Thank You Jesus
It comes at a set time
every month.
You get used to It
until It does not come.
Then all the 'what ifs'
flood your mind.
You cannot sleep
because the 'what ifs'
steal your peace.
Suddenly, a still voice
says don't vent on the wife.
Don't vent on the children,
just stay pray-up
until the 'what ifs'
go away.
I yielded to the voice
and my mind steadied.
So much so,
I am able to write
this poem.
Thank you Jesus!
poem by Buxton Shippy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Voices
Two voices I hear inside my head,
Both wanting their own way.
I must figure out, which voice must go,
And which I allow to stay.
One is the voice of my spirit,
The other of my mind.
One will move me farther ahead.
One will pull be further behind.
But I do not know, which voice is which,
And which voice has my best.
In order to know, which voice is true.
I put both voices to the test.
With one voice I know peace and love,
Are the rewards that I will find.
And the one that creates confusion and fear.
That is the voice inside my mind.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Scribbler's Stymie
Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write
Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write
Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write
It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write
My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write
It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write
In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write
I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write
Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write
Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write
It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write
poem by Julia Grace
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Virtuous
To deceive,
To destroy,
To betray,
To hate;
But the original Hebrew Text has the truth for you,
And like the voice of your husband calling at you.
Optimistic,
Honest,
Respectful,
Trustworthy,
Courageous,
Virtuous;
You will bring forth children like Cain and Abel,
But do mind your language when speaking wih others.
Little by little,
Step by step,
The time of life!
And like the voice of your wife;
But try to educate your mind with peace and love than hate.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Would Write A Quiet Poem
I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM
I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.
A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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And I My Poem/I Could Not Write
AND I MY POEM/ COULD NOT WRITE
And I my poem
Could not write
Because I heard
Another light.
And fear and far
So deep in me
Distanced my Eternity.
But suddenly my soul in strain
Heard its song once again
And for this little interval
I dare not let myself be still
Instead I’ll laugh and sing again
And play and pray
Until my end -
And nothing in this night or death
Will ever let my mind forget
That I need God
Whatever I do
God and me and also you.
Read read this little poem I pray
This is my blessing for this day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
I Wanted To Write A Poem For My Children
I WANTED TO WRITE A POEM FOR MY CHILDREN
I wanted to write a poem for my children
And tell them how much I love them
And care for them
And how much goodness and blessing
They have given me
And how grateful I am to them
And how much I love them
And how I worry for them
And pray to God
To help them have lives of goodness and blessing
I wanted to write a poem for my children
So that if and when I am not here
They will have the thought and memory of me
In such a way as to strengthen themselves
I want to help my children
In my death as in my life
I do not know if that is possible
I will hurt them by dying
I may hurt them worse by being sick for a long time
I pray to God
They will be alright without me
I pray to God
They will have families of their own
I pray to God they will have lives of goodness and blessing
And love their children and be blessed by them
As I have been loved and blessed by mine.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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No Voice
There are times when we feel
we have no voice
we are suffocated by circumstances.
Our voice is lost in the void;
we wander with eyes open
and no mouth for things to say.
Those around us are oblivious
that our presence is near.
We are invisible
with only our ears to hear.
We have no voice to shout our protests clear,
no voice to vent our anger at what we can hear.
Our voice is silenced by circumstances
some of which we do not understand.
We have no voice today or tomorrow,
and even if we had a voice
would it be heard?
Would our words fall
on vacant and deaf ears?
The question remain unanswered
for around us silence reins.
Silent as our protests
and frustration is all we gain.
One day our gag maybe lifted,
but will it be too late.
There maybe no one around us
and our anger will be lost,
lost in the silence when no one is there.
We can only hope that one day
when the silence clears
our voice among the millions
will finally be heard.
15 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Le vent
Sur la bruyère longue infiniment,
Voici le vent cornant Novembre ;
Sur la bruyère, infiniment,
Voici le vent
Qui se déchire et se démembre,
En souffles lourds, battant les bourgs ;
Voici le vent,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre.
Aux puits des fermes,
Les seaux de fer et les poulies
Grincent ;
Aux citernes des fermes.
Les seaux et les poulies
Grincent et crient
Toute la mort, dans leurs mélancolies.
Le vent rafle, le long de l'eau,
Les feuilles mortes des bouleaux,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre ;
Le vent mord, dans les branches,
Des nids d'oiseaux ;
Le vent râpe du fer
Et peigne, au loin, les avalanches,
Rageusement du vieil hiver,
Rageusement, le vent,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre.
Dans les étables lamentables,
Les lucarnes rapiécées
Ballottent leurs loques falotes
De vitres et de papier.
