Theodore the Poet
As a boy, Theodore, you sat for long hours
On the shore of the turbid Spoon
With deep-set eye staring at the door of the crawfish's burrow,
Waiting for him to appear, pushing ahead,
First his waving antennae, like straws of hay,
And soon his body, colored like soap-stone,
Gemmed with eyes of jet.
And you wondered in a trance of thought
What he knew, what he desired, and why he lived at all.
But later your vision watched for men and women
Hiding in burrows of fate amid great cities,
Looking for the souls of them to come out,
So that you could see
How they lived, and for what,
And why they kept crawling so busily
Along the sandy way where water fails
As the summer wanes.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Related quotes
Crawfish
(words & music by weis - weisman)
Crawfish
Well I went to the bayou just last night
There was no moon but the stars were bright
Put a big long hook on a big long pole
And I pulled mr. crawfish out of his hole
Crawfish
See I got him, see the size
Stripped and cleaned before your eyes
Sweet meat look, fresh and ready to cook
Crawfish
Now take mr. crawfish in your hand
Hes gonna look good in your frying pan
If you fry him crisp or you boil him right
Hell be sweeter than sugar when you take a bite
Crawfish
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sandy
Sandy's the beach
And Sandy was her name,
The place we laid, and played,
Little lovers games.
Together we sat, Sandy and I
Upon the flowing edge of the great sea,
Finding our souls, while
Discovering how to fly free.
The summer's over now
Those days are done,
We've grown, and flown,
And left our youthful fun...
Upon a lonely shore of the setting sun.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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When my body arrives at the shore
When the time comes.
And my body washes up on the shore.
Be it not a shock to you please.
I didn't want tohurt you.
When my bloated body arrives at deaths shore.
Washed up and battered I'm dead on the shore.
And have arrived at deaths door.
Yes I was scared kind of.
But I knew it would over and done.
I knew it wouldn't be long to die.
Here lays my body at deaths shore.
I am dead of that you can be sure.
I am sorry of that you are to be sure.
I loved you that's for sure.
I could'nt stay with pains shore.
So Here I am at deaths shore.
I couldn't go on like this.
Here I lay washed up on the shore.
Iam now in deaths door
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Great Spirits
When the earth was young
And the air was sweet
And the mountains kissed the sky
In the far beyond, with its many paths
Man and nature lived side by side
The pretty wisdom does not come without learning
And revision not wholly with our eyes
We can think that we see
Truly see you're around us
But when we look
Do we see with open minds?
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
The key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
Teach our children to look deeper than the surface
See the world through another's eyes
For to be blind me on yourself
Is to look but not see it
Knowing much is not enough to be wise
To see the wonder
In all we've been given
In a world that's not always as it seems
On the part that we choose
Turn every corner
Follow on, for another begins
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
Key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know
Key to understanding
Is to see through others' eyes
Find a way to help us
See from all sides
Truly see from all sides
See from all sides
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without You
I lost you long ago
Unable to get you back
All these years i lived without you
I wondered where you were
Ive grown away from you
Until that day
You walked by
I didnt know what to do
The minutes we were to together
I remember to this day
Praying we could be together
Without you
I was confused
I was dying on the inside
I was poured out
Like cup of water
My bones disconnected
Out of their joints
My heart like wax
On the inside
It slowly melted within me
I was enclosed surrounded
They pierced my hands
As well as my feet
I was bound waiting for death
As i could not do anything else
This is how ive lived
Without you by my side
Honestly speaking
Without you im as good as dead
poem by Kerrie Maurer
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At the sea
I watched the fish, beneath the sea.
With the shape & fins.
Swimming in the lit water of blind Colour.
I saw reefs kissing shore, where the nets are fishing.
Silver stones, deep in the sea, hiding crawling creatures.
Floating bubble preserving transparent reflection.
Waves are foaming words carrying dead sea fruit.
I listen to the cruel shells echoing the trumpet of the sea.
Now, I dive, deep down, in your underworld garden.
Of green rocks, treasure stones & golden suns, of married light & water.
Far from the land of sweat.
Drinking air, breathing no more.
Playing, Crawling, swimming, sliding, , flying & more.
O blue wows. You sealed my lips of salty flavour
And veiled my skin of seaweed, perfume.
poem by Luca Menin
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Today I Had to Forgive Myself (My Life Is Meant to be Lived)
I saw something I had never seen before,
Once I looked beyond my own sorrows.
I lifted my head and saw an open door.
A light was shining through,
To show me tomorrow.
With promises I once wished,
But had not pursued.
