime
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry is Everywhere
To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.
Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.
Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.
Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.
Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!
09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm
poem by Gita Ashok
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hope Springs Eternal
Hope springs eternal
Like a streak of light
That pierces through the darkness
Of despair…
Hope springs eternal
Like a flower
Growing through a crack
In the concrete…
Hope springs eternal
Like an ember of glowing coal
Glowing through the deadness
Of the ashes…
Hope springs eternal
Like a small, encouraging whisper
Cutting through the silence
That follows failure…
If Religion Is The Opium Of The People
for things beyond our explanations
for things beyond our repair
we resort to religion
for all the beauty amidst the ugliness
for all those that we can still justify
we resort to poetry
back to the essence of things
back to awe and wonder
back to the first birth of imagination
i, grab, the power of poetry
i will start with the finest grain of sand
and then your soft hand.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Lord’s Majesty
So very Glorious is our King, The Lord and God of everything,
So clothed in Heavenly Majesty, greater than any eye can see,
Robed in Glorious Eternal Light, piercing the dark of our night,
Our God with an Eternal Plan; higher than the thoughts of man.
Above this world He ordained, His Majesty can’t be contained,
Sitting above this earthly sphere, God Himself, is always near,
For His stool, all the earth, yet, we are to Him of special worth,
God reaches down to dwell in us, by the Spirit of Christ Jesus.
God’s Majesty is shared with none, but, Christ His Eternal Son,
Who is now at God’s right hand, with authority over every land,
The Eternal Author of Salvation, Who reigns over every nation,
Who will soon return in Majesty, to earth, for every eye will see.
His Majesty, Christ set aside, but His Authority was not denied,
When He was born on this earth, to afford men a spiritual birth,
As a body was prepared for Him, to be redemption for our sin,
As God Himself, became a man; to fulfill His Redemptive Plan.
As God’s Lamb, Christ had died, but, was raised and Glorified,
And is coming back, to receive, every heart, who does believe,
Changed in the twinkling of an eye, to meet together in the sky,
To reign with Christ eternally, in the presence of God’s Majesty.
(Copyright ©02/2010)
Creature
A shadow glides above my plate
And all I see is birds migrate
Going south, remember me
When you fly above the sea
Autumn dies serene and slow
The lamp stands in a gentle glow
The silence rules, the evening grows
And the moon is far below
In me twist a sudden cramp
In my heart I hear it stamp
Marrow and blood encircle me
My blood stream chokes on gall and spleen
What will become of you
Since you have forsaken me
Not one tear I have in me
I am numb to my memory
Ill believe than that youre dead
First I felt bitter, I made amends
But I see you in a new light
You only have my contempt
So Ill believe than that youre dead
Second youre a loser, I spit on pretence
And I begin to wonder, and I begin to understand
That, youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds and kind of dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Dies.
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Creature
A shadow glides above my plate
And all I see is birds migrate
Going south, remember me
When you fly above the sea
Autumn dies serene and slow
The lamp stands in a gentle glow
The silence rules, the evening grows
And the moon is far below
In me twist a sudden cramp
In my heart I hear it stamp
Marrow and blood encircle me
My blood stream chokes on gall and spleen
What will become of you
Since you have forsaken me
Not one tear I have in me
I am numb to my memory
Ill believe than that youre dead
First I felt bitter, I made amends
But I see you in a new light
You only have my contempt
So Ill believe than that youre dead
Second youre a loser, I spit on pretence
And I begin to wonder, and I begin to understand
That, youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds and kind of dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Youre a creature that breeds its kind and dies
Dies.
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Great Hopes
We come to life with no great aim,
But step by step, our souls flame.
We crawl before we learn to walk.
We babble before we learn to talk.
We walk and make our first step,
With a lot of pain and a little help.
We make it then and start to run,
With too much love and too much fun.
But we are still with no great aims,
For life is still a bunch of games.
Then we grow up and pain begins,
And start to know of our sins.
We think we choose what we shall be,
But soon we change and start to see,
That we are made what we should be.
When we see that and stick to it,
We might succeed and make a hit.
