What Does It Mean
It does not know it glitters
It does not know it flies
It does not know it is this not that.
And, more and more often, agape,
With my Gauloise dying out,
Over a glass of red wine,
I muse on the meaning of being this not that.
Just as long ago, when I was twenty,
But then there was a hope I would be everything,
Perhaps even a butterfly or a thrush, by magic.
Now I see dusty district roads
And a town where the postmaster gets drunk every day
Melancholy with remaining identical to himself.
If only the stars contained me.
If only everything kept happening in such a way
That the so-called world opposed the so-called flesh.
Were I at least not contradictory. Alas.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Related quotes
Alice
Get drunk and get high!
All in the name of poverty;
And the Black Continent needs help from you.
From Cape Town to Cairo,
From our waysof doing things and to learn from others;
But, true l.ove is not for sale at any givden time.
Living in the land of wine and with red wine at hand,
But where is Alice from 'Cape Of Good Hope'?
District 6, of things done to be remembered again;
And like Robin Island in South Africa.
Come and let us enjoy this 'Rasta Party'!
For the tree of love has shaken its fruits;
And, who is ready to eat them?
Alice! Where are you?
For this people are from a different race;
And i am living among them to share a view.
Many things around are very strange,
But my mind will lead me always to the truth;
And, i am only studying how to eat and work with them.
In the name of poverty i have to pray,
And in the name of love i have to care;
For my hope around this place is like,
Alice's wonderland of love where the muse muses!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Road To Success isn’t As The Crow Flies
The road to success is not as the crow flies
There are derailments and breakdowns
Speed breakers are called uncertainty
Humps are called hurdles of life
Neon signs are called friends to guide you
And consciousness is called Family make you aware of
But if you have a spare wheel called willpower,
A strong engine called firmness,
Car insurance called confidence, and
A car driving skill is called Faith,
I m sure you will drive your car successfully
Towards the road of success
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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I Just Can't Go On Dying Like This
(George Strait)
I'm driving in my car alone
You called me on the telephone
How many times will it take till I'm convinced
That you're using me, I'm just a used-to-be
It's a lie, I know it's a lie
But I just can't go on dying like this
Can I see you tonight,
Baby I'll act just like you want me to
Or is that just exactly what I'm not supposed to do?
I'll just stop in here, have a glass of beer
I'm just a fool I guess
But I just can't go on dying like this
Here I am again, it's 4 a.m.
I think I'll play that song again
The one called "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"
And I'll wonder where you are tonight
I don't know, I just don't know
But I just can't go on dying like this
Can I see you tonight,
Baby I'll act just like you want me to
Or is that just exactly what I'm not supposed to do?
I'll just stop in here, have a glass of beer
I'm just a fool I guess
But I just can't go on dying like this
Lord knows I just can't go on dying like this
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly Called Love
A butterfly called love
That lives inside the soul
Where her music of silence plays
Aching in mystical ways
Waking
In violet arrays
Of summers lost
Interred by frost.
Lonely in eternal slumber
As our past dreams will encumber
- Just one touch of her lips
Lost in total eclipse
- Of her sun.
A butterfly called love
That always refused to die
In a charcoal filled quiet sky
Singing
A rhapsody on the breeze
Winging
Free, with consummate ease
Toward our promised dawn
Where hope now lays forlorn.
Concerto in indigo blue
Awakes our world
Where sweet paradise grew.
To tremble and touch her again
In sharp exquisite pain
Then ascend so high above
Oh, that butterfly called love.
poem by Kevin East
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Multicolored Butterfly
There was a multicolored butterfly flying in the air
A multicolored butterfly- who did not have a care.
Going from flower to flower for all the world to see
The beauties of nature made for you and me.
People stopping and talking and gazing upon its wings
This is one of the wonders GOD gave us.
And such a beautiful thing.
This multicolored butterfly flew around my head
I knew if I grabbed it- then soon it would be dead.
They have a life expectancy of seventy two hours you see
And that is the reason it has to be free.