I lived with a stagnation...
That came and overstayed,
A temporary reservation...
I made when feeling down,
And knocked out!
Drugged on self debasement.
Feeling nothing could replace...
This empty space within me.
And I knew then...
If I was to walk through that door,
Today I had to forgive myself...
And not let my burdens feel too welcomed.
As I had done countless times before.
Tossing my pain and self doubt about!
They could stay for as long as they wanted!
And entertain grief that came to visit.
But I had no intentions to remain with them,
Sustaining their attention or their comfort.
I kept deep within to repeat again and again.
A hollow search I felt had no end.
My life is meant to be lived.
Not to sit and forget to refresh my perceptions.
My life is meant to be lived.
And when I made up my mind,
I knew I would find...
A release of darkness that would diminish.
Once I allowed my guilt to deplenish,
I prepared to say goodbye to despair!
Knowing to leave that behind me to become fully aware...
My life is meant to be lived.
My life is meant to be lived.
My life...
Is meant to be lived.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Felt Inside, Known And Not Hiding
Wholesome expressions delivered,
May be great to hear from podiums raised...
By those speaking from prepared speeches.
To have those listening needing a boost,
With a lifting done coming from roaring cheers.
There is a truth that is lived,
And inescapable it is.
For those who know it is not in disguise,
To eliminate or compromise...
What is felt inside, known and not hiding.
A truth that is lived,
Isn't waiting for the next speech heard.
Or standing in line,
To select from a multitude of choices offered.
A truth lived and once picked becomes one's commitment.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Death of Magnus Kep
It was ages since I'd seen him,
So I felt quite out of step
With the old Etruscan sculptor
That I knew as Magnus Kep,
He was brooding in an alley
By an old Byzantine store,
Then he saw me, and he beckoned,
And we walked along the shore.
He was hunting there for marble,
For his studio in Graz,
But we stopped in at a wine bar
And we sampled their Shiraz,
And he told me things he'd never said
To anyone before,
About why he searched the Holy Land,
And ruins, by the score.
'I can see their shapes within each block
Of marble, ' he had said,
'And I know that they are waiting
To be freed, because they're dead,
But they lived so long ago that they
Are patient, in despair,
Though their limbs are still as supple,
And there's fragrance in their hair.'
I was sure the heat had got to him,
His eyes had fairly gleamed,
And I thought his mind disordered,
But I listened to his theme,
He was looking for the marble
That contained the wanton form
Of a pornographic priestess
He had glimpsed the year before.
'She was lying in the harbour,
At the bottom of the sea,
Only fifteen feet of water
Separated her from me,
She had lived a thousand years
Before the walls had tumbled in
To the harbour, where she frolicked
In the service of the king.'
Then we stopped and peered over
At the slight and gentle swell,
Down and through the clear water,
There were pillars, where they fell,
There were blackened slabs of marble lying
Scorched, as if by fire,
Where the mighty Alexander
Burned the city known as Tyre!
'Can you see her there? ' he pointed,
And I saw a marble slab,
Lying half upon a pillar,
It was worn, and dull and drab,
'Do you see that haughty forehead,
Do you see her pointed breasts? '
But I only saw a weathered stone,
He conjured all the rest.
We parted, and I heard that he
Had raised that mighty stone,
Had shipped it back to Graz where he
Could work on it alone,
The seasons came and went before
I thought to follow on,
And asked about his sculpture then,
His eyes had fairly shone.
He led me to the basement and
He showed me through the door,
He'd chiseled out just half of it,
That nearest to the floor,
The woman's legs were parted and
Inviting to the king,
Her vulva gaping proudly like
Some fertile offering.
It took my breath away, I stood
And scanned those supple thighs,
Like frankincense and myrrh they were
A balm upon my eyes,
I saw that she was locked in there,
The sculptor hadn't lied,
He'd simply chipped the stone away
And there she was, inside!
I asked him then, 'How long before
We get to see her face? '
He said it didn't matter, he
Would try to lend her grace,
'She's painted like a whore, ' he said,
'Back then, it was the thing,
Her duty was to paint her face
To please her lord, the king! '
For months I sat and wondered how
She'd looked, as she emerged,
She'd lain in stone three thousand years
When Kep had felt the urge
To chisel from her marble vault
Her buttocks, waist and thighs,
Reveal again to living men
The wonder of their eyes!
I never saw Kep whole again,
Confusing? Yes, I know!
They said they'd had to lay him out
Down at his studio.
His head was in a basket, where they'd
Shown him disrespect,
To free him from the fingers she
Had gripped... around his neck!