Then we begin to set some goals,
Which will enrich our empty souls.
Yes hope springs eternal in the heart,
And brings us close to a head-start.
If goals are great, noble and high,
They will see light and soar so high.
So hitch your wagon to a star,
For greatness is just a step afar.
21/4/2009
poem by Omar Jabak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An uncreative medicine
no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates
no imaginations
no dream
no poetry
no fiction
no story
no news
no media
no happiness still a tree without roots
no genre still a tree without roots
no labels still a tree without roots
no names still a tree without roots
THE FOURTH EYE
of
A post-conceptual poet.
Pain shifts at birth.
A mother’s delivery ends with pain.
A child’s birth begins with pain.
Her cry is over when she delivered.
Its cry begins when it is delivered.
Pain is not a pain
When it brings joy.
23.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Found Yourself
A parallel pain walks with you
when you split into space and time.
You were too shy to die, to feel
the anguish and bliss of death.
Something inside you springs
into a tree for a half-life.
The search for the meaning of life
takes roots in calamities.
They get back at you, the paranoids
on the horizon line, where the galaxy
meets the paradox, the void, the fear.
Any physical possibility generates the sparks.
The realization takes you back in mud and grass
outside the body to rest in peace.
The formless listening, seeing without objects
furthers hyperesthesia.
You have found yourself in emptiness!
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When the Pain Begun Begins to Mend
When the pain begun begins to mend,
The sky is brighter.
The clouds then start to drift.
The rain dries and the thunder stops.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
A freshness occurs.
The Sun invites a rendezvous.
Just to sit with it,
And feel...
A soothing come over you.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
And you are there...
Ready to be healed,
Feeling a once broken heart...
Being pieced back together,
Completely.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
You are prepared to forget.
Wanting to forgive.
And wishing to be forgiven.
When the pain begun begins to mend!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For God’s Glory
How to live for God’s Glory, begins for us at the Christmas story,
Where we witness a special birth, that changed men on the earth.
The story ends with Easter Truth, with resurrection as living proof,
That by The Son’s Revelation, all men face an eternal destination.
Christ’s birth was a Gift from God, to all men on this earth we trod,
The Gift of God’s great Salvation, to each and every single nation.
His death grants all men new life, through God’s Son Jesus Christ,
Through that Gift God did give, all men in Christ can eternally live.
New life starts here on the earth, through The Spirit and new birth,
As believers become born again, they become for Christ holy men.
Guiding us in His Righteous Light, to live a life that’s pure and right,
As it’s God’s Glory that we live for, to lead others to Christ our Lord.
Our earthly life begins one story, which for believers ends in Glory,
With Eternal Life, that has no end, in a place we can’t comprehend.
Following His death, we sacrifice, our former ways for Jesus Christ,
Living in The Spirit, we receive, from Christ Jesus when we believe.
We live for Christ, Who died for us, placing in The Lord, all our trust,
As He makes our life a testament, to our Savior, whom He had sent.
This earthly life’s a small price to pay, for what God did on that day,
So that we could live forevermore, up in Glory, with Christ our Lord.
(Copyright ©01/2007)
Born On Earth
How many have you given birth,
Mother earth, Mother earth?
Bore them here to drink your rain,
bore them here to feel your pain?
You cannot count them though you try,
not until you feel them die.
One by one they came to you
and one by one they left your view.
They plowed your fields and reaped your seed
and ate of you to fill their need.
Some were kind and pure of heart,
some foolhardy from the start.
How many came and breathed your air
and offered thanks and gave you prayer?
Did you keep a record of each brave soul
or just use yourself to cover the hole
that waits and observes their destiny
and accepts their bodies with sympathy?
How many more will you give birth
to stake their claim upon your earth?
Too many, too many I'm afraid
and for most a terrible price will be paid.
How many have you given birth
Mother earth, Mother earth?
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Perpetuating A Cause
Perpetuating that one myth of old, with roots so deceptively bold,
Exalting man above God’s Grace, and putting man in God’s place.
With its roots going back to when, Satan began deceiving all men,
Raising the heart’s desires of man, well above their Creator’s plan.