They have a place called butterfly world
In a town called coconut creek
I knew I had to go there
I had to take a peek.
They had butterflies from all over the world
And a quick class to show, all the boys and girls.
There is so much about butterflies that I didn’t know
They can see colors of red, yellow, and green
But nothing in between.
They sip nectars from flowers through their tongues
And smell through their antennae, and taste with
Their feet, and breathe through the sides of their bodies
That in itself is a learning treat.
So to this butterfly that’s flying around my head
I salute and praise your beauty till the moment
That you’re dead.
I will mourn for you for the short time that you lived.
Because in that time, you had so much to give.
poem by Louis Rams
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Butterfly, Butterfly
butterfly, butterfly
fly in the sky
butterfly, butterfly
flies so high
butterfly, butterfly
lands on my thigh
butterfly, butterfly
motionlessly lies
butterfly, butterfly
gracefully dies
poem by Adryan Bates
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Fountain Refilled
Of Hans Pietro Shanahan
(Who was a most ingenious man)
The Muse of History records
That he'd get drunk as twenty lords.
He'd get so truly drunk that men
Stood by to marvel at him when
His slow advance along the street
Was but a vain cycloidal feat.
And when 'twas fated that he fall
With a wide geographical sprawl,
They signified assent by sounds
Heard (faintly) at its utmost bounds.
And yet this Mr. Shanahan
(Who was a most ingenious man)
Cast not on wine his thirsty eyes
When it was red or otherwise.
All malt, or spirituous, tope
He loathed as cats dissent from soap;
And cider, if it touched his lip,
Evoked a groan at every sip.
But still, as heretofore explained,
He not infrequently was grained.
(I'm not of those who call it 'corned.'
Coarse speech I've always duly scorned.)
Though truth to say, and that's but right,
Strong drink (it hath an adder's bite!)
Was what had put him in the mud,
The only kind he used was blood!
Alas, that an immortal soul
Addicted to the flowing bowl,
The emptied flagon should again
Replenish from a neighbor's vein.
But, Mr. Shanahan was so
Constructed, and his taste that low.
Nor more deplorable was he
In kind of thirst than in degree;
For sometimes fifty souls would pay
The debt of nature in a day
To free him from the shame and pain
Of dread Sobriety's misreign.
His native land, proud of its sense
Of his unique inabstinence,
Abated something of its pride
At thought of his unfilled inside.
And some the boldness had to say
'Twere well if he were called away
To slake his thirst forevermore
In oceans of celestial gore.
But Hans Pietro Shanahan
(Who was a most ingenious man)
Knew that his thirst was mortal; so
Remained unsainted here below
Unsainted and unsaintly, for
He neither went to glory nor
To abdicate his power deigned
Where, under Providence, he reigned,
But kept his Boss's power accurst
To serve his wild uncommon thirst.
Which now had grown so truly great
It was a drain upon the State.
Soon, soon there came a time, alas!
When he turned down an empty glass
All practicable means were vain
His special wassail to obtain.
In vain poor Decimation tried
To furnish forth the needful tide;
And Civil War as vainly shed
Her niggard offering of red.
Poor Shanahan! his thirst increased
Until he wished himself deceased,
Invoked the firearm and the knife,
But could not die to save his life!
He was so dry his own veins made
No answer to the seeking blade;
So parched that when he would have passed
Away he could not breathe his last.
'Twas then, when almost in despair,
(Unlaced his shoon, unkempt his hair)
He saw as in a dream a way
To wet afresh his mortal clay.
Yes, Hans Pietro Shanahan
(Who was a most ingenious man)
Saw freedom, and with joy and pride
'Thalassa! (or Thalatta!)' cried.
Straight to the Aldermen went he,
With many a 'pull' and many a fee,
And many a most corrupt 'combine'
(The Press for twenty cents a line
Held out and fought him-O, God, bless
Forevermore the holy Press!)
Till he had franchises complete
For trolley lines on every street!
