Egypt, Tobago
There is a shattered palm
on this fierce shore,
its plumes the rusting helm-
et of a dead warrior.
Numb Antony, in the torpor
stretching her inert
sex near him like a sleeping cat,
knows his heart is the real desert.
Over the dunes
of her heaving,
to his heart's drumming
fades the mirage of the legions,
across love-tousled sheets,
the triremes fading.
Ar the carved door of her temple
a fly wrings its message.
He brushes a damp hair
away from an ear
as perfect as a sleeping child's.
He stares, inert, the fallen column.
He lies like a copper palm
tree at three in the afternoon
by a hot sea
and a river, in Egypt, Tobago
Her salt marsh dries in the heat
where he foundered
without armor.
He exchanged an empire for her beads of sweat,
the uproar of arenas,
the changing surf
of senators, for
this silent ceiling over silent sand -
this grizzled bear, whose fur,
moulting, is silvered -
for this quick fox with her
sweet stench. By sleep dismembered,
his head
is in Egypt, his feet
in Rome, his groin a desert
trench with its dead soldier.
He drifts a finger
through her stiff hair
crisp as a mare's fountaining tail.
Shadows creep up the palace tile.
He is too tired to move;
a groan would waken
trumpets, one more gesture
war. His glare,
a shield
reflecting fires,
a brass brow that cannot frown
at carnage, sweats the sun's force.
It is not the turmoil
of autumnal lust,
its treacheries, that drove
him, fired and grimed with dust,
this far, not even love,
but a great rage without
clamor, that grew great
because its depth is quiet;
it hears the river
of her young brown blood,
it feels the whole sky quiver
with her blue eyelid.
She sleeps with the soft engine of a child,
that sleep which scythes
the stalks of lances, fells the
harvest of legions
with nothing for its knives,
that makes Caesars,
sputtering at flies,
slapping their foreheads
with the laurel's imprint,
drunkards, comedians.
All-humbling sleep, whose peace
is sweet as death,
whose silence has
all the sea's weight and volubility,
who swings this globe by a hair's trembling breath.
Shattered and wild and
palm-crowned Antony,
rusting in Egypt,
ready to lose the world,
to Actium and sand,
everything else
is vanity, but this tenderness
for a woman not his mistress
but his sleeping child.
The sky is cloudless. The afternoon is mild.
poem by Derek Walcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
My Own
I found her by a spring of water in the desert and,
I took her to be my own;
And in the heat of the day,
She became what i was looking for.
Of a smoking fire pot and,
Of a dove and a young pigoen;
And deep sleep fell unto man,
And out of him came woman.
Behold! She's with child and,
She submitted herself to me to learn more;
And from the river of Egypt to the great river Euphrates!
Rest my love,
Rest under my tree of love my sweet one;
For you are now very tired with your load.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dreamlight
Oh, I am lonely by a desert palm,
And dreaming, dreaming on the sands of thought
Oh, come to me from out the voiceless calm,
And teach me what the Nile has left untaught.
Bring to me a draught of Southern wine,
The perfume of the near-forgotten rose.
Then let me drink beside some ancient shrine,
And drinking, let my tired eyelids close.
Come near to me. The fast night-hours are few,
For every hour is fast when moons are clear.
Scatter from my hair the desert dew,
And lilt sweet Arab love-songs in my ear.
Unloose the twilight hair about thy head,
And listen to the waters deep and slow
For we are dreaming with the dreaming dead,
Dreaming where the flowers of Isis blow.
Look not to where those eagles fiercely fight,
Let peace alone be on the ancient bed.
Unbare thy beauty to the Egypt night,
And stay with me till Egypt’s dawn in red.
Then leave me when the bird of night has flown,
And touch my lips before the night-moon sinks.
I’ll ponder by these pyramids of stone,
And sit within the shadow of the Sphinx.
poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Mother In Egypt
'About midnight will I go out into the midst of Egypt: and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne, even unto the firstborn of the maid-servant that is behind the mill.'
IS the noise of grief in the palace over the river
For this silent one at my side?
There came a hush in the night, and he rose with his hands a-quiver
Like lotus petals adrift on the swing of the tide.
O small soft hands, the day groweth old for sleeping!
O small still feet, rise up, for the hour is late!
Rise up, my son, for I hear them mourning and weeping
In the temple down by the gate.
Hushed is the face that was wont to brighten with laughter
When I sang at the mill,
And silence unbroken shall greet the sorrowful dawns hereafter,
The house shall be still.
Voice after voice takes up the burden of wailing,–
Do you heed, do you hear ?–in the high-priest's house by the wall;
But mine is the grief, and their sorrow is all unavailing.
