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Tablets of Jet

You think that you only
Weep in remembering,
Nothing I’ve told you
Would hint at regret,
But I have the candle
We burnt at our offerings,
That wreathed its despairings
On tablets of jet.

I wrote and I rhymed you
By sky and by water,
I loved and desired you
In metre and song,
But needs seem to blind you,
Enrage, and remind you
That love is one garment
You’ve never put on.

You lost us forever
Then bled at our wounding,
Cast back every metre
Of love I had penned;
But sent me sad couplets
Composed by dead poets
That brood on disasters
Like us – in the end.

Now my wound is deeper
And my wound is wider,
I live with it always
And always it bleeds;
For lines of my poems
Are stubbed in your ashtrays
And songs of your goings
Are burnt on my reeds.

3 June 1992

poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature

Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today

They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see

Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.

Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Burnt to ashes

You burnt me, a wound of incomplete,
you remind me, a memory of indiscreet.
Deeply cut, all the way through my heart,
cold-blooded hands tearing me apart.
Mercilessly burnt, all the way to ashes,
move ahead steadily to the flashes...
My sore havoc is only yet to wreak,
and my days are yet to remain in bleak,
but my life seems to carry on,
with hope that despair shall be gone.
But shall despair feel my ominous envy?
Shall it be ungainly, to the hope of melancholy?
Oh I beg my soul, for you to leave,
Oh leave my lonliness spoken and grieve,
for you unhappy, unmerciful and unstill.
What great power lent you untill...
all my skin is burnt
all my feelings burnt
burnt, evermore, to ashes....

poem by Maya Hershey
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To a Vers Librist

"Oh bard," I said, "your verse is free;
The shackles that encumber me,
The fetters that are my obsession,
Are never gyves to your expression.

"The fear of falsities in rhyme,
In metre, quantity, or time,
Is never yours; you sing along
Your unpremeditated song."

"Correct," the young vers librist said.
"Whatever pops into my head
I write, and have but one small fetter:
I start each line with a capital letter.

"But rhyme and metre--Ishkebibble!--
Are actually negligible.
I go ahead, like all my school,
Without a single silly rule."

Of rhyme I am so reverential
He made me feel quite inconsequential.
I shed some strongly saline tears
For bards I loved in younger years.

"If Keats had fallen for your fluff,"
I said, "he might have done good stuff.
If Burns had thrown his rhymes away,
His songs might still be sung to-day."

O bards of rhyme and metre free,
My gratitude goes out to ye
For all your deathless lines--ahem!
Let's see, now . . . What is one of them?

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Songs About Me, Songs About You

Well youve been movin all down that highway
You can turn another page
And if you finally get to the old folks home
Then you can finally act your age
I can make a million dollars
And you can spend it as fast as it comes
And you can sit there and cry on a bed full of lies
And be thankin that you got you some
CHORUS
Theyll be songs about me
Theyll be songs about you
Theyll be songs about everything from money to booze
But there wont be no songs of regret
Cause I aint wrote no songs like that yet
No I aint wrote no songs like that yet
You can hear me on the radio
You can see me on TV
You can dig you a hole to find your soul
And it gets you away from me
You can run as fast as an hourglass
You can fly as high as the wind
See you can be strong for as long as you like
But youll end up right back where you can
REPEAT CHORUS
I got a song for every occasion
Ive been told I got away with words
Ive been told that Id be loved forever
But its been only lies that Ive heard
Ive been bold in my days
Ive been goin my ways
Ive been packed up and moaned and gone right away
I belong to a song for as long as I say
But Ill always have a song to play
REPEAT CHORUS (2x)
No I aint wrote no songs like that yet (8x)

song performed by by Uncle Kracker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The candle and the fly

A woman in love is a candle;
Her love and the candle’s flame are to burn.
Her pining is the candle’s burning.
They pine and burn and exhaust themselves.

A man in love is like a fly;
Both are in flight towards their targets
Of love and flame, to which they succumb
By one longing and the other by falling.