- Le vent sauvage de Novembre ! -
Sur sa butte de gazon bistre,
De bas en haut, à travers airs,
De haut en bas, à coups d'éclairs,
Le moulin noir fauche, sinistre,
Le moulin noir fauche le vent,
Le vent,
Le vent sauvage de Novembre.
Les vieux chaumes, à cropetons,
Autour de leurs clochers d'église.
Sont ébranlés sur leurs bâtons ;
Les vieux chaumes et leurs auvents
Claquent au vent,
Au vent sauvage de Novembre.
Les croix du cimetière étroit,
Les bras des morts que sont ces croix,
Tombent, comme un grand vol,
Rabattu noir, contre le sol.
Le vent sauvage de Novembre,
Le vent,
L'avez-vous rencontré le vent,
Au carrefour des trois cents routes,
Criant de froid, soufflant d'ahan,
L'avez-vous rencontré le vent,
Celui des peurs et des déroutes ;
L'avez-vous vu, cette nuit-là,
Quand il jeta la lune à bas,
Et que, n'en pouvant plus,
Tous les villages vermoulus
Criaient, comme des bêtes,
Sous la tempête ?
Sur la bruyère, infiniment,
Voici le vent hurlant,
Voici le vent cornant Novembre.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
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If Only I Could Write A Beautiful Poem
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would write it special and only to you
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
So that we will forever remain so very very true
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
With more than a goodness like something new
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
Like the everlasting stay of the sky so blue
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would pray to God
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would work very hard for the Lord
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
With happiness the remain all through the year
f only I could write a beautiful love poem
Knowing that you will be very near
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
One so very very true
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would write it just for you
poem by Douglas Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Voice? ...
On this World Voice Day
It's a duty of us all
A pause for reflecting
Thanking the Creator
And all those who gave
And those who keep giving
Their voice for Love
For their wishes for Peace
And for the deepest Lament!
It's the voice of the Humanist
It's the voice of the Actor
It's the voice of the Poet
It's the voice of every Artist
It's the voice of the Scientist
The voice of the voiceless
And the voice of those able to voice it
Yet... they're deprived of doing so
And it doesn't reach us
As it would be fair, though!
April 16,2012
poem by Maria C. Costa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace In L.a.
We need peace in l.a., what happened was wrong
We all feel betrayed, but we got to be strong
If the powers that be let evil go free
You must understand, don't play into their hand
We need peace in l.a., peace in l.a.
Don't need beating and shouting, don't need burning and looting
Tonight we all pray, that our children are safe
There's hurt and frustration, there's a hard realization
But how can we help if we steal from ourselves?
We need peace in l.a., peace in l.a.
We need peace in l.a., peace in l.a.
Stay cool, don't be a fool
Stay cool, don't be a fool
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salted
The 14th day of Abib,
All offerings must be salted;
Between the two rivers,
Between the two walls,
Between the two evenings,
Between the two cities,
Two horns like a lamb and the voice of many waters.
Life after childbirth,
The voice of a great thunder to share a view;
But the grain and the drink offerings are written in the Book.
And i heard a voice from heaven,
'Try to understand the vision of man';
Like two thousand thousand thousand!
Of a woman clothed with the sun and,
White like a wool.
In my sleep,
In my vision,
In my mind,
In my dream,
White like snow;
But into her wilderness of love to write this poem.
Of the great winepress and a pair of shoes,
Of your friuts of love and the sins of man,
She being with a child is about to give birth;
Like a woman sitting on the moon clothed with the cloud of love.
My mind is to lure you on this love,
My work is to lure you on this act,
Better from the top with impressions on her sweet love;
But the disciplined mind will lead the truth always like,
The unborn fetus waiting for its time to come into the world.
There is no smoke without fire,
And perfect love casts out fear!
So it must be salted before eating,
For this love is on all the offerings.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Hear Your Voice
So many nights thought that I was doing fine
Thought that time had chased your picture from my mind
So many times thought my heart was finally strong
Now I find this heart of mine was so wrong
I thought Id finally learned to get on with my life
I hear your voice-(call)
Your voice (call)
Your voice (call)
The way it used to do
I feel my heart (fall)
I try to keep you off my mind
But every time I do, I hear your voice
So many days I thought that I could love again
But any fool in love would know thats all pretend
You always seem to find your way
Back in my dreams and I cant break free
Chorus
You know I tried so many times just to forget you
Ive tried to walk away from you
Oh girl, its just no use
I hear your voice (call)
Your voice (call)
Your voice (call)
Calling me.. calling me the way...