Satan’s lie from way back then, is still deceiving the minds of men,
He fills men’s heart with such pride, so The Word of God is denied.
As he seduces the natural mind, causing men to be spiritually blind,
Creating no need for Christ at all, as Satan fuels man’s spiritual fall.
Satan spins a creative web of lies, making men think they are wise,
But only in their own eyes, as the things of God they soon despise.
These men become quite arrogant, ignoring all things God has sent,
Those things being God’s Holy Word, and the other warnings heard.
So then Satan creates alternatives, guiding how the unbeliever lives,
Counterfeit plans created by him, plans which are full of wicked sin.
And this sin hardens one’s heart, so from The Lord men truly depart,
To then be used by that Evil One, as opposition to God’s Own Son.
As Satan inspires many a cause, all to mislead those spiritually lost,
Saying that it’s good for man, diverting him from God’s saving Plan.
An empty cause of no eternal worth, deceiving men around the earth,
Perpetuating Satan’s Eternal Lie, that many won’t believe till they die.
Poetry has done this to me
And I love the slavery of poetry
For reasons like your better
versification
Or for reasons you shall not
live to see
To me poetry is this huge magnificent
instrument
And poetry has kept me indoors all
day I missed you
And poetry has kept me in front of
this machine
And saved me maybe from the bullet
or the knife
And poetry has taken me to explore
the deepest
Unknown regions of my mind
Never was the search
Of the word so desperate and
pleasurable and so
Hurtful and so exciting and so painful
And poetry has alarmed me to how
cruel my mind is
And poetry has journeyed into my
inner self too to cleanse my soul
And poetry has gone out of her way
to show me
How kind and filled with honey my mind is
I have journeyed to far flung places
guided by
The love of poetry I know myself better now
poem by Ngaka Motaung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Passing of Things
All we have in the here and now, will be used or lost somehow,
When this life on earth is past, nothing on earth for us will last.
As we leave this world behind, we enter one, beyond our mind,
Even our bodies God will replace, through His Amazing Grace.
On earth moth and rust destroy, things that give us earthly joy,
Bringing to our life loss and pain, from items we cannot regain.
As this life comes to the end, there is eternity around the bend,
And as life comes to a close, an Eternal Life for all God chose.
Thoughts again of loss, never, as we have life in Christ forever,
For God chose men He knew, would believe His Son to be true.
Planning for men who believe, an eternity minds can’t conceive,
With their own eternal abode, that moth or rust will ever corrode.
But unbelievers will never see, the Heaven prepared for eternity,
They’ll experience greater loss, in denying the love of the cross.
Content with things of the earth, they see no need for new birth,
One in which they’re born of God, to live above this earthly sod.
They refuse to believe in Christ, and will never enter Eternal Life,
They obtain nothing from Him; who gave His life for all their sin.
As crowns are given to those, who follow Jesus Christ who rose,
At his feet the crowns we’ll cast, entering an eternity that will last.
(Copyright ©11/2007)
Dead Silence
Not the one
Souls are gonna burn
You're the one
Coming down the dead
Thru the darkness
Skies are gonna shout
Pray for lies
But who's the one to go
Streams of blood
Flow into the streets
Feeds the need
Of the decayed rotting means
Fires breeds upon
The weary young
Evil tales
Sold his only son
Life no longer
Fills the need
Dead silence
In which to feed
Fires breeds upon
The weary young
Evil tales
Sold his only son
Life no longer
Feeds the need
Feeds the need
Of the decayed rotting means
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is Something To Love
There is something to love that reaches beyond
the outer covering, even if we just do kiss and play,
that draws us to return, to continue on another day
and it binds us unseen with a kind of magical bond.
Some people endlessly search for youth’s natural fond,
to find a kind of place where age is swept away
but there is something eternal to love, to its sway
to the way that it makes people to each other respond.
Even if our feelings, our energies are at a time spent,
if we have loved fully, have loved to the heart’s intent
there is still something drawing, that we feel and see
as if there is something that does in the heart descent
that is acting much deeper and totally independent,
a strange kind of thing that turns bliss into tranquility.
poem by Gert Strydom
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