The candle is burnt; so is the beloved.
The fly is burnt; so is the lover.
No doubt, the end for them is mere ash
But their pursuits gave them enough push.
27.10.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Twisted Games

He was lost in a kerosene dream
Fuelled by the urge inside
Always been told not to play with fire
Never was one to abide
It all started way back when
When the neighbor's house burnt down
Hypnotized by the burning flame
And in that flame his love was found
Now time went on like it always does
No one knew about his love affair
Love it was it's a twisted game
Now he's gone with out a prayer
Today he learnt his lesson well
Today he burnt like you do in hell
I wish this tale could end another way
In twisted games we should never play
Now I'll tell you another tale
About a boy who loved his gun
His 45 was his one best friend
Twisted games that can't be won
Another day or so they thought
No one knew what was to come
This little town will never be the same
With a little boy who loved his gun
Today he learnt his lesson well
Today he burnt his one last shell
I wish this tale could end another way
Twisted games we should never play

song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Of June !

June sings for me, a song
of a rain cloud, which has
lost its way in a desert storm,
haunted and chased
by the conspiring rays of
of a burnt up sun
but found its way back
to a green hill to sing
again a song for me....

June 11,2009

poem by Rema Prasanaa
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For love of you my lute was strung

FOR love of you my lute was strung,
When singing days were fair and young,
When life and hope and song were new,
And all were sweet for love of you.
For love of you from June to June
My heart beat to a triumph tune,
And music rose by sea and land,
In answer to a victor's hand.
For love of you from sun to sun,
I strove to sing when songs were done,
And on each failing string my tears
Burnt silence, through the empty years.
But broken now 'neath evening skies,
My lute for ever tuneless lies,
And I but mourn the songs I knew,
Which were so sweet for love of you.

poem by Dollie Radford
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My love,

Its Because of You, I do it
You had melted my rocky heart,
Your caring words, your lines, did it,
We were told that men,
Their lovers, they stared stone faced
But, here I smile, and here it flows, my heart
We were told, not to profess our love,
To our loved ones, that it, boredom,
It would brood, lost would be sacredness
But, here I do it, because of you
The magic you cast, overpowers my soul,
It's all but sacred.
Yours for love, no-ops! Yes for your love
I'll break the chain, b'cause of you,
The chain is broken,
My Love.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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More Than Anyone Deserves

If I woke up tomorrow
And my eyes could not see
In darkness there'd be beauty
Of the love you shown to me
[chorus]
Cause I love longer and wider
Deeper and higher
Cause I've been loved
More than anyone deserves
If tomorrow for some reason
Somehow I could not hear
In silence there'd be music
Of a love that's always here
[chorus]
Cause I love longer and wider
Deeper and higher
Cause I've been loved
More than anyone deserves
And if I woke up in heaven
And I could not feel your touch
Then I want to be your angel
And I love you just as much
Cause I love longer and wider
Deeper and higher
Cause I've been loved
I've been loved
I've been loved
More than anyone deserves

song performed by by LeAnn Rimes from Sittin' On Top Of The World
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]

Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…

poem by Angelina Pandian
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She Sang the Songs...

She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
sweet words of love, in perfect time
to her style... soft words of love;
the lyrics to her Country songs
of love and heartbreak, hope and sadness;
life spread out in flawless rhyme,
but they were really hopes, and dreams
of his...
he knew this, all along.

She wrote songs as well; and, when he read them...
his heart missed a beat;
Beneath the stave, below the notes...
her lyrics, in her childlike hand;
soft words of love, he longed to hear
her say to him...
all whispered, sweet;
now, here they were, before his eyes...
but, accident...
or gently planned?

Were they whispers of her heart...
or just composed from out her head?
he had no way of knowing,
but... in either case, her words were sweet;
a silky glide across the page...
a wistful ballad... hearts that bled;
he sadly smiled, yes... his heart bled as well,
but,
to a different beat.

She sang the songs... he wrote the words,
words from his heart... soft, yet intense;
Perhaps, one day, she'd see
they were for her...
and, not her audience.

poem by Dream Weaver
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I Wrote A Poem I Loved

I WROTE A POEM I LOVED

I wrote a poem I loved
But I could not rest content with it.
I had to write another poem,
And another poem.
And in the writing of other poems,
Some of which I also loved.
I lost the poem I loved.

Essentially I am a writer of poems
And not their possessor.

