Hidden Gems
Whenever we have, a sort out
we can almost guarantee we will find
hidden gems that have been forgotten
over the passing years.
Discovering these little gems
sends us back to our memory store
as we search to remind ourselves
of the time we got them many years ago.
These little gems found
bring a smile to us once more
as they did to us
all those years before.
1 October 2011
poem by David Harris
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What if Human Nature was Blind?
What if the gems found
Deep down underground
Had feelings about what humans do
Had feelings about me and you?
What if these precious stones cry
What if they scream out, asking why?
As they are taken and studied
For human want, not the need?
What if the humans could hear
And feel each and every tear
These gems let loose as they are pried
From the comfort of the Earth dried?
What if the humans choose to look away
Causing the gems to feel the dismay
As they are left to feel the pain
Of the humans weather, mostly the rain.
Well, the gems will break and be no more
The humans will have nothing left, to put in their store.
poem by Thamer Mager
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The Vault
Searching for the dream.
Manifestation of mind.
Ideal of destination.
It lay deep within the heart.
Within the soul.
In the vault lies a chest.
Inside the chest is the treasure.
Many priceless gems.
Most tarnished, just needing some polishing.
The treasure lay dormant for many years.
She receives the key.
The vault master believes she will help the gems to shine.
But instead she steals them.
Entering the vault at her own discretion.
Taking only the shiniest.
Leaving the tarnished to shine themselves.
The lock has now been changed.
He will now polish the gems himself.
The most valuable gems were the ones that remained tarnished in the vault.
They were of no value to her.
They did not shine.
But once they were polished,
It became known,
That they were the most valuable gems of them all.
For love is patient.
Lust takes what looks good to the eye.
Love will wait for the gems to shine.
To share the riches for a lifetime.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Poem about Poetry - As the poems go
as the poems go into the hundreds
i realise there are gems of various grades
strewn everywhere
if only i have the time to gather them all
and string them into a necklace for the goddess of poetry
they will i think sparkle round her neck
the rest - gems with less lustre
like sweat will soon dry
to refresh me to have another go
scouring the various compartments of
my mind for gems of the best categories
and perhaps one day finds one
from a distant planet
that would shock the world
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Little Trip Down Memory Lane
I found a box filled with notebooks
each filled with my writings of yesterdays.
Writings that I had forgotten about
across the span of time.
They are of no great importance,
but within their contents,
I wonder if I will find some missing gems
something, I may have written down
and forgot about many years ago.
I’m going to have to go through each one.
It will be like returning to the past
without the baggage it held.
A little trip down memory lane
when dreams were active then.
I shall take my time and linger
trying to remember what I was doing
when I wrote whatever is there.
11 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet On Receiving A Gift
Look how the golden ocean shines above
Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth;
So does the bright and blessed light of Love
Its own things glorify, and raise their worth.
As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine,
And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed,
Ev'n so our tokens shine; nay, they outshine
Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed;
For where be ocean waves but half so clear,
So calmly constant, and so kindly warm,
As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere,
That hath no dregs to be upturn'd by storm?
Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price,
And more than gold to doting Avarice.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Love's Treasure House
I went to Love's old treasure house last night,
Alone, when all the world was still -- asleep,
And saw the miser Memory, grown gray
With years of jealous counting of his gems,
There seated. Keen was his eye, his hand
Firm as when first his hoarding he began
Of precious things of Love, long years ago.
"And this," he said, "is gold from out her hair,
And this the moonlight that she wandered in,
With here a rose, enamelled by her breath,
That bloomed in glory 'tween her breasts, and here
The brimming sun-cup that she quaffed at noon,
And here the star that cheered her in the night;
In this great chest, see curiously wrought,
Are purest of Love's gems." A ruby key,
Enclasped upon a golden ring, he took,
With care, from out some secret hiding-place,
And delicately touched the lock, whereat
I staggered, blinded by the light of things
More luminous than stars, and questioned thus --
"What are these treasures, miser Memory?"