I feel my heart (fall)
I try to keep you off my mind
But every time I do,
I hear your voice
I hear your voice
I hear your voice
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great Genius
The great genius closed his eyes
And his mind poured out of his body
And he was one with the sun,
The moon and the stars...
Across the void his mind explored
And suddenly he heard a voice...
'Who are you?
I know you are out there.
Tell me about yourself...'
The great genius introduced himself,
Told of his achievements, his inventions,
Told of the awards that he'd won
And that he now sought a better home,
Saying Earth no longer needed him...
The voice explained, that he must stay,
That he must help others to improve,
For all life dies and needs nurturing
Before the end comes to one and all...
The great genius explained Mankind,
Saying it was slow and obstinate,
Both good and bad, wise and foolish
And he longed for separation...
Perhaps to a higher plane of existence.
'Please stay where you are, dear friend...'
Replied the voice. 'Please persevere...
The wise do not forsake the foolish,
They beseech the Creator to help,
For what is life without love for others? '
Then the great genius sighed and agreed.
He bid the voice farewell and returned...
Way back across the darkness of the void,
Way back to the sun, the moon and the stars,
Back to the home world and to his own home.
And the voice was asked by his companions,
Of what had just happened a little while ago
And the voice chuckled to himself and said,
'It's OK, I've stopped another one...'
poem by Denis Martindale
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Sonnet: My Inner Voice
When mind tells me, ’I am punished enough,
And it were better I followed the world, ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, tho’ ’tis tough’.
This extra-suffering makes my heart cold.
When mind tells me, ‘I must avenge my foes,
Who made me suffer without a reason, ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, forget woes.’
God will teach them in His own way lesson.
When mind tells me, ‘Tis time, be worldly-wise, ’
My woes are mainly due to poverty;
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, Be soul-wise! ’
That’s the way you earn your Eternity!
When mind tells me, ‘Your mind and body’s weak! ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, God will speak! ’
(7-29-2000)
poem by John Celes
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Critiques
when they read your poem
and find some fleas there
and they scratch their heads
like saying: this is bad, this is really bad
and they crumple your poem
and throw it in their waste basket
and they junk the best poem you
have written taking you days and days to revise it
like it is a composition
of another nincompoop. a moron, a lesser kind of
the human being
like a bubble, a bumble, a bum, a belle, a keg,
a piece of feces
a ning nang nang nang
well, write another one.do not ever stop writing.
if you find the one that they have thrown in the waste basket
again, by chance,
redeem it,
take it back and iron out what difference have you
with that critique
(who has not written even a poem for his dog)
have patience. and always remember
you did not write the poem for him
you write it for you and your lover
and your loved one,
and another lover and many more lovers
of life and its
ecstacies
till kingdom come
be patient.
be ever patient.
it is you who has
seen the light. not them.
open another door.
go inside where your lovers dwell.
they will kiss you.
they will clap their hands
and drink beer with you.
and it will be dark again,
and you cannot sleep after you make love.
three times on the floor
and there and then
in your nudity
another voice comes inside your ears
asking that you write
about a floating blue butterfly
looking for the opening
of an orange
flower
another poem shall be written
early morning
be glad
the voice is still there
your shrink may tell you to name the voice.
for he thinks you are schizephrenic
to the max
do not tell him.
it is your secret with God.
be glad.write it.now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our time together has passed
I cannot under stand you
and love that’s vaporized and is suddenly gone.
It’s quarter to twelve at night
and you have broken my heart
and I can’t close an eye.
You say that I must leave you and go
and I do not know
where to go from here
and life squashes me
and my contract is finished
and I have no fixed job
and cannot find it at any place
and every thing ends
just like my work..
It’s a hell of a thing
to look at someone
and to see how it looks,
when love is totally gone.
Suddenly every thing that was right
is gone from you and I do not know why
and it cuts me in two,
but maybe I just tried to hard
to make a life with you.
I do not know when
I hurt you so much,
that the walls
are folding in on you
and how our relationship
can be destroying you
and you want me to go
to find yourself again.
On a day you write a wonderful love poem
and two days later,
there’s nothing of that love left
and I get no answer
and do not know why I have lost you
and still I pray about it,
but you laugh when I cry
and beg you to try one more time..
Later you are crying
and my heart breaks for you
and you say goodnight
and I do not know,
how to say anything back
while I go and lie in the lounge
and this is the most painful goodbye.
I remember your voice
of moon drops in the night
and wish
that I still could stay with you,
but darkness folds around me
and our time together has passed.
poem by Gert Strydom
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