I possess many poems of others,
But somehow mine, I cannot.

However I love them
Perhaps I really believe
None of them good enough
To be worthy of such love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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In Memoriam

GROWING to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong weep,
5
For the noble hearts that sleep,
Pillowed where they fought and bled,
The loved and lost, our glorious dead!
Toil and sorrow come with age,
Manhood's rightful heritage;
10
Toil our arms more strong shall render,
Sorrow make our hearts more tender,
In the heartlessness of time;
Honour lays a wreath sublime—
Deathless glory—where they bled,
15
Our loved and lost, with glorious dead!
Wild the prairie's grasses wave
O'er each hero's new-made grave;
Time shall write such wrinkles o'er us,
But the future spreads before us
20
Glorious in that sunset land—
Nerving every heart and hand,
Comes a brightness none can shed,
But the dead, the glorious dead!
Lay them where they fought and fell;
25
Every heart shall ring their knell,
For the lessons they have taught us,
For the glory they have brought us.
Tho' our hearts are sad and bowed,
Nobleness still makes us proud—
30
Proud of light their names shall shed
In the roll-call of our dead!
Growing to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations,
35
With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong men weep,
For the noble hearts that sleep
Where the call of duty led,
Where the lonely prairies spread,
40
Where for us they fought and bled,
Our loved, our lost, our glorious dead!

poem by Frederick George Scott
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My Song To You

what would you do
if i wrote you a song
if the song became famous
a song that we all sing
as the days go on
what would you say
if i composed you a symphony
one that everyone loved
and knew who you were
everyday we would sing
the song of you
deep down inside
the melody of you stirs
awakening passion
the fire of love
what would you do
if i wrote you a song
if everyone loved it
and fell in love with you
and everyday my heart sings
this song of you
to you

(by daniel tilton 3/2007)

poem by Daniel Tilton
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The tale of the sparkling white river

At the sparkling white river
that cuts its way through the earth,
some green reeds grew in bushes into the water.

Tranquillity and the magic
of water, sun and wind
was the spirit that dwelt in the reeds.

a Really ugly god appeared and started to cry,
as no beautiful nymph
would set an eye on him.

He washed his face in the water
to try and transfix some of its healing magic
to himself and washed his face again,

but the image reflected upon the gentle pool
remained the same
and deeper into the water he went.

Half blind by his crying,
he stumbled into the reeds
and walk still deeper in,

to hide away from the creatures
that lived upon the water
and dwelt in the sparkling stream.

There was power in his tears
and where they fell upon the reeds,
they were cut from the stems.

To Pan on that day,
the river and the reeds
came as a blessing.

With reeds in his hands
he walked to the shore
and the setting and sounds did something to him.

He cut the reeds into pipes
of different lengths
with notches and holes

and blew life in to them
and to this very day,
that instrument bears his name.

poem by Gert Strydom
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In good days and bad days!

While resting in the prison of life
You strum your sensitive heart strings
That play the tune of innocence!
And you light a half burnt candle
on the altar, place a tiny fragrant flower
Kneel and pray, request benefits
A solace for the wound
That never heals?
In good times and bad times
You sing that short song
For a long life?

[Choose a job you love, and you'll never have to work a day in your life.]
-Confucius

nimal dunuhinga

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying to-night or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

poem by Edward Thomas
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Patrick Colum

He penned 'The Old Woman Of The Roads' and 'A Cradle Song'
And to Ireland's best lyricists he surely belong
And his haunting ballad 'She Moved Through The Fair'
With any song ever written is one to compare.

And though to the reaper the poet has long gone
His best poems and lyrics will always live on
He sure was a master of the wordsmith trade
Poets like him are born they cannot be made.

The name of Patrick Colum is a memorable name
Even in his own lifetime he did know great fame
The beauty in his verses is for all to see
A man of great talent who penned great poetry.

Many of his poems are good but his best poems are great
And with the best of Eire he is one to rate
And even in death his fan club does grow
Most lovers of poetry a song or poem of Colum's know.

A legend in death and in his own lifetime
Patrick Colum one who penned quite memorable rhyme
His wonderful gift with the World he did share
A poet of the people and his type are rare.