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Yggdrasil

The poet sat in the garden house
Under a hawthorn tree,
And stared at the men in helmets who
Had just come up from the sea.

He gathered his words about him
Like a shield in the Land of Rhyme,
The 'glow in the red-raw evening sky'
He left for another time.

He watched as they burned his orchard,
Put his imagery to the sword,
Then wandered back to their surly ships
In the Bay of Bleak Discord.

The heron sat in the estuary,
The raven sat on the shore,
The poet threw up a stanza there
That ends with - 'Nevermore! '

For Death had called in the morning
Left his calling card on the tray:
'I'd be obliged if you'd meet with me
At noon, on Saturday! '

He packed his verse in a travelling case
And told his wife 'Goodbye! '
Then sent his 'Helen of Troy' poste haste
To hide on the Isle of Skye.

He went to the tree Yggdrasil, sat
And waited for Death to chat,
But Death left a message to follow him;
'I'll get my coat and hat! '

27 October 2009

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fresh Endeavour

So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.

I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lightning Rod

A poet is merely a lightning rod,
For passing through him the words of God!

He opens up his mind, receives,
Then passes on the message, grieves!

The words erupt from deep within him
That God has stored before, verbatim.

Line upon line of schemes, ideas,
When left to man, left man in tears.

Words left in trust at the Creation
Mankind would waste in dissipation.

Before, when Adam walked with Eve
In Eden's den of make-believe

Were knowledge trees and friendly serpents
As God composed the Ten Commandments!

And every verse of every poem
Was writ before the truth was known;

That nothing is ever achieved by man
Without the seal of God's own hand.

So laud me not, the poet's in me,
But deep within, the poet's empty.

A poet is merely a lightning rod
For passing through him the words of God!

9 November 2009

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Death Again

It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'

The Reign of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Holy Virgin

The time has…has come the time of death,
The death of my life, death of my breath,
Death of all but one…death of one but all,
Yet into the void for death I shall call.
It is near but death itself is nearer,
For all those who shall not be cheerer,
Death was the love I called upon into the world,
It was love that trembled as my death built a new world.

A new world with one less,
A new world with a greater mess,
For death of one is death of all,
Still into the void, My love for death I shall call.
‘Cause there is none like death
And none like death can take my breath.
For I was me and me alone,
And I was mine and mine own.
‘Cause there is none like me-
None as different…and not one so free.

Death was all I had ever known,
From when I as a seed into the earth was sown,
To the skies I reached out yet grew not,
Higher than all I was yet was so merely short.
I knew not what I wanted,
But I knew that what I was gifted,
But I knew not what I had to do,
But I knew very well what to do.

Behind bars I had threw mine soul and heart,
But not my mind which was my delicate art,
‘Cause that was all I had,
It was merry yet sad,
‘Cause I was far from all, I severed myself,
Yet my love was not for myself,
Unfathomable was my love for love,
Yet I hid it all up in a cove.
But I did what I did,
For I was me and not some other silly did.

I told them not when they told I was wrong;
When they told I was bad I told I was wrong,
For I knew my action,
Yet lost was the proper reaction.
Sins were mine, sins to all,
Sins were mine but mine sins not all.

Robbed by death I was of all but one,
One was my mind- the special one.
For my mind was mine and mine alone,
Amidst all it sparkled and shone,
For death touched it not as what it was it knew not,
Yet of that it never forgot,
For it was the only that was beleft,
When death made love to earth and none was left,
Because when all was gone,
Left was the different one,
When gone was the origin,
Left behind was my mind – The Holy Virgin.