And slowly bending his gray head, he spoke:
"These are the multitudes of kisses sweet
Love gave so gladly, and I treasure here."
poem by David MacDonald Ross
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Cornelia’s Jewels
Among the haughtiest of her sex, in noble, quiet pride,
Cornelia stood, with mien that seemed their folly vain to chide:
No jewels sparkled on her brow, so high, so purely fair,
No gems were mingled ’mid her waves of dark and glossy hair;
And yet was she, amidst them all, despite their dazzling mien,
A woman in her gentle grace—in majesty a queen.
While some now showed their flashing gems with vain, exulting air,
And others boasted of their toys, their trinkets rich and rare,
And challenged her to treasures bring that shone with equal light,
Proudly she glanced her dark eye o’er the store of jewels bright.
”Rich as these are,“ she answered then, ”and dazzling as they shine,
They cannot for one hour compete in beauty rare with mine!
“You all seem doubtful, and a smile of scorn your features wear,
Look on my gems, and say if yours are but one half as fair?”
The Roman matron proudly placed her children in their sight
Whose brows already bore the seal of intellectual might;
She pressed them to her, whilst each trait with radiance seemed to shine,
And murmur’d, “Tell me, dare you say, your jewels outshine mine?”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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We Cannot Go Back
You can never go back
to something you once had.
You may want to return,
but you cannot anymore.
The times you want back
are gone for evermore,
and only lie within your memory store.
All of us would like
to turn the clock back
every once and a while.
Grasp hold of something
locked in our previous years.
However, we cannot go back
no matter how much
we would dearly love to.
We can only go forward
find new things to do
and new memories make.
12 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore
Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand.
"Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,
So lone and lovely through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,
As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"
"Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm: --
For though they love woman and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more!"
On she went, and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the green isle;
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Your Picture
Everyday I wake up to your picture.
Open up my eyes and theres still you.
In the very corner I first placed you,
The very same expression
That lights up all of my room.
Though the colors maybe somewhat faded,
The smile has almost vanished from your face.
As you disappear I reinvent you,
From my imagination
Youll never be erased.
Theres no way to bargain with the future.
In the end there are no guarantees, oh no.
Even if youre gone Ill always find you,
Right here where I left you,
Smiling back at me.
Every star has a season, a moment, a reason to be.
We may watch with regret as they flicker then die,
But at least for one second we bathed in the light
Of their passing, the memory still lasting.
Through the years and the distance your image remains,
Like the first day I saw you, youll never be changed.
As a token you left me your picture.
Every day I wake up to your picture.
I fashion you a different attitude.
Try to visualize the things youre doing,
Not in desperation,
Just to feel a part of you.
Theres no way to bargain with the future.
What we have in store we cant foresee, oh no.
Even if youre gone Ill always find you,
Right here where I left you,
Smiling back at me.
Every star has a season, a moment, a reason to be.
We may watch with regret as they flicker then die,
But at least for one second we bathed in the light
Of their passing, the memory still lasting.
Through the years and the distance your image remains,
Like the first day I saw you, youll never be changed.
As a token you left me your picture.
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Forgotten
Not forgotten, although gone,
thoughts of you go on and on.
One clear picture and then another
come to mind as if to smother
any other scene where you're not there.
For I can remember you everywhere.
Not forgotten, although gone,
I awaken and again I'm drawn
back from dreams to reality.
Yes you're gone, not your memory.
Another day that I must face.
I stare again into vacant space.
Not forgotten, not by me.
With open eyes I still can see
every feature, every look.
To me you were an open book.
Nothing hidden on any page,
now I'm trapped in this worldly cage
without you.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Optimism
As spiders silk spin
twinned dolphins swish fin,
the wolf protects kin.
Betrayal's self-sin!
Bird nests mid green leaves,
tree fruit bears, believes
like hived honey bees
Time mocks life that grieves.
Years [sk]etch out the Way
gems' sparkle sends ray
dark, light, interplay -
deceptions don't weigh!
Carefree course lea, wood,
love if, when, you would
turn all to the good
each challenge withstood.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Tears {two }
You take tears as weakness
But I not, I take it as a detergent
To wash the shoot long accumulated inside
To get the perspective of things straight and afresh,
My heart has a rainbow which sends some gems
On the apple cheeks like morning dew on the grass showing
Seven colours, white on the top and at the bottom black
when I see more beautiful dreams in my eyes
being out of space tears roll down like pearls
sometimes tears come out when the day is very beautiful and
it is quickly passing out
tears are weakness for those
who connect them with fears
my tears come when I see someone
kills virtue and honesty
my tears become angel- beautiful
when they come not for me alone
but for others too
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Wine and Me
I asked the moon to drink with me tonight;
he just gave me a heavy sigh,
as though he heard that plea from me
a thousand times before.
Morning after morning, I don't see the sun;
that was after the day you were gone.
I filled my cup with wine,
the sounds of it seems music to my ears.
I wish to fade as you fade
with the passing years.
Every gulp of it brings the memory
when you were here by my side.
'You'll be back' - a sentimental lie.
My cup was empty and i filled it again.
Only now, the tears flowed like rain.
'You did want me' - another lie.
And i drink with my shadow
as the time passes by.
I was slowly consumed, like fire down a candle;
like drops of water flowing like a passing river.
The taste of wine on my lips
seems so sweet...I drank again.
'You miss me'- a sweeter lie.
I drank till the dawn is nigh.
I ask only to be drunk forever
and never wake...
to lie forgotten with the darkness;
to sleep forgotten in the depths of a lake.
'You did love me' - the sweetest lie.
I wish to fade as the years pass by.
But tonight, there's just this wine and me
forgotten with the wind.
With our endless torments,
with our bitter tears...
There's just this wine and me to let me forget you
and the sorrows of a thousand years.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Souvenirs Of Democracy
THE business man, the acquirer vast,
After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure,
Devises houses and lands to his children--bequeaths stocks, goods--
funds for a school or hospital,
Leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens, souvenirs of gems
and gold;
Parceling out with care--And then, to prevent all cavil,
His name to his testament formally signs.
But I, my life surveying,
With nothing to show, to devise, from its idle years,
Nor houses, nor lands--nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends,
Only these Souvenirs of Democracy--In them--in all my songs--behind
me leaving, 10
To You, who ever you are, (bathing, leavening this leaf especially
with my breath--pressing on it a moment with my own hands;
--Here! feel how the pulse beats in my wrists!--how my heart's-blood
is swelling, contracting!)
I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you,
To which I sign my name.
poem by Walt Whitman
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An Album From My Memory Store
Today I dipped into an album
from my memory store
as a place that seemed familiar
triggered off the memories.
The years then rolled back
and I was there again
some forty years ago.
Faces flickered passed
gone now but never forgotten.
The good and bad times
rolled by in unison.
For a few moments
while that album was open
it held a mystic I’d never known
and left me wondering
where were the faces I knew then,
and where were they now.
poem by David Harris
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349
You have grown well
Soft hands
A Tender heart
A reflective mind
Going over the past
And finding something
Some gems
And they glitter
In your memory
Now, you shall write about them
They shall speak to you
And you shall listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now you shall write your own poems
You have grown well
Soft hands
A Tender heart
A reflective mind
Going over the past
And finding something
Some gems
And they glitter
In your memory
Now, you shall write about them
They shall speak to you
And you shall listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Critics Have Appeared
critics have appeared
in these cyber times
hunting for poems
and passing wise words
on poems they swallow in seconds
and whose comments are like puke;
and whose own gems of poems when you seek
it turns out, they have not published any
at the very poetry portals where they pass such magnificent judgment…
O Ye Critics who hunt for poems
come back another day
when you have poems some of your very own…
poem by Raj Arumugam
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New Friends
You are so kind.
I'm glad to find,
Like shining gems,
My new found friends!
To start my day,
I'd like to say.
An awesome day,
to come your way!