2 July 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Great Spirits
When the earth was young
and the air was sweet
And the mountains kissed the sky
In the great beyond, with its many paths
Man and nature lived side by side
In this wilderness of danger and beauty
Lived three brothers, bonded by love
Their hearts full of joy
they ask now for guidance
Reaching out to the skies up above
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls
with all you know
Show us that in your eyes
we are all the same
Brothers to each other
In this world we remain truly
brothers all the same
Give us wisdom to pass to each other
Give us strength so we understand
That the things we do
the choices we make
Give direction to all life's plans
To look in wonder
at all we've been given
In a world that's not always as it seems
Every corner we turn
only leads to another
A journey ends, but another begins
Great Spirits of all who lived before
Take our hands and lead us
Fill our hearts and souls
with all you know
Show us that in your eyes
we are all the same
Brothers to each other
In this world we remain truly
brothers all the same
Brothers all the same
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Someone Special
Written and arranged by richard marx
Ive lived life in a single room
Hiding my scars from the moon
I dream my dreams in the light
Rehearse the lines I already know
Basking in the tvs glow
And pray that tonight is the night
Ooh, theres gotta be more than this
A future hanging on a strangers kiss
Could it be Im not so alone
Chorus
Im someone special
Im just in disguise
I may not be perfect
In everyones eyes
It may not be tomorrow
But I still believe
Theres someone special
Waiting out there for me
I guess the joke hasnt hit me yet
Cause Im still waiting on my juliet
She must be held up somewhere
Ooh, she will be the air I breathe
Shell come for good and never want to leave
And Ill love her only, I swear
People say there must be something wrong
For me to be all alone so long
And their words hit me like a stone
Chorus
Lying in bed in a cold, cold sweat
Dreaming bout women Ill never get
I wont always be sleeping alone
Chorus
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Limitation
From the day we met, somehow we knew
no other hearts could be so true,
capturing feelings from deep within
in church we sang a wedding hymn.
Being older, we were wise,
love's bliss brought magic to our eyes
we lived our lives ~ a romantic story
devotion never lost its glory.
'No limitation' to happy hours
we walked and talked amid the flowers
greeting nature at it best...
we fell in love at God's behest.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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In Memory of the Men at the Yale Hotel
Here's to the men
Who lived at the Yale
These sad sweet souls
Each had their own tale
Of lives lived in youth
In the Great Depression
Memories of hunger
And political repression
So off they all marched
To the second World War
Returning with scars
Too deep to ignore
They turned to the bottle
And drowned in their sorrow
Spending alcoholic nights
With no thought of the morrow
Lost and forgotten by
Family and friends
With only faint memories of
Who they'd once been
But all of God's angels
Never lost sight
Of all those brave souls
Who fought the good fight
And now they are home
In the Light from above
They've finally found peace
In God's Perfect Love
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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Fate's Fool Day
Life brought you back to me
Seems like so long ago
When we were together
And when you had to go
Never thought that pain
Would sting so badly and scar
But seeing you with her
Was the worst pain by far
A vision that should've been
Me inside of your arm
But her shining smile and finger
Only did more harm
Fate has a cruel sense of humor
To mock me right to my face
To bring your happiness and
Success right to this place
Yet here you are
And if you only knew
How at one time I lived for us
But now dying because of you.
poem by Airda Jones
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The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood who strives valiantly who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause who at best, knows the triumph of high achievement and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Concentric
Pebble tossed into waters deep
Ripples awakened… from gentle sleep
Concentric rings of force in search
Of mossy banks ‘gainst which to lurch
And said stone sinks deep…deep
To mossy floor…watched by perch
…then seen no more…
Small rock I tossed, wraps silt around
Then snuggles deep into muddy ground
And sudden silence, not a peep!
It calmly falls into stony sleep
On mossy floor…in water deep
To visions of rapids and craggy shore
Watched by tadpoles
…then seen no more…
Pebble tossed into waters dank
By chance and fate, and cosmos swept
At random picked from rocky bank
Like life and Nature's mysteries kept
By chance and fate, by love and hate
We're children not of choice, but chance…
Given only a summary glance
Then seen no more
…no more…
poem by David Whalen
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When is the dawn?
I walked miles after miles on these dusty roads,
Wearing comfortable shoes to protect my sore feet,
This place is an example how a country,
Should not be managed and messed up.
This area exemplifies to prove the poverty,
That is churned out from corruption.
Every level of this country is well corrupted,
Politicians, judiciary, administrative and common men,
Who have some power to extract few dollars and cents.