The cars were builded and, they say,
Were run on rails laid every way
Rhomboidal roads, and circular,
And oval-everywhere a car
Square, dodecagonal (in great
Esteem the shape called Figure 8)
And many other kinds of shapes
As various as tails of apes.
No other group of men's abodes
E'er had such odd electric roads,
That winding in and winding out,
Began and ended all about.
No city had, unless in Mars,
That city's wealth of trolley cars.
They ran by day, they flew by night,
And O, the sorry, sorry sight!
And Hans Pietro Shanahan
(Who was a most ingenious man)
Incessantly, the Muse records,
Lay drunk as twenty thousand lords!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Magic Happens
I've seen magic happen
So I know it does
I feel magic happening
Right now
It may come sudden
And go by quick
But sometimes it lingers
At your very feet
Magic is happening
To me right now
To last as long as
I allow
Yes magic happens
When you're in love
But true magic happens
When you find God
When you become
Love
poem by Sonya Florentino
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Road to Success
The road to success is not straight,
There is a curve called FAILURE,
A loop called CONFUSION,
Speed bumps called FRIENDS,
Red light called ENEMIES and
caution lights called FAMILY.
But if you have a spare called
DETERMINATION,
An engine called PERSEVERANCE,
Insurance called FAITH and
A driver called JESUS (GOD, ALLAH, ISHVAR)
You will make it to a place called
SUCCESS
poem by Pratiksha Jain
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Away, Melancholy
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Are not the trees green,
The earth as green?
Does not the wind blow,
Fire leap and the rivers flow?
Away melancholy.
The ant is busy
He carrieth his meat,
All things hurry
To be eaten or eat.
Away, melancholy.
Man, too, hurries,
Eats, couples, buries,
He is an animal also
With a hey ho melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Man of all creatures
Is superlative
(Away melancholy)
He of all creatures alone
Raiseth a stone
(Away melancholy)
Into the stone, the god
Pours what he knows of good
Calling, good, God.
Away melancholy, let it go.
Speak not to me of tears,
Tyranny, pox, wars,
Saying, Can God
Stone of man's thoughts, be good?
Say rather it is enough
That the stuffed
Stone of man's good, growing,
By man's called God.
Away, melancholy, let it go.
Man aspires
To good,
To love
Sighs;
Beaten, corrupted, dying
In his own blood lying
Yet heaves up an eye above
Cries, Love, love.
It is his virtue needs explaining,
Not his failing.
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go
poem by Stevie Smith
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Louis' Trip
Few, nephew, sew, threw, brew, flew, dew, drew;
And like Louis' Trip in the land of your muse,
But, try to understand the muse of my love around you in this town.
Proposed, posed, opposed, dosed, hosed, bossed, nosed;
And at 'Peduase Lodge in Aburi (Ghana) '! !
But, try to understand the muse of my love around you in this town.
Crew, hew, Jew, stew, shrew, strew, new, mew, yew;
And like the dust from your eyes! !
But, try to understand the muse of my love around you in this town.
This was like my life in Conakry in those days,
But, bring me home with the sweet muse of your love;
For, i have a message for you in this town.
Long, belong, along, song, among, dong, cong, pong, strong, gong, wrong;
And over many different places!
But, try to understand the muse of my love around you in this town.
Cream, ream, bream, beam, dream, steam, stream;
And over many different ways! !
However, i do have a message for you in this town.
Over many different years,
Over many different ways,
Over many different types,
Over many different places,
Over many different styles,
Over many different acts,
Over many different works,
But, do remember me always in your heart;
For, the future depends on the positive muse of this life today.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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As the butterfly imagines
As the butterfly imagines
the world is moving fast
historical events are happening
no one knows when they will last
New melodies are the present
as the butterfly imagines
slowly she starts dancing
before realizing reality.
Her body is ice walking through paradise
she's so delighted, no one will dare to disturb her happiness
as the butterfly imagines
that she is like a holy angel.
Time ran out!
