The Pen
‘All curses on this pen, ’
I see you think,
This dark intruder that demands
Its pint of ink;
It leaves harsh trails and seeks to
Imitate the past,
Though never moves,
But leads the eye toward the glass.
For as the trail goes out
From birth to death,
A black unbroken scrawl
To steal the breath,
It steals the art
Of conversation’s better side
While you look on
Like some poor, jilted bride,
Who has the well
(If I but had the ink) ,
And dips me well
When I do cease to think.
22 March 1982
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lone Trail
Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-by;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.
The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;
And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,
And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the togue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,
And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goded desire.
And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the orchid glows,
And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse for its clothes.
And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your bones,
And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like stones.
And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,
And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.
And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your torn feet freeze,
And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and knees.
Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;
By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you're fain.
By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the world are made plain.
Bid good-by to sweetheart, bid good-by to friend;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.
Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;
Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Single Candle/Death Herself
A single flame lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death
Her hands clasped anrond their souls
The souls of the dead
She feeds of their screams
The screams of the dead
Her legs lay bellow her
Bellow death
Her black gown over her body
The body of death
Her chest rises and falls with her breath
The breath of death
Her cloak drawn over her long flowing jet hair
The face of death
Her eyes unmoved unfeeling
Do you see it?
Do you see the soul of death?
Do you feel it?
Her skin as white as snow as it fades into darkness
The snow of tears
Her cloths as dark as night that swallows the light
The dark we all shall see
Her eyes close as she feels their souls flow
Flow from the dead
She leaves them there to lay in darkness
She steals from the dead
A single candle lights their faces filled with her
Filled with death
They fall into the darkness of her eyes, of her heart
The darkness of death
A single candle shall stay to light their way
Their way through the dark
A single candle holds their past
The pain and trials
A single candle lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death herself
A single candle
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To mourn the death?
Leaving home for school is a death.
Leaving school for service is a death.
Retiring from service is a death.
Every parting is a death.
Every meeting is a birth
Every death leads you to a birth.
Every birth leads thus to a death.
As many entrances as there are exits,
Till the arrival of corporal death,
Beyond which we have no evidence
17.08.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Leads To Madness
Do I feel alright?
Ill go antwhere you say you wanna to take me
Save me, run away-ay-ay, steal away-ay-ay
cause I feel alright
Ill do anything you say you wanna make me
Take me, far away-ay-ay, run away-ay-ay
Weve been up all night
Tryin to avoid a situation
Hold me, let me feel your way
cause I wanna stay
Let them all start talkin
We wont give ourselves away
Our love leads to madness
Our love leads to madness
Our love leads to madness
Do you feel alright?
An can you see me when youre lookin in your mirror
Crazy, try to find a way, so your heart dont pay
Run away-ay-ay
Dont you give yourself away
Our love leads to madness
Our love leads to madness
Our love leads to madness
Our lova leads to madness
(written by nazareth)
Copyright 1982 fool circle music limited
Lyrics used by permission
All rights reserved.
Reproduction prohibited
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want To Die Before You
I
want to die before you.
Do you think that who passes later
will find who's gone before?
I don't think so.
You'd better have me burned,
and put me on the stove in your room
in a jar.
The jar shall be made of glass,
transparent, white glass
so that you can see me inside...
You see my sacrifice:
I renounced from being part of the earth,
I renounced from being a flower
to be able to stay with you.
And I am becoming dust,
to live with you.
Later, when you also die,
you'll come to my jar.
And we'll live there together
your ash in my ash,
until a careless bride
or an unfaithful grandson
throws us out of there...
But we
until that time
will mix
with each other
so much that
even in the garbage we are thrown into
our grains will fall side by side.
We will dive into the soil together.
And one day, if a wild flower
feeds from this piece of soil and blossoms
above its body, definitely
there will be two flowers:
one is you
one is me.
I
don't think of death yet.
I will give birth to a child.
Life is flooding from me.
My blood is boiling.
I will live, but long, very long,
but with you.
Death doesn't scare me either.
But I find our way of funeral
rather unlikable.
Until I die,
I think this will get better.
Is there a hope you'll get out of prison these days?
A voice in me says:
maybe.
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Another Dusty Trail
He had walked the desert
For a lifetime; he had pursued trails
Leading nowhere but to buried dreams.
He was at last on the trail of the dead.
The winding last trail he could take.
Every other way was misleading, confusing.
He accepted that he had to suffer,
And suffer greatly,
Because he had worn-out feet.
Without feet he had no trails left.