Most men look sickly, but the women look all right,
Terribly skeletal human can be found here,
Walking, running and pedaling for money.
Cute broad eyes that look at me piercingly,
Poking my inability to talk about their miseries,
Half eaten stomach can't be filled with water,
Even the water is scarce; don't ask for clean water,
The corporation sends the water of various smells,
No program can be watched continuously,
As there is power interruption every other hour,
I have many yellow singlets after putting,
The white materials in the washing machine,
The air is humid or scorching hot in summer,
Very cold and shivering in winter,
The rivers run knee deep in the rainy season,
On the roads, collecting the rubbish and then float,
I have seen mosques everywhere and hear their prayers,
One after another nonstop for ten minutes or more,
Sometimes I thank the power interruption,
Why we have to reassure that Almighty is great,
Every five hours, but the Almighty has not been kind,
To these poor souls who are wearing dirty clothes,
Kneel down on the floor to worship Him for love,
Almighty has bestowed them with lots of love,
So they have created 160 million people so far,
When private sector flourishes,
The public sector is in a filthy state,
Railways, Roads and battered buses,
Filled with people, three hours to catch a bus,
To work and another three hours to go back,
People are waiting day and night,
They are waiting everywhere with a hope,
They are waiting for the fresh dawn,
That brings them normal life and security.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Man Parts the Water
The man parts the water with a simple stone,
turning when the laughter
of a child retraces the shattered waves.
The man remembers with a smile
the days when he walked the shore,
dancing with silver-eyed seagulls, and he
was always looking ahead as he
stands and tilts releasing stone,
watching it sail through the misty shore.
The child parts the water with shrieking laughter,
and dreams about the day he will knowingly smile
as his cocked man-hand reaches the stormy waves.
Watching the moon pull the scornful waves
that kick the sand onto the shore, now he’s
the ghost of a child that stands with a smile.
He parts the water with a simple stone,
listening to the moon’s blue shaken laughter
at a man awaiting his golden hour upon the murky shore.
The grains whisper into the wind. And the shore
is crowded with memories of waves,
filling a young boy’s face with laughter.
It permeates the darkness, yet he
still craves the stone
to bring the man’s euphoric smile.
Caught in a moment without laughter or smiles,
walking along the shore
he wishes upon a simple stone
for another chance to play and frolic in waves.
The child sees his reflection with an anxious smile, and he
becomes a man between the laughter.
And he will always remember the laughter,
and he will always long for an innocent smile
of waiting for the day that unknowingly he
could never return to the shore.
Churning as it breaks the waves,
the past is left in simple stone.
But for now there is laughter upon the shore,
riding along the whispering waves,
the child’s future still a simple stone.
(- for Nicolas Mathew)
poem by Matt Ullman
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For What She Had Done
She had to die.
This Omoo knew.
He also knew he could not kill her.
Not even try to kill her.
Those eyes. Would look at him. Not even try.
So, what to do?
There was one Ung. Who lived in a cave.
Beyond the hard mountain. A foul cave.
Far from the village.
Ung, who hunted with stones.
Who killed with his hands.
Who had killed two saber-tooths.
And one great bear, whose skin he now wore hanging from his hairy shoulders.
And Ung had killed men. Many men.
And, it was said, a woman.
Ung, who took the fresh meat left upon the flat rock for the Spirit of the Sky.
And the Spirit of the Sky would go hungry.
And bring pain and darkness to the village.
But none dare say words to Ung.
Who had killed two saber-tooths.
And one great bear. And men, many men.
And, it was said, a woman.
He went to Ung.
Yes, said Ung, I will kill her.
For what she has done, said Omoo.
For equal weight, said Ung, in bear meat or lizard skins.
She is a large woman, said Omoo.
Equal wait, said Ung. Now you must come and show her to me, that I may kill her.
I cannot, said Omoo.
Then how will I know her?
Her hair is long, said Omoo.
Her eyes burn like the pools of night.
Many have the long hair, said Ung.
Many have eyes like the pool of night.
She will be bathing, said Omoo.
Tomorrow, as the sun dies,
She will be bathing. Washing her long hair at the falling water.
Many women will be bathing, said Ung.
Many long-haired, night-eyed women.
How will I know it is she?
Omoo thought.
Ah, he said, she will be carrying flowers.
Bright hill flowers, that I shall gather and place in her hands, before she goes to bathe at the falling water.
Then you will know her.
Then you will kill her.
For equal weight, said Ung.
Yes, said Omoo, for equal weight.
And so was begun the custom
Of giving bouquets and corsages.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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