Will he wake at their call ?
Something I saw of the broad, dim wings half folding
The passionless brow.
Something I saw of the sword the shadowy hands were holding,–
What matters it now?
I held you close, dear face, as I knelt and harkened
To the wind that cried last night like a soul in sin,
When the broad, bright stars dropped down and the soft sky darkened,
And the Presence moved therein.
I have heard men speak in the market-place of the city,
Low voiced, in a breath,
Of a god who is stronger than ours, and who knows not changing nor pity,
Whose anger is death.
Nothing I know of the lords of the outland races,
But Amun is gentle and Hathor the Mother is mild,
And who would descend from the light of the peaceful places
To war on a child?
Yet here he lies, with a scarlet pomegranate petal
Blown down on his cheek.
The slow sun sinks to the sand like a shield of some burnished metal,
But he does not speak.
I have called, I have sung, but he neither will hear nor waken;
So lightly, so whitely he lies in the curve of my arm,
Like a feather let fall from the bird that the arrow hath taken.
Who could see him, and harm?
'The swallow flies home to her sleep in the eaves of the altar,
And the crane to her nest,'–
So do we sing o'er the mill, and why, ah, why should I falter,
Since he goes to his rest?
Does he play in their flowers as he played among these with his mother?
Do the gods smile downward and love him and give him their care?
Guard him well, O ye gods, till I come; lest the wrath of that Other
Should reach to him there!
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dreaming Of Hair
Ivy ties the cellar door
in autumn, in summer morning glory
wraps the ribs of a mouse.
Love binds me to the one
whose hair I've found in my mouth,
whose sleeping head I kiss,
wondering is it death?
beauty? this dark
star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head.
My love's hair is autumn hair, there
the sun ripens.
My fingers harvest the dark
vegtable of her body.
In the morning I remove it
from my tongue and
sleep again.
Hair spills
through my dream, sprouts
from my stomach, thickens my heart,
and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.
Hair ascends the tree
of my childhood--the willow
I climbed
one bare foot and hand at a time,
feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing
my father plead from his window, _Don't fall!_
In my dream I fly
past summers and moths,
to the thistle
caught in my mother's hair, the purple one
I touched and bled for,
to myself at three, sleeping
beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth.
Along a slippery twine of her black hair
my mother ties ko-tze knots for me:
fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads
of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning.
Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps.
I push back his hair, stroke his brow.
His hairline is our father's, three peaks pointing down.
What sprouts from the body
and touches the body?
What filters sunlight
and drinks moonlight?
Where have I misplaced my heart?
What stops wheels and great machines?
What tangles in the bough
and snaps the loom?
Out of the grave
my father's hair
bursts. A strand
pierces my left sole, shoots
up bone, past ribs,
to the broken heart it stiches,
then down,
swirling in the stomach, in the groin, and down,
through the right foot.
What binds me to this earth?
What remembers the dead
and grows towards them?
I'm tired of thinking.
I long to taste the world with a kiss.
I long to fly into hair with kisses and weeping,
remembering an afternoon
when, kissing my sleeping father, I saw for the first time
behind the thick swirl of his black hair,
the mole of wisdom,
a lone planet spinning slowly.
Sometimes my love is melancholy
and I hold her head in my hands.
Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death.
Then, I must grab handfuls
of her hair, and, I tell you, there
are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men
taking off their boots, their hearts breaking,
not knowing
which they love more, the water, or
their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.
poem by Li-Young Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wake Not My Sleeping Child
Wake not my sleeping child
This world awaits not thy vision,
Talk not my sleeping child
This world listens to no one,
Move not my sleeping child
This world senses every vibration!
Think not my sleeping child
This world is void of thoughts.
Live not my sleeping child,
This world offers nothing but death!
Lie in my arms in perfect numbness…
This world will spare you its camaraderie!
poem by Anuradha Datta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Egyptology
I am the Sphinx.
I am the woman buried in sand
up to her chin.
I am waiting for an archaeologist
to unearth me,
to dig out my neck & my nipples,
bare my claws
& solve my riddle.
No one has solved my riddle
since Oedipus.
I face the pyramids which rise
like angular breasts
from the dry body of Egypt.
My fertile river is flowing down below-
a lovely lower kingdom.
Every woman should have a delta
with such rich silt-
brown as the buttocks
of Nubian queens.
O friend, why have you come to Egypt?
Aton & Yahweh
are still feuding.
Moses is leading his people
& speaking of guilt.
The voice out of the volcano
will not be still.
A religion of death,
a woman buried alive.
For thousands of years
the sand drifted over my head.
My sex was a desert,
my hair more porous than pumice,
& nobody sucked my lips
to make me tell.