JamesGreen…

poem by James Green
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Of An Unpopular Poet

By: jimmy buffett
1973
I once knew a poet
Who lived before his time
He and his dog spooner
Would listen while hed rhyme
Words to make ya happy
Words to make you cry
Then one day the poet suddenly did die
But he left behind a closet
Filled with verse and rhyme
And through some strange transaction
One was printed in the times
And everybodys searchin
For the king of undergound
Well they found him down in florida
With a tombstone for a crown
Everybody knows a line
From his book that cost four ninety-nine
I wonder if he knows hes doin
Quite this fine
cause his books are all best sellers
And his poems were turned to song
Had his brother on a talk show
Though they never got along
And now hes called immortal
Yes hes even taught in school
They say he used his talents
A most proficient tool
But he left all of his royalties
To spooner his ol hound
Growin old on steak and bacon
In a doghouse ten feet round
And everybody wonders
Did he really lose his mind
No he was just a poet who lived before his time
He was just a poet who lived before his time

song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meaning of Death

when a poet writes of death
don't take it literally
death has many meanings
which differ significantly

to a poet death might mean
death of a past
which is a new beginning
one that might last

death to a poet is life
time to start a new chapter
turn the page
turn sadness into laughter

to a poet death is a new start
ending of strife
closing, locking the doors
of their old life

death has so many meanings
not only for a poet
all parts of life leads to death
some just don't know it

death means change
chance for a new beginning
put the past behind
stop losing, start winning

so to a poet
death is not always bad
we must write our feelings
whether good or sad

p.s.not sure this makes much sense
but i was buzzed ;)

poem by Sandy Nobody
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come On Death

Surly
I am so surly, and I am so surly
And come on life in, and come on deaaaath
Ohaaaaaahhhh, ohaaaaaaaahahah, ohaaaaaaoooohoh
Surly, and I am so surly, and I am so surly
And come on life in, and come on ...
Noooooooooooo, noooooooooo, nooooooooooo, nooooooooooo
Surly, and I am so surly, and I am so surly
And I am so surly, oooooaaaaaahhhh
Deaaaaaaaath, deaaaaaath, deaaaaaaaaath, deaaaaaaaaaaath
Come on death, come on death, come on death, come on death
Surly, surly, surly, surly
Im does finishing to hell
And Im does, and Im does hell, hell, heeelllllllll
Come on death (x4) -- ohaaaaaaaahh
Come on death (x4) -- deaaaaaaaaaaath
Performed in new york, ny on 09/28/91.

song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death, Inevitable Death

Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.

Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’

Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?

Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’

Death
Death death
Death death death
Death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death
Death death death
Death death
Death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death, My Friend

Death, my friend - so good to see you!
Stand aloft and view my soul!
I have to say you’re looking frightful -
Bony chum, you affable ghoul.

Death, my friend, so charmed I’m sure!
State your case and tell me straight -
Am I worthy of reward, so
Venture I to Heaven’s Gate?

Death, my friend, a new acquaintance!
You're always welcome in my home -
Though the stare from empty sockets
Indicates to Hell we roam!

Death, my friend - my bosom buddy.
My! your finger points at me!
Be you tired of my frivolity?
Aha, I see - Oblivion, we!

Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Meet You There

Now you're gone
I wonder why you left me here
I think about it on and on again
I know you're never coming back
But I hope that you can hear me
I'm waiting to hear from you
Until I do

You're gone away
I'm left alone
A part of me is gone
And I'm not moving on
So wait for me
I know the day will come

I'll meet you there
No matter where life takes me to
I'll meet you there
And even if I need you here
I'll meet you there

I wish I could have told you
The words I kept inside
But now I guess it's just too late
So many things remind me of you
I hope that you can hear me
I miss you
This is goodbye
One last time
And where I go you'll be there with me
Forever you'll be right here with me

I'll meet you there
No matter where life takes me
I'll meet you there
And even if I need you
I'll meet you there

song performed by by Simple Plan from No Helmets No Pads...Just Balls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet's Day

No
Nothing
Night here
Through out the day
O Goodbye
Vibration scattered

O no
Nothing
Black and white
Fine birth death
Colorful journey
And I left
Just to said
Silent silent
Watch watch

No
Nothing
Nothing to rise
Nothing to fall
Throughout the night
Awake watch
Tree tree bird bird
Air and sky
My day
Poet's day.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Giving Tree

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'

And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song from Aella

O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be: