The blues of Drake
The blues of Drake have been given life anew
Flying free of manacle reason Who could have known
The inner complexities of the child fully grown.
Such genius in full bloom he was taken from this plain of ours
For it is true that whom the Gods love shall die young.
Spring hath sprung, the years work is done
The circle has turned its full degrees.
Earth's race is run.
poem by David Lacey
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Full Circle
All Ive ever touched or said to them
Becomes a rehearsal for you, just practicing,
Too many magic moments to be coincidence
It all comes full circle
I knew someone who knew you
And he introduced me to you
Your ex-girlfriend had a boyfriend
Who kissed my girlfriend
Who did adrian
The world keeps on getting smaller and smaller
And everything comes back full circle, full circle
Six degrees of separation
We all know someone else
It all comes full circle
And you come from england
My ex-boyfriend, he is indian
British passport, were all connected
And everyone else is affected
The world keeps on getting smaller and smaller
And everything comes back full circle, full circle
Six degrees of separation
We all know someone else
It all comes full circle
It all comes full circle
The world keeps on getting smaller and smaller
And everything comes back full circle, full circle
Six degrees of separation
We all know someone else
It all comes full circle
The world keeps on getting smaller and smaller
And everything comes back full circle, full circle
Six degrees of separation
We all know someone else
It all comes full circle
song performed by by No Doubt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature's Season's
Season's come and season's go,
There are four in each year,
Of our time keeping.
Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter,
In other parts of the world,
Their season's are called something else,
Each Season is,
Of different type,
Yet,
Two and Two,
To begin and become,
Spring shows the begining,
Of growth and new season,
So for plants,
Vegetation,
Spring Chickens,
Spring Lambs,
The Calflings,
The Fouls,
All come in the Spring,
And flourish in the Summer,
Summer shows bloom,
From the plants to the Fouls,
And all are seen in full bloom,
Even the birds and the bees,
Sing the songs,
Of spring and summer,
With the Sun's rays,
That shows nature,
In full bloom,
By the time,
All is in full bloom,
And what shows and blooms,
Blossoms all summer,
And just when we are relaxed,
And see no clouds in the sky,
The seson changes,
Beginning with,
The fall,
Autumn's,
Season,
Commences to begin,
Where,
All in bloom,
Falls away and decays,
While the rest,
Fly away,
And,
Migrate,
Or,
Hibernate,
And just when,
We have seen it all disappear,
The frost and snow,
Covers all over,
And chills the air,
Where the chilling effect,
Kills off all decay,
And the blue ice time period,
Takes over for a time,
Chilling,
Freeezing,
Keeping everything beneath the earth,
As winter sets itself right in,
And far beneath the froasted earth,
Is all in nature,
Rekindling itself,
To regrowth itself,
And then spring growth,
Again,
Next season,
That starts the circle of life,
2 x 2 = 4,
The four seasons,
Of,
Our circle of life,
Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter,
The four seasons,
Of ours,
That is 2 x 2,
Spring and Summer,
Then,
Autumn and Winter,
That makes it known,
As 4 seasons,
To us all.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Lifesong
to a child very young
life is
happiness and fun
to a child getting bigger
life and school
seem to be getting bitter
to a child growing up
life and love
seem to be getting mixed up
to a child fully grown
life is about
making choices on your own
to a child with a child
life is about
making sure there life isn't wild
to a child getting old
life is about
keeping your family out of the cold
to a child old and grey
life is about
remembering the past things you used to say
to a child dead and gone
life was about
your one lifesong
poem by No Reason To Care
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Full Circle
I wonder what it takes to go full circle
and find my way back home to You?
Although I might be as slow as a turtle
Your love will guide me when I am true.
I’ll finish up then as I began just a child of Yours
having knocked on so many of life’s secret doors.
But even though I have yet to find all the right answers
at this stage of my life there have been some advances.
My feelings towards You now seem to have changed
but this shouldn’t be a reason for us to feel estranged.
Love’s the universal magnet that draws everything close together
we shouldn’t mind too much if we pass through some stormy weather.
In a world of constant change there are many upheavals
but love often does get stronger when there’s a retrieval.
It’s something of a realization by which we come to know
that as love completes a full circle perfection it will show.
poem by George Krokos
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Yet to bloom
Mother Earth has yet to bloom.