The pyramid breasts, though huge,
will never sag.
In the center of each one,
a king lies buried.
In the center of each one,
a darkened chamber. . .
a tunnel,
dead men's bones,
malignant gold.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Little Girl Found
All the night in woe
Lyca’s parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm, seven days
They traced the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
And dream they see their child
Starved in desert wild.
Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman pressed
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain:
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground,
Then he stalked around,
Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay
When he licks their hands,
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit armed in gold.
On his head a crown,
On his shoulders down
Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
‘Follow me,’ he said;
‘Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.’
Then they followed
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among tigers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell,
Nor fear the wolvish howl
Nor the lion’s growl.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
In The Garden II: Visions
HERE I am slave of visions. When noon heat
Strikes the red walls, and their environ'd air
Lies steep'd in sun; when not a creature dare
Affront the fervour, from my dim retreat
Where woof of leaves embowers a beechen seat,
With chin on palm, and wide-set eyes I stare,
Beyond the liquid quiver and the glare,
Upon fair shapes that move on silent feet.
Those Three strait-robed, and speechless as they pass,
Come often, touch the lute, nor heed me more
Than birds or shadows heed; that naked child
Is dove-like Psyche slumbering in deep grass;
Sleep, sleep,--he heeds thee not, yon Sylvan wild
Munching the russet apple to its core.
poem by Edward Dowden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Little Girl Lost
In futurity
I prophesy
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise, and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.
In the southern clime,
Where the summer’s prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told.
She had wandered long,
Hearing wild birds’ song.
‘Sweet sleep, come to me,
Underneath this tree;
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?
‘Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?
‘If her heart does ache,
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
‘Frowning, frowning night,
O’er this desert bright
Let thy moon arise,
While I close my eyes.’
Sleeping Lyca lay,
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
Viewed the maid asleep.
The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin viewed:
Then he gambolled round
O’er the hallowed ground.
Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay;
While the lion old
Bowed his mane of gold,
And her bosom lick,
And upon her neck,
From his eyes of flame,
Ruby tears there came;
While the lioness
Loosed her slender dress,
And naked they conveyed
To caves the sleeping maid.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Deep Woods
When tender is the night, and the woods are deep
And the only light - as Orion's - piercing the dark,
Gazing a child in his sleep - child whomever he fears
He wishes he has gone, and left him to his sound sleep.
The river near is dark - not even dogs dare to bark -
And it's too far from any park - no wetness, no seep.
A child, who is left to a deathly sleep - still being mild
But the morn is far - too far to being left, way behind.
And Time! Oh Time! How dare you give a child
Endlessly sleep and those woods a languor that's oh so deep?
At dawn when life at woods again is dry,
And no reason is left to stay in the sky,
Orion takes care the child who now eternally sleeps,
The child sees someone - or something - dim:
A light - a palm that caresses him!
poem by Deniz Atay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cleopatra’s glory
Cleopatra was the queen of Egypt;
Cleopatra was the queen of beauty.
She came to the throne at her eighteen
The first century BC witnessed it.
To get back her Egypt from her brother,
She sought the hand of Julius Caesar,
The mighty one Rome had ever seen,
And set to sell her asset of beauty.
While in exile, she was able to reach
Caesar when he chanced to visit Egypt,
By getting her smuggled in to his room,
Rolled up in a carpet sent as a gift
Cleopatra emerging from the roll,
Caesar was stunned and fell for her in love.
He made her queen of Egypt in no time
And made her his consort with all respects.
Bound by her charm, grace and wit together,
Caesar clued to her and bore her a son.
He brought her home to be adored by Rome.
They led a life, each proud of the other.
The rise of Caesar was the cause of his fall.
His rise in power and love for Egypt
Were good enough for his conspirators
To rise and annihilate him unaware.
Cleopatra with her son fled to Egypt
And Mark Antony succeeded the throne.
No wonder, her beauty arrested him.
No wonder, his valour imprisioned her.
.The Rome emperor and the Egyptian queen
Loved, like of which no pair ever did.
The spring sprang, love spurted, and the passion flowed.
She was all and she was the world for him.
He took to Egypt and slept with the queen.
His rivals from Rome used his weakness
And invaded the Egyptian sea.
War broke; Antony woke and fought but lost.
The majestic queen became the captive.
False news spread that she was killed. Shocked,
Antony killed himself with the sword he wore.
She saught to burry him with state honour.
She heard she would be taken to Rome,
To be chained and drawn in Rome she adorned.
Romans took care that she killed not herself
And so kept her ss safe amidst water.
She had serpents brought in the fruit basket
And had them sting her to join her lover.
She loved Caesar and lived a royal wife.
She loved Antony and lived a loyal wife.
A woman can love as much in succession.
Widowhood is not an impediment
And the land after the harvest is not waste.
Cleopatra is a perfect example.
‘Age cannot wither her, not custom stale
Her infinite variety; other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies.’ Shakespeare
01.04.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0332 How were they to know?
Yes, how were they to know,
searching in the heat of forenoon dunes,
those high hills of sand
where once the forests grew,
now a rhythm of burnt sunned, cool shadowed, mock horizons,
- they, searching for the camel which had strayed -
and finding there, a man sitting still, cross-legged
in the sand upon a small strip
of faded coloured carpet,
palm of hand crossed in palm of hand,
and in the palm of his upraised right hand,
one grain of sand
and who, as they approached,
did not shift his gaze from that one grain;
and yet they sensed that he sensed them;
better let him be, he knows what he’s about,
or if he’s mad, at least he’s quietly purposeful…
how were they to know
that as he gazed, the universe he saw
in that one grain of sand then
grew inside of him? till it filled itself,
like a sand-clock, as the last grain
falls from the upper to
the lower, and all is still again
as measured time stops still
amid the sands of time?
how were they to know
as that small figure against the desert sand
his cloak still burning to the touch,
returned to the oasis, as the red-hot sun
sank below the dramatic shadow of the furthest dune,
and later, sitting by the green palms and papyrus reeds,
the camels head down, humped around the welcome pool,
one child, then many children,
then grown men, asked him their questions;
and the answers, as the night folded in
below more stars than anyone could count,
drew the circle of cross-legged silent listeners
- occasionally, urgent voiced with a lifetime’s pressing question -
as if some grain of sand became in their mind too
totality; the universe.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Be A Nice Baby Boy
Mom`s eyes was looking strange
Something was so cruel in her eyes
Mom made baby sleep
She whispered Hush now baby baby don`t you cry
Baby was boy he was staring at mom`s face and hands (breasts) with his black circle eyes
He was full of an unknown feeling
He didn`t know what was that but he knew it was
Moving inside his body
And looking his mom made it awaked
Baby felt a pleasure
Mom was clothing a white dress
She was a nurse
She knew all the medicines effects very well
She gave baby some sweet liquid
At once he fell into a so deepest asleep
Boy got up
It was 12 p.m.
He rush to the bathroom
Look at his eyes on the mirror
He open his eyes with trouble
He feels his head and eyes are so heavy
He spends all his time sleeping in the bed like a child
He is angry because he is always late
All the day he feels sleepy even when he get up from the sleeping
He is even tired when he is spending time with his girlfriend
His problem is that he feels senseless, tired and angry
I see night mares all the time
I take too much sleep I should go to the doctor
Mom asks: where are you going baby?
Boy says: mom I am not a child any more you are frustrating me with your questions and I am so tired
'You are always my baby,
I don`t know what`s going to my child,
This world is making him apart from me,
I think he is captured by a devil`s power,
He always wants to keep his room`s door closed,
He is going to make something hidden from my eye,
He talks to a girl through the phone,
But he is clean,
He helps to every people that never get to know,
He is so kind sympathized'.
Mom makes some mixed of pills
Solve it into a liquid:
I`m protecting you my son, '
You are only a child you can not protect from yourself,
I am making life more safe for you,
These pills will sleep some one for 24 hours,
Doctor gave them to the mothers after giving a birth,
For feeling less pain and sleep,
I will give it to you for sleeping and making the time of your day short,
You will not be suffered any more with visiting a girl and making conversation with her,
You will sleep all the day,
You will dream of making love,
Your feeling will be satisfied during your dream,
Just like the first time'
Mom is sitting near her son looking at him,
Touching his body caress his face
He is deeply sleeping
Mom whispers: Hush now baby baby don`t you cry
Be clean and healthy
Keep sleeping here
I love you.
poem by Sepideh Mehrsa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Over Egypt
Wansel / Biggs)
There's a sky in the east
Over pyramids at Giza
Where there once lived a girl
She ruled the world
Then down the nile
He came with a smile
He was the king
She was the queen
Under the moonlight
Your eyes won't believe
What your mind can't concieve
Oooh
Nights over Egypt
Nights over Egypt
Nights over Egypt
Incense & myrrh
And girls that swirl
To the music
Nights over Egypt
Women fellahin
Wear veils to been seen
By no one
Take a caravan across
The sudan
Saharan fagade
Is just a mirage
Oasis in the sand
Where life once began
Under the moonlight
Your eyes won't believe
What your mind can't concieve
Nights over Egypt
Nights over Egypt
Nights over Egypt
Nights over Egypt
song performed by by Incognito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Shepherd Boy
WHEN the red moon hangs over the fold,
And the cypress shadow is rimmed with gold,
O little sheep, I have laid me low,
My face against the old earth's face,
Where one by one the white moths go,
And the brown bee has his sleeping place.