Except one.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Onward
Don't we all wonder, remotely
- in ways we cannot even fully understand -
'What's this all about? '
Age has invaded our mind
and hearts.
Onward we march.
Life has invaded our spirits
and souls.
As onward we march.
The future flows right on past
behind us.
And yet onward we march.
Living is a passing glance
a long goodbye.
Onward we march.
Where we are bound
no eye has seen
no tongue can tell
no mind does fathom.
Still onward we march.
On the trail of time lost
we take the exit to eternity.
Ever onward we march.
Do we wonder
what a wonder it is
that we're marching into?
We should.
We shall.
We are.
Through it all, onward we march.
Onward...
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Be A Wo-Man
Inside extinguish my fire burns - My scars to face your back - You hide by fear - Frontal is the attack from the rear - I am less the man to the man in woman - Yet you feel weaker by what was told - Lies so black has plastered your eyes - The reason you breakdown your cry - I tell you, the power you yield no man can shield - Not by birth and not in death - Not in the sky with water to warlock by breath - Break you can, broken is the glass by sand - The tree never decided in one day to be, evolved to withstand which you refuse to see, and mainly they are she - stretch your branches to give life to the leaves, your roots have been shaded since birth - By mother Earth - Feel her need, you are not just the carrier of seed - feel the read to succeed - feel the need to feed
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Golden--of the selkirks
A trail upwinds from Golden;
It leads to a land God only knows,
To the land of eternal frozen snows,
That trail unknown and olden.
And they tell a tale that is strange and wild--
Of a lovely and lonely mountain child
That went up the trail from Golden.
A child in the sweet of her womanhood,
Beautiful, tender, grave and good
As the saints in time long olden.
And the days count not, nor the weeks avail;
For the child that went up the mountain trail
Came never again to Golden.
And the watchers wept in the midnight gloom,
Where the canyons yawn and the Selkirks loom,
For the love that they knew of olden.
And April dawned, with its suns aflame,
And the eagles wheeled and the vultures came
And poised o'er the town of Golden.
God of the white eternal peaks,
Guard the dead while the vulture seeks!--
God of the days so olden.
For only God in His greatness knows
Where the mountain holly above her grows,
On the trail that leads from Golden.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Paths Of Victory
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
I shall walk.
The trail is dusty
And my road it might be rough,
But the better roads are waiting
And boys it aint far off.
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
We shall walk.
I walked down by the river,
I turned my head up high.
I saw that silver linin
That was hangin in the sky.
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
We shall walk.
The evenin dusk was rollin,
I was walking down the track.
There was a one-way wind a-blowin
And it was blowin at my back.
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
We shall walk.
The gravel road is bumpy,
Its a hard road to ride,
But theres a clearer road a-waitin
With the cinders on the side.
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
We shall walk.
That evening train was rollin,
The hummin of its wheels,
My eyes they saw a better day
As I looked across the fields.
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
We shall walk.
The trail is dusty,
The road it might be rough,
But the good road is a-waitin
And boys it aint far off.
Trails of troubles,
Roads of battles,
Paths of victory,
We shall walk.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Echoes Breathe Deep {Rondeau Poetic Format}
Echoes breathe deep in Church steeples,
Chilled toll of chimes from Cathedral's,
Chords of Love, The Passion...and Death;
Funeral's hold the deepest breath,
O'er heads of it's grieving people.
Incense stings the eye's like needles,
Smoked heat dances 'round the steeple,
the starched March of Death, agrieving
Echoes breathe deep.
'Side the Church mourners sit, weeping
From the heat of the Cathedral;
August Masses tend to steal breath,
Leave a hollow sense of bereft,
Still there be breath from the steeple;
Echoes breathe deep.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark Death
Everyone goes through dark death
It's painful, cruel, and somehow blue
Everyone suffers until last breath
Somewhere the will find a clue
Death is something you can't escape
Sooner or later you'll have to face it
Death is scary and dark like a black cape
You can't see it coming, it'll just hit
Dark death is sometimes sweet
people like it because it takes away he misery
People shoot, hit, and beat
They'll rot away like celery
Dark death is sometimes cool
but it's mostly always cruel
poem by Maria Lara
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Breath Upon The Looking Glass
My breath expressed
Upon the looking glass
A living veil
Composed of gas
Eyes kept without
Breath held within
A visual shout
A ghastly grin
That fades away
As does the breath
As sure and certain
As life and death
The looking glass
Now free of mist
Lays bare my soul
And doing so insists
That I observe
The exposed nerve
That in said glass
Persists
I hastily breath anew
On said looking glass
To renew said veil
of living gas
Then Hie away
Before it fades
And draws me fast (and forever)
Into the looking glass
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death And Birth
Death and birth should dwell not near together:
Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:
Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether
Death and birth.