Like a flower that has just budded,
Mother Earth has unlimited potentials.
The Universe hides secrets from tiny Earth
Which unfolds its wonders in stages.
As crawling creatures turned into
Flying creatures and apes into men,
We will have creatures that can even
Crisscross the universe at the speed of
Their own wish one day.
Yet to bloom though Mother Earth is old
By human measurements.
The day will come when our technology
Will be thought as nothing more
Than stone-age appliances are to us.
Given the opportunity to bloom
Further that is, Mother Earth.
Its full bloom beyond our thoughts.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Brittle Bones
Though I am an old man
With my bones very brittle,
Though I am a poor old man
Worth very little,
Yet I suck at my long pipe
At peace in the sun,
I do not fret nor much regret
That my work is done.
If I were a young man
With my bones full of marrow,
Oh, if I were a bold young man
Straight as an arrow,
And if I had the same years
To live once again,
I would not change their simple range
Of laughter and pain.
If I were a young man
And young was my Lily,
A smart girl, a bold young man,
Both of us silly.
And though from time before I knew
She'd stab me with pain,
Though well I knew she'd not be true,
I'd love her again.
If I were a young man
With a brisk, healthy body,
Oh, if I were a bold young man
With love of rum toddy,
Though I knew that I was spiting
My old age with pain,
My happy lip would touch and sip
Again and again.
If I were a young man
With my bones full of marrow,
Oh, if I were a bold young man
Straight as an arrow,
I'd store up no virtue
For Heaven's distant plain,
I'd live at ease as I did please
And sin once again.
poem by Robert Graves
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let The New Year 2k+9 Bloom!
In a world that is
Free from terrible terrorism and death
Full of happy harmony and warmth
Free from fateful wars and schisms
Full of hopping hopes and optimism
Free from wretched hatred and bigotry
Full of pure happiness and joy
Free from painful penury and poverty
Full of crystal understanding and aplomb
Free from nasty violence and bombs
Full of sweet smiles and cheers
Free fromdeadly flaws and fears
Full of pleasant peace and poise
Free from fanatic racism and strife
Full of prosperous pleasure and health
Free from disastrous floods and quakes
Full of vergent vegetation and lands
Free from global warming and heat
Full of bracing breeze and air
Free from wicked ego and envy
Full of Divine wisdom and knowledge
Let the NEW YEAR 2K + 9 bloom!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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A Call To The World
There is an aim
I vie to achieve
there is a dream
I die to live...
A world free from terror
a world without sobs
a world free from hunger
a world full of jobs...
A planet free from drugs
a planet without crimes
a planet free from thugs
a planet full of rhymes....
An earth free from pollution
an earth without wars
an earth free from racism
an earth full of stars...
Lets get together and work
to make a society just
to create an aura of trust
And yes, its a Must....
poem by Prashant Shaurya
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My Prime of Youth Is But a Frost of Cares
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain.
The day is gone and I yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green,
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen,
My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I look't for life and saw it was a shade,
I trode the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
poem by Chidiock Tichborne
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Not Just a Better Half
(A tribute to my god given life partner)
She's my love, she's my life
So dear to me, she's my wife
Life we have to live this world
Is full of joy and bliss all bold.
Mirror she is, I see myself
Solace in her I find when down
Mentor to me, I learn all time
Happy am I, she's born to me.
Chores she does, chorus we sing
Duo's we do all work with fun
I pass my arms then through her hair
Care she feels from me all while.
Home we built, a fortress it is
Base that’s firm on love so true
Family that prays together all way
Life its full that’s heaven on earth.
Me myself, in her heart I found
Not just my half but all my full
Life would never have been so full
Had never she spent this life with me.
poem by Dr Anish Mathew John
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Our child once grown
What if my wife revealed that she was pregnant by me?
However, what if our child one day chose simply not to believe?
In nine months and eighteen years, I need to answer this question.
Nine months for God and my wife to give birth to the little one.
Eighteen year for us to train them in the way that they should go.
But, it is our child choice in whom to believe once grown and outside our front door.
At home, our child shall be instructed about the consequences of their sin.
Our child will understand the punishment of God for sin in the end.
I will train our child up in the Godly way that they should always go.
I will show them the love of the wonderful God I personally know.
Once grown, by us, our child shall be shown how to live life righteously.
Regardless in whom they believe, they will always be our child to me.
How would I feel if in spite of everything I taught and showed our child?
Our child decided, once grown, to take another way in life for a while.
Although taught while young not to steal; once grown they stole any way.
Although taught while young not to lie; once grown they lied every day.
Would I abandon them as quickly as the rest of the world?
Would they still be the prized apple of your heart and still be daddy’s little boy or girl?
Still, there is always a chance our child might choose in God not to believe.
If our child does, it is not because of the lack of the right instructions from me.
I will love our child even if by their life they chose not to follow God.
Because no matter what our child is an important part of my heart.
In who to continue to believe that major choice of life shall be their own.
But, they are still our child though they choose not to believe or act right once grown.
poem by Reginald Walker
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Enthusiasm
I love the old Greek view –
within each of us
the god lies sleeping;
a sweet sleep, full of refreshment,
as snug as a bug in a rug
or Arthur, all his knights around,
under the green hills of Avalon;
we, each of us full of all Olympus;
gods, sleeping as a mother does,
always an ear for the slightest sound
of those they love;
the gods love us,
how could they not
and of those slightest sounds
it’s fire – the fire of speech –
that wakes their might;
they love a stirring speech
and in an instant,
throw all their mighty powers
at the service of the things we truly love –
so, as they work their mighty work,
may go without sleep for days,
drink only the sweet water of our love,
move heaven and earth
to please what pleases them and pleases us;
the good; the true; the beautiful;
how their eyes shine.
sleeping too,
between the pages of the dictionary
and our routined life
is the name by which we call them from their sleep;
the name which they themselves
then roar out a thousand stirring times as loud;
the name by which we know ourselves,
know us as they, and they as us
and as they stir in us
we know ourselves as gods
there is not one of you, of us, who does not know
and recognise its name; our name;
enthusiasm.
the god within
poem by Michael Shepherd
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As One Very Powerful Deity
Gods created the universe,
That's what numerous bibles state,
All life the creators did disperse,
Then they left us to our fate.
The miracle is the diversity of life,
Just how do we all survive?
Is it these Gods who give us strife?
Or do they help us to stay alive?
What came first the chicken or the egg?
I guess only the Gods can tell,
It truly is a question to beg,
It's like, is there a Heaven and Hell.
They must all be really clever,
As it was completed in six full days,
Work on the seventh, never,
That's their day to laze.
Could that mean that Gods needs rest?
Surely that can't be true,
I would imagine they'd all be full of zest,
Or I'd imagine chaos would ensue.
An endless cosmos forever evolving,
Keeping it safe is a major task,
Constant problems which do need resolving,
For our Gods help we all tend to ask.
They must be busy all year round,
Well apart from their day of leisure,
Wherever there's trouble to be found,
We all pray to our national treasure.
Humans believe in multiple Gods,
Yet religion can be so unforgiving,
That is why we are all at odds,
Dying is the reason we are living.
Before we pass we live in hope,
That to Gods Heaven we will ascend,
If we don't, how would we cope,
As past mistakes we cannot amend.
Who made them and who made their maker?
Or are they all just one big illusion,
If they are that would be an Earth shaker,
All that would do is create more confusion.
Myself, well I've been thinking hard,
If these beings are so high and mighty,
The creator of the Gods I would have to regard,
‘' As One Very Powerful Deity ‘'
Flower God, God Of The Spring
FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer,
Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant;
Spring, flower-planter in meadows,
Child-conductor in willowy
Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses:
Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity:
O child, happy are children!
She still smiles on their innocence,
She, dear mother in God, fostering violets,
Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins:
Thus one cunning in music
Wakes old chords in the memory:
Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances.
One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal
Green - one more, and my bosom
Feels new life with an ecstasy.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Full Of Life Questions
life is full of unexpected,
life is full of challenges,
life is full of bitterness,
life is full of strife,
life is full of contentious disputes,
life is full of revenge,
life is full of hatred,
life is full of mystery,
sometimes.....
life is full of sweetness,
life is full of joy,
life is full of happiness,
life is full of hope,
life is full of dreams,
you can have all this life when the soul is in body, and you will be able to feel everything because this is real life to creatures who call the''human''
Have you thought to life after death? ? ? ?
