We Rarely See
In our busy world, we rarely see
what is right before our eyes.
The sky that leaks its teardrops
to cleanse and refresh the day.
The two hearts that beat as one
before one of them has to go away.
The patterns of a snowflake
on a wintry day.
The turning of each season
that passes on its way.
We rarely see the things we should
that help to shape our lives
as we are trapped on the treadmill
of earning money to pay our way.
One day we may notice them
when we step off the treadmill
letting the rest of the world
go on its merry way.
Then we will see what we rarely see
the life and love we are living.
14 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
In America, people rarely stay in the town where they grew up, rarely stay in close proximity to their parents throughout their lives. You rarely find parents in their old age being taken care of by their children.
quote by Robert Benton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On A Treadmill
On a treadmill, designed by him, the one who fills our life with sin,
Making us too busy to seek God, while we agree and simply nod.
He is the enemy of the Cross, and wants to fill our life with dross,
As we go about another day, in that same old frenzied, busy way.
We may even be busy for Christ, but, too busy, comes at a price,
As the enemy then fills our life, through the busy with undue strife.
While today bleeds into tomorrow, which leads hearts into sorrow,
As his goal from the very start, is overwhelming a believer’s heart.
That treadmill which has no end, in essence, is the time we spend,
With at times no peace of mind, to be found within the daily grind.
Adding simply one more thing, more stress it only seems to bring,
All with no apparent end in sight, while we seek to do what’s right.
Just like Martha spent and frayed, with a heart that’s so dismayed,
Working her fingers to the bone, but, sad to say, she is not alone.
Feverishly working without peace, with burdens that do not cease,
Not at all like her sister Mary, who had lived her life rather contrary.
For Mary’s choice was the best, for living this life we need to rest,
Within our Savior’s loving hand, while we live in such a weary land,
Taking on His yoke which is light, as we learn to do all that is right,
Getting off the treadmill of life, and into the Peace of Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©05/2008)
Poem For The People
If the people only knew
If they could visualize
Just open their eyes
Even stop to think about
If they could open their minds
They could get beyond
The worlds a funny place you know
Most of what goes on
Is rarely funny
Rarely funny
Could the people understand
In only whisper and screams
And colorless dreams
Could they finally comprehend
If they could suddenly see
And suddenly feel
The worlds a funny place you know
Most of what goes on
Is rarely funny
Rarely funny
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love's Test
We teach our children never to quit.
We do so often, by words.
Yet, when things seem so bleak,
We turn our cheek on our own words,
And also the battles we face.
Children do, what children see.
Rarely what children hear.
Hoping they follow our instruction,
But never considering our own example.
When love hurts, we run.
We teach them of success in life,
But rarely of success in love.
It was love that made them.
Love will test us, try us,
And shape us to who we become.
Also, to who they become.
When love tests them,
Will they pass or fail?
That is for us to decide.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Collecting To Stick And Slick
When a snowflake hits the ground,
Few seem to be that interested...
In its uniqueness from the others,
Collecting to stick and slick the pavement...
Everywhere.
Without a getting around it.
And those falling onto it embarrassed,
Are rarely seen taking a closer look...
At the individualized patterns made,
By each flake to marvel in awe the beauty.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Running On A Treadmill
You've got me so I'm running round and round in circles
You've got me so I can't see my own face
You've got me so I feel I've been like this forever
You've got me so I'm crazy with disgrace
I know what's on your mind
But it's not what you think it is
I know what's on your mind
But it's not what you think it is
Running on a treadmill after you and I'm
Running on a treadmill now
Running on a treadmill after you and I'm
Running on a treadmill now
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rough Ride
The path of love is rarely smooth
but love can obstacles surmount.
True love will find a way to soothe.
Objections which it can’t remove,
pitfalls too numerous to count.
The path of love is rarely smooth
These words I say are simple truth.
An old adage which I recount.
True love will find a way to soothe
With the resilience of youth
if you should fall you will remount.
The path of love is rarely smooth.
You know just what you have to prove
and play your cards to good account.
True love will find a way to soothe
Though you have hurt feelings, forsooth
a lesser or a great amount.
True love will find a way forsooth
the path of love is rarely smooth.
11-Jul-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I very rarely get nervous as an actor. Very rarely.
quote by Corin Nemec
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The best laid plans for J.T Ellison
The best laid plans
He sits and thinks but rarely shares
the subject of his pondering
He is convinced nobody cares
to hear his views on anything.
He does not like to watch T.V.
unlike the other residents.
He’s happy sitting quietly
Reviewing long ago events.
When he was self sufficient.
Intelligent and capable
‘til a cerebral accident
which rendered him incapable
of living independently.
Forced his reception into care
although it’s very plain to see
He would much rather be elsewhere.
Though he’s disabled physically
His mental capability
is not impaired apparently.
He accepts philosophically.
Life rarely goes as you have planned.
We meet with things we don’t expect
for fate not man is in command
What fate decrees we must accept.
22/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tide Is Turning
I used to think the world was flat
Rarely threw my hat into the crowd
I felt I had used up my quota of yearning
Used to look in on the children at night
In the glow of their donald duck light
And I frighten myself with the thought of my little ones burning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Satellites buzzing through the endless night
Exclusive to moonshots and world title fights
Jesus christ, imagine what it must be earning
Who is the strongest
Who is the best
Who holds the aces
The east
Or the west
This is the crap our children are learning
And oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning
Now the satellites confused
cos on saturday night
The airwaves were full of compassion and light
And his silicon heart warmed
To the sight of a billion candles burning
But, Im not saying that the battle is won
But on saturday night all those kids in the sun
Wrested technologys sword from the hand of the war lords
Oh, the tide is turning
Oh, the tide is turning
Oh, the tide is turning
Oh, the tide is turning
(repeated)
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Common Addiction among Poets
Intoxicated by the inspiration
Of his trade—
With mental powers at work,
A true poet rarely sleeps.