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth
Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether
Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?
Ill the rose-red and the sable feather
Blend in one crown's plume, as grief with mirth:
Ill met still are warm and wintry weather,
Death and birth.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Hero Bares His Nerves
My hero bares his nerves along my wrist
That rules from wrist to shoulder,
Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost,
Leans on my mortal ruler,
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.
And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger
And tells the page the empty ill.
My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread; like a naked Venus,
The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;
Stripping my loin of promise,
He promises a secret heat.
He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error
Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves,
And the hunger's emperor;
He pulls that chain, the cistern moves.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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The Spirit of God
Friend, as the wind tends to blow, not knowing where it will go,
Or from the place it has come, but we will see what it has done.
So it is with The Spirit friend, The Spirit that Christ would send.
The third person of The Godhead, sent just like Christ had said.
Sent to move upon man’s heart, to give man a brand new start.
God moves men with The Spirit, with The Word as they hear it.
The Holy Spirit you can not see, but He’s been here for eternity.
And He moves throughout the earth, leading men to New Birth.
He moves upon every nation, ministering to all God’s Salvation.
He convicts the heart of man, as He leads many to understand,
There’s a spiritual side to life, which is centered in Jesus Christ.
Without Him all men would grope, in the darkness with no hope.
But He leads them out of the night, and into God’s Eternal Light.
By guiding them to Jesus Christ, who offers all men Eternal Life.
The Spirit uses The Word of God, to be His voice where we trod.
Like a gentle summer breeze, He sets hearts and minds at ease.
Like the wind, a natural force, which moves upon a given course,
Showing to men God’s Power, and this everyday and every hour.
The Spirit too, was sent to us, so that all men, in God could trust.
The Spirit’s a comfort in this strife, leading believers to New Life.
Like the wind you can not still, The Spirit is sent to do God’s will.
As the wind leaves its mark, God desires to change man’s heart.
Wind we hear but can not see, can adversely affect you and me.
But, The Spirit only comforts men, who in Christ are Born Again.
Sweet Lady Mary
(wood, stewart, lane)
Sweet lady mary has to rest her poor head
Wakes in the morning with her breakfast in bed
I tried to help her, but I did not know how
I tried to love her, but its all over now
Nothing left to comfort me, except a sunny day
Steal away, steal away
Over the stones along the dusty old road
With every footstep one more tale is told
With every turning one more side to see
Sweet lady marys seen the last of me
A lesson is learnt, Ill never come this way again
Ill steal away, steal away
Her spanish habits are so hard to forget
The lady lied with every breath, I accept
Was a matter of time before my face did not fit
I knew all along Id have to quit.
Anyway now, I better not waste anymore of your time
Ill steal away, steal away
I think Ill go back home and start all again
Where the gulf stream waters tend to ease the pain
And on a new day when Ive mended the wound
Sweet lady marys gate I swear Ill be bound
But before I sit down again and waste anymore of your time
I better steal away, steal away
Ooh-hoo
Steal away-ay.
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watch Your Move
You seem to like my moves,
In the rare instant lies my very moves.
To lie is harsh, harsher still,
For they wonder far on the other side,
Reaching into the gladness, as fine as sand.
You seem to know my face very well,
Yet I do not know your custom, your dignified approach.
The hazards of existence number too many
Yesterday was a brighter day,
And my moves be saved, all in hope of something new.
I can not dare it, nor speak it,
In this fashion is the gladness I have found.
My moves are expected to affect the sighted people
And you too.
poem by Naveed Akram
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My Darkest Hour
My darkened eyes for death craves
sacred souls it fails to raise
death will soon be by my side
death soon will save me
God I’m your weakest slave
you can never leave me alone
join shall I soon be damned
for what I did down on earth
I carry this blessed glass of wine
will shove my fear down my swallowed
hypnotized underground demise
close to fragility it ends. Tonight.
Oh sweet death.
Sweet as I can taste
my soul you’re taking
I lay for you
oh death how warm
how warm you feel
your black wings you hold me down
please stay with me always by my side
Loneliness for God I stay
I pray, I hold my hands up
I know you hear me God
I’m asking for my downfall
you’ll cease it all at once
handful of mercy and death
close my eyes for once
close my eyes forever
Seems another attribute of death
cancer and shit, and disease all at once
forbidden to fall, to grieve to die
leave me for myself
by myself.
poem by Rakan Sliman
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