More Than Degrees
Mini-jobs and maxi-prices,
You are what you say you are!
But true love knows my name more than Degrees.
You are what you eat and i am what i eat,
But i am like Daniel in the lions den with my mind;
And true love knows my name more than the Degrees around me.
Life to some people is like the wind,
But others wait to see where it blows to;
And like your existing contracts on this earth,
But true love knows my name more than Degrees.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Young mother!
When the mother is left with young children,
The hands are full and the mind is not dull,
Her eyes are down on the children, who rattle,
Not on the spouse, who suddenly stops to tattle,
Young mother is as busy as a bee, flying around,
The messy house to have the neat hive and honey,
She is not a queen bee to order the servants,
She is a human and needs help and love,
Helpless responsible young mothers are great,
For they have sacrificed their comfort for their brood,
So many professionals gave up their career,
For the love that they have upon their future,
Young mothers of the world, just relax and not to cry,
So much work day in and day out, but you are the Gods,
To provide what your young children need,
To cover them with comfort of loving blanket,
To protect them from all invisible germs and harms,
To plant the seeds of care in their mind to bloom,
Disciplined children are the outcome of your salty sweat,
Continue to sacrifice as our ancestors did.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Their Hearts Were Full Of Spring
Theres a story told of a very gentle boy
And the girl who wore his ring
Through the wintery snow
The world they knew was one
For their hearts were full of spring
As the days grew old
And the nights passed into time
And the weeks and years took wind
Gentle boy, tender girl
Their love remained still young
For their hearts were full of spring
Then one day they died
And their graves were side by side
On a hill where robins sing
And they say violets
Grow there the whole year round
For their hearts were full of spring
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stupid and foolish things
I accounted for most of the stupid and foolish things
Why have to wait for so many years to do something?
I have seen animals gaining adulthood and sense soon
Why everybody should show me stars and only moon?
I wondered when the would comment” he is child “
They may not be harsh on me and go very mind
I will be excused for any silly mistakes
Nothing may invite any controversy to rake
Even some glass brakeage also will be taken lightly
People will laugh and point it out rightly
Everything is to be forgotten for only one reason
He is child and may take some more time to become sensible person
Such is sorry state of affair since childhood
I do not know when I gained adulthood?
I was observed very closely by neighborhood
They came to my rescue as they had fully understood
The childhood has passed of easily and I am entering young age
There is free air outside and I have been permitted with more coverage
I can venture out with little or no restrictions
There are virtually now no or very few instructions
I am no different from that of child age
I still look forward to them with blank page
I need everything to be written down
As I have still no experience or responsibility to own
This may be the case with thousands or more
They may be lagging behind for not trying to explore
Every thrust may be observed or monitored
Set of instructions ready and even small things tutored
I have grown amidst the sense of being fool
They are not sure of my gaining it in full
I am still in their eyes unripe and inexperienced
They will take enough care to see that I am not unduly influenced
So I have grown immature with lots of uncertainty
They were right in their assertion to make me of fine quality
I was at receiving end so far as they were concerned
Still I had feeling that at every point I was cornered
I made one resolution in mind
I must make some earnest efforts to find
Better presentation of my self and fulfillment of their desire
So they won’t be left with any frustration or ire
I may be of my own without being labeled
I have no courage to be called as rebelled
I shall take the decision of my own
Move as per conscious and show as fully grown
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Witch Child
This is a story of anger and pain;
Of inner storms with tears like rain;
Of hunger for love, and thirst for revenge;
Of lost hope, and a life of constant change.
There once was a child who had a great life,
Never knew sadness and never knew strife.
Until one day an old witch came a'knocking,
With dark eyes full of hatred and mocking,
And a mind with the cruellest intentions.
She ruined the child without hesitation:
She took away what the child loved the most.
All that the child had left was a ghost -
A ghost of an old faded memory,
And a heart full of pain and misery.
Innocence turned into monstrosity,
The child's pain turned into atrocity.
Soon the child was no longer a child,
But a vile creature, angry and riled.
poem by Maria Kirakosian
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