The friend's funeral is happening
she's not here anymore
as the butterfly imagines.
poem by Maria Jose Cid Velazquez
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Twenty Years Hence
Twenty years hence my eyes may grow
If not quite dim, yet rather so,
Still yours from others they shall know
Twenty years hence.
Twenty years hence though it may hap
That I be called to take a nap
In a cool cell where thunderclap
Was never heard,
There breathe but o'er my arch of grass
A not too sadly sighed Alas,
And I shall catch, ere you can pass,
That winged word.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Sinking
Life is so lonely and no hope I have
In this world I am so lonely
Nothing is to be happy about
Sadness is only here
I have nothing remaining and not even a single friend
Obviously, life is losing the meaning of it
How much longer can I go on, like this?
Have no idea as I am turning into a sinking ship
Will not be able to sail any further because I am losing all my hope
Everything, has no meaning remaining
I no longer deserve to be alive
Just, I am sinking, the depth is deep
So, all the efforts are just, hopeless.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dying
I'm Dying, Dying to wake up without you, without you in my head again
I'm Dying, Dying to forget about you, that you ever lived
There's a shade come over this heart that's coping with laying down to rest
I'm Dying to live without you again
I'm Dying, Dying to find a distraction, get you away from me
I'm Dying, Dying to reach a conclusion, so that the world can see
It's the same old story of love and glory that broke before it bent
I'm Dying to live without you again
The first time you left I said goodbye
Now there's not a prayer that can survive
Dying, Dying to die just to come back so we can meet again
Dying, Dying to say what I always should have said
It's a strange emotion this but there's still hope in this
As long as there's a breath...
I'm Dying and I can't live without you again
It's a strange emotion this but there's still hope in this
As long as there's a breath...
I'm Dying and I can't live without you
I'm Dying and I can't live without you again
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Childhood Hero
Caught a glimpse of my childhood hero
As he strutted along the path today.
He created pictures from words,
Made this world come alive, with
A magic that was never matched.
As he swaggered past me today
He looked old, tired and grey
Flashes of songs, floated cross my mind,
Stirring long forgotten memories
Made by the man I saw today, long, long ago.
There was a touch of aged slowness in,
The walk of the man I called my childhood hero,
What had happened to the man I remember
As invincible and beyond question
In that childhood world of mine?
And then I saw a wink and a twinkle
A spark of dancing magic and
A mischievous glint
In the icy blueness of the eyes
Of the man I called my childhood hero.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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Hello, Saint VALENTINE - See me - a BROKEN-HEARTED Fellow: Part-2
While love is burning my empire
She is stoking embers of hidden fires in me, she, a vampire!
Alas! I landed in no man's land and in fire
Yet in tantalizing problems and in dire...
She is my glass of wine, no logic!
And no magic! But love is all time tragic!
There is a trend set by fellow poets......
Sing and dance and drink and sink to become idiots
In the moments of saddest without any energy;
So I too started with this mourning elegy;
She is my glass of wine, no logic!
And no magic! But love is all time tragic!
Skepticism, Hamletan in-action crept in me
Like snail, and my love is doomed and tsunami is she!
She likes lollipop! But I'm a big flop with this sullen rhyme...
Train! Train! No brain but love is all time human crime;
She is my glass of wine, no logic!
And no magic! But love is all time tragic!
Morrow! Morrow! No tomorrow.......
But borrow! Borrow! Only sorrow......
Now, ten million dollars question is, why?
I don't know who am I?
She is my glass of wine, no logic!
And no magic! But love is all time tragic!
............................................. ................................................. .................
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>READ PART ONE >>>>>>>>>>>
Big NOTICE BOARD: Sorry, if you LIKE 2 make your reading comprehensive
Just take a break! Now READ PART1 to make your reading wholesome.
Hello, Saint VALENTINE - See me - a BROKEN-HEARTED Fellow: Part-1
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Exception
in any perfect world you tend to create
always leave a hole for the unexpected
called exception
in any perfect world you dream to make
always leave a rift for the unpredictable
called exception
before your perfect world crushed down
in your seamless glass by the crack of unknown
called exception
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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