And then I have whispered, Mother, hear,
For the owls are awake and the night is near,
And whether I lay me near or far
No lip shall kiss me,
No eye shall miss me,
Saving the eye of a cold white star.
And the old brown woman answers mild,
Rest you safe on my heart, O child.
Many a shepherd, many a king,
I fold them safe from their sorrowing.
Gwenever's heart is bound with dust,
Tristram dreams of the dappled doe,
But the bugle moulders, the blade is rust;
Stilled are the trumpets of Jericho,
And the tired men sleep by the walls of Troy.
Little and lonely,
Knowing me only,
Shall I not comfort you, shepherd-boy?
When the wind wakes in the apple-tree,
And the shy hare feeds on the wild fern stem,
I say my prayers to the Trinity,–
The prayers that are three and the charms that are seven
To the angels guarding the towers of heaven,–
And I lay my head on her raiment's hem,
Where the young grass darkens the strawberry star,
Where the iris buds and the bellworts are.
All night I hear her breath go by
Under the arch of the empty sky.
All night her heart beats under my head,
And I lie as still as the ancient dead,
Warm as the young lambs there with the sheep.
I and no other
Close to my Mother,
Fold my hands in her hands, and sleep.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleeping To Dream (Live @ Java Joes - 06.27.02)
words by jason mraz
music by jason mraz & peter stuart
I'm dreaming of sleeping next to you I'm feeling like a lost little boy in a brand new town
I'm counting my sheep and each one that passes is another dream to ashes
and they all fall down.
As I lay me down tonight,
I close my eyes and what a beautiful sight
I'm sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
I found myself in the riches (Your eyes, your lips, your hair.) Well you were everywhere
But I woke up in the ditches. I hit the light and I thought you might be here
but you were nowhere. You were nowhere at home.
As I lay me back to sleep
Lord I pray that I can keep
Sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
(It's just a little a lullaby to keep myself from crying myself to sleep at night.)
Sleeping to dream about you
I'm so tired of having to live without you
So I'm sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Nights Over Egypt
(wansel / biggs)
Theres a sky in the east
Over pyramids at giza
Where there once lived a girl
She ruled the world
Then down the nile
He came with a smile
He was the king
She was the queen
Under the moonlight
Your eyes wont believe
What your mind cant concieve
Oooh
Nights over egypt
Nights over egypt
Nights over egypt
Incense & myrrh
And girls that swirl
To the music
Nights over egypt
Women fellahin
Wear veils to been seen
By no one
Take a caravan across
The sudan
Saharan fagade
Is just a mirage
Oasis in the sand
Where life once began
Under the moonlight
Your eyes wont believe
What your mind cant concieve
Nights over egypt
Nights over egypt
Nights over egypt
Nights over egypt
song performed by by Incognito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
After An Afternoon
words by jason mraz & ariel quirolo
music by jason mraz
I bare my windowed self untamed and untrained
Dreams that hardly touch our complexions truest faults
If room enough for both my drowsy spirit shall fall
Bold waves tumble to the season of my heart
Where you have offended my faith and my trust
Until all is lost into the beauty of the day
But theres something in the way you laugh
That makes me feel like a child
Aspects of life they confuse me
You and your thesis amuse me
After and afternoon with you
And your rich brown eyes
Your lips and dark hair
Elbows and exposed knees tossing toward the ceiling
After an afternoon
Face to palm
Tear to tear
Mouth to tongue
Heart to ground
I am in love
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love In The Sunlight
we lie on the grass
in the late afternoon sunlight
the breeze rustles the leaves
of a scorched palm tree
hair sprawl on the grass
brown eyes look into blue eyes
blue eyes look into brown eyes
her fingers run though my hair
I close my eyes
I feel the warmth of the sun
I feel the sweetness of her fingers
running through my hair
it feels good
it feels right
our loves meet
poem by Georgios Andritsos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Every Child!
the faces of...
every child who'll
go to bed hungry tonite...
every child afraid to sleep
for fear of the soldiers,
the bullets, the bombs....
every child abused
by his parents...
every child humiliated
for being different.
every child who's never
known his own father...
every child with no hope
for an education...
every child sleeping
in homeless cars.
every child alone,
lonely, without love.
every child of every broken home,
every child, every color, every country...
staring at me this sleepless night,
tearing at my heart...
all my children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!