His mind ever churning
With powerful imagery
That produces thought,
Sound, rhythm and gesture.
He molds with metaphor,
Shapes with simile,
And paints with irony—
To produce a beautiful symphony
(Like some great maestro) ,
For himself and all who would enjoy.
Little wonder he rarely sleeps.
© 2009
poem by Walterrean Salley
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A dedication for Tom, YOU and I
(dedicated for Tom D.O.D. - January 30,2009)
(know that they loved you)
Our history closely
Mirrors the shape of our clay
Both, reclusive and introverts
Each secreted in distant and
Separate island sanctuary
You ditched out before me
Or maybe I did, before you…
No matter, we rarely venture back
As if our hearts were ex-patriots of city-self
Besides, they believed we had found paradise
But, did they not direct our paths?
I know they were our glue
They too, were reclusive and, still
We loved them beyond belief
Yet, they also, lived apart…
(Hugging-Cedars Island, Tennessee
July 17,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Rarely Do We Reflect
We choose what we wish.
And dish it.
As it sits with others,
To comfort or make sick.
What is that we hold,
That increases conflict?
Is it to betray ouselves?
In an eventual abyss.
We may elect to dismiss it.
And rarely is that done,
In self examination.
Rarely do we reflect,
Upon the effects of our deeds.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Treadmill
Youve got me so Im running round and round in circles
Youve got me so I cant see my own face
Youve got me so I feel Ive been like this forever
Youve got me so Im crazy with disgrace
I know whats on your mind
But its not what you think it is
I know whats on your mind
But its not what you think it is
Running on a treadmill after you and im
Running on a treadmill now
Running on a treadmill after you and im
Running on a treadmill now
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I really think the biopic thing so rarely works, because people's lives don't have a dramatic shape that can be satisfying.
quote by Bill Condon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obituary of a Renowned Indian Surgeon
A noble soul has passed away from earth!
He touched the hearts of thousands since his birth;
He sowed the seeds of sympathy and love,
Akin to that, that flows from God above!
His life was one of devotion to work;
He lit the lives of those living in dark;
He brought back joy to some who had lost it;
He made their bodies unhealthy, most fit!
He served his God by serving his brethren;
He made the world around him like heaven;
He left his glory upon earth for now;
His glory waits in God’s city above!
Such souls are rare who live for others’ sake;
Such creatures come from Maker’s special make;
Such lives have made this world like paradise;
Their lives will stay forever like sunrise!
This surgeon’s knife now rests in others’ hands!
His fame and name has spread to many lands;
His trail was etched on exemplary sands;
He’s gone to join the Maker’s choicest bands!
His noble life will pave the way for more;
He chose to enter God-sent newer door;
His love for human beings formed life’s core;
His example was one unseen before!
Such flowers blossom rarely once a while,
Perfuming air that spreads beyond the mile;
Their beauty has to wither but in style,
Remaining on the pages of God’s file!
‘May his soul rest in peace, till time shall some day cease! ’
Fondly dedicated with reverence to the philanthropist Dr.N.S. Murali, Hon. Sec., VHS, Chennai.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-5-2009
poem by John Celes
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Farenheit 451
Remember, the firemen are rarely necessary
When books are replaced with Kindles and Nooks,
and content resides on the cloud.
It is relatively easy to delet certain works
at the whim of the haughty and proud.
If libraries falter, wither and die
The poor will lose access to the printed word.
Ten percent of the market will quickly dry up
and the price of a book gets absurd.
Remember, the firemen are rarely necessary.
The pleasure we had in turning each page
as our minds raced ahead to the end.
Short battery life never hindered our quest
when Dick, Jane and Spot were our friends.
A storm on the Sun bringing ionized rays
and digital files are undone.
and force us to search yellow crumbling pages
for rumors of Kipling and Donne.
Remember, the firemen are rarely necessary.
Was Bradbury right? Should we all memorize
the words born of our favorite pen?
Imagine reciting Shakespeare’s Hamlet by heart
so that silence won’t win in the end.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The deduction of the causes
Why does a woman adulterate?
The hunger? Rare.
The poverty? No possibility.
The proximity? No guarantee.
The boredom? Seldom at all.
Being estranged? Rarely a revenge.
The neglect? Hardly so.
Being insecure? Not sure.
Over lust? Might be a bit.
The curiosity? No certainty.
There are ten causes to push her to
adultery.
Yet rarely does she adulterate
06.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I Rarely Write A Poem Of Night
I rarely write a poem of night
I do not love the darkness-
I do not love less light-
But I know the night has beauties of its own
Its own special spaces-
Perhaps it is the sense that the end
Is more closely connected with the darkness-
Day as life, death at night-
I do not love the night
And I rarely write a poem about it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Shape Of Love
Heres the best I can do
So far away from you
As the ocean holds the sky
So I try to hold your eyes
And I know the world is turning
I know its yesterday for you
But the shape were giving love
Could never be untrue
Choose the way you want to be
That doesnt mean him or me
Love is so much more that flesh
How to hurt and how to kiss
And I know the world is turning
I know its yesterday for you
But the shape were giving love
Could never be untrue
I wish Id known you when
I could have made a change
I would have been a friend
I would have given you anything
As you touch near your heart
Are we really far apart?
Yes I know distance kills
But it cant fight loves will
And I know the world is turning
I know its yesterday for you
But the shape were giving love
Could never be untrue
And we know the world is turning
We know that yesterday is due.
But this shape were giving love
Can never be untrue.
This shape can never be untrue.
song performed by by White Town
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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