En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sonnet LII

SO oft as homeward I from her depart,
I goe lyke one that hauing lost the field:
is prisoner led away with heauy hart,
despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield.
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld,
to sorrow and to solitary paine:
from presence of my dearest deare exylde,
longwhile alone in languor to remaine.
There let no thought of ioy or pleasure vaine,
dare to approch, that may my solace breed:
but sudden dumps and drery sad disdayne,
of all worlds gladnesse more my torment feed.
So I her absens will my penaunce make,
that of her presens I my meed may take.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet XXXV

MY hungry eyes through greedy couetize,
still to behold the obiect of their paine:
with no contentment can themselues suffize,
but hauing pine and hauing not complaine.
For lacking it they cannot lyfe sustayne,
and hauing it they gaze on it the more:
in their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine
whose eyes him staru'd: so plenty makes me poore
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store
of that faire sight, that nothing else they brooke,
but lothe the things which they did like before,
and can no more endure on them to looke.
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,
and all their showes but shadowes sauing she.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet LXVIII

MOst glorious Lord of lyfe that on this day,
Didst make thy triumph ouer death and sin:
and hauing harrowd hell didst bring away,
captiuity thence captiue vs to win.
This ioyous day, deare Lord, with ioy begin,
and grant that we for whom thou didest dye
being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
may liue for euer in felicity.
And that thy loue we weighing worthily,
may likewise loue thee for the same againe:
and for thy sake that all lyke deare didst buy,
with loue may one another entertayne.
So let vs loue, deare loue, lyke as we ought,
loue is the lesson which the Lord vs taught.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet XLV

LEaue lady, in your glasse of christall clene,
Your goodly selfe for euermore to vew:
and in my selfe, my inward selfe I meane,
most liuely lyke behold your semblant trew.
Within my hart, though hardly it can shew,
thing so diuine to vew of earthly eye:
the fayre Idea of your celestiall hew,
and euery part remaines immortally:
And were it not that through your cruelty,
with sorrow dimmed and deformd it were:
the goodly ymage of your visnomy,
clearer then christall would therein appere.
But if your selfe in me ye playne will see,
remoue the cause by which your fayre beames darkned be.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

An artist must never be a prisoner. Prisoner? An artist should never be a prisoner of himself, prisoner of style, prisoner of reputation, prisoner of success, etc.

quote by Henri Matisse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Prisoner

- m. carey - b. margulies -
You dont think that Ill be strong enough
Nooo baby now
I wont be a prisoner of your love
(prisoner of your love)
Maybe you dont think I love you strong enough
But Im not gonna be a prisoner of your love
I know youre lyin, denyin
All of your actions, so listen up
Cause heres my reaction
Here comes the night
No more living in the shadow of your love
This is my life
Always tried so hard to keep me down
But now Ill rise above
Those empty lies
Stop pretending that my accusations
Take you by surprise
Ive realized
Now Im ending all the secrecy
I see through your disguise
All the dreams we planned
I believed so I held on
I understand
So when the morning comes
You know that Ill be gone
You dont think that Ill be strong enough
Nooo baby now
I wont be a prisoner of your love
(prisoner of your love)
No longer blind
I can focus on deception
Used to keep me by your side
I read your mind
Dont believe its all a mystery
Theres nothing you can hide
Its all defined
Theres nothing you can tell me now
To change the way I feel inside
All the dreams we planned
I believed so I held on
I understand, yeah
So when the morning comes
You know that Ill be gone
(you dont think) that Ill be strong enough
Noo baby now
(I wont be) the prisoner of your love
(prisoner of your love)
Im just not the girl you thought I was
Not gonna be a prisoner
I wont be the prisoner of your love
Of your
Looove
Dont wanna be a prisoner
I dont wanna be a prisoner
No
Mmmh
Dont wanna be a prisoner
I dont wanna be a prisoner
So if you wanna be my love
You cant be all wild
Play up when
You see me and then say mariah I miss you
Expect me to hug and kiss you?
Dont that dis you?
But I guess Im not the kind of girl you thought I was
Ive had enough of now Ill see ya later cause...
Boy make me know that Ill be strong enough
But I wont be a prisoner baby of your love
No more no more no more no more no more no more
No nooo, baby now
I wont think
(no no no)
Prisoner of your loooove
(prisoner of your love)
(Im just not) the girl you thought I was
Oh
Not gonna be a prisoner
(not gonna be)
(I wont be) the prisoner of your
Love
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah
Im not one of those girls wholl wait around
Cryin cause you wouldnt take me all over town
You cant do that
Im not a door mat
Youre just a player
Thats not my format
Cya

song performed by by Mariah Carey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet XII

ONe day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies,
to make a truce and termes to entertaine:
all fearlesse then of so false enimies,
which sought me to entrap in treasons traine.
So as I then disarmed did remaine,
a wicked ambush which lay hidden long
in the close couert of her guilefull eyen,
thence breaking forth did thick about me throng,
Too feeble I t'abide the brunt so strong,
was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands:
who me captiuing streight with rigorous wrong,
haue euer since me kept in cruell bands.
So Ladie now to you I doo complaine,
against your eies that iustice I may gaine.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Prisoner

`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'

`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'

`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'

`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Easter

MOST glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye,
Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!

And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same againe;
And for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy,
With love may one another entertayne!
   So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought,
   --Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

SOnnet LXXIII

BEing my selfe captyued here in care,
My hart, whom none with seruile bands can tye:
but the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,
breaking his prison forth to you doth fly.
Lyke as a byrd that in ones hand doth spy
desired food, to it doth make his flight:
euen so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye
to feed his fill, flyes backe vnto your sight.
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright,
gently encage, that he may be your thrall:
perhaps he there may learne with rare delight,
to sing your name and prayses ouer all.
That it hereafter may you not repent,
him lodging in your bosome to haue lent.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Prisoner

Woke up this morning
feeling my life had changed.
I felt like a prisoner
with invisible bars surrounding me.
There seemed no way to escape
the torment that I feel.
My life seems to be forced
by some unwanted guiding hand.
Every move I make
is scrutinised very carefully,
no freedom of choice can be made.
My life never seems to be my own.
A shadow of despair
hangs over me like a angry cloud,
it follows me wherever I go,
complains if I do things
that are not what they would do.
It’s like being a prisoner
with a warder constantly at your side.
You cannot even breathe
without them being there.
Life has become stifled and stolen,
and there is little you can do.
You wish you could go back,
change a few things if you could,
but you cannot and so you go on.
Feeling like a prisoner
with invisible bar surrounding you.

22September 2008

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Suicide note

I'm sorry but I have to go now.
I refuse to live a life of bollocks.
I aint gonna live in pain.
Bollocks to those who think I should live.

I was born to be used.
I was born to be a tourtured soul.
I was born to be abused and attacked.
I was born for others pleasure.

I didn't dare to speak.
Only told three times.
Didn't ever dare to grass.
They said they get me otherwise.

Pressure has built over the years.
Eating away at me.
Not letting me be free.
Not giving me an escape route.

Always locking me in a prison.
I was a prisoner of my shadow.
I was a prisoner of many things.
But now I've escaped from life.

I'm no longer a prisoner of life.
I'm at some sort of peace.
Bastards used me for thier twisted ways.
They cant do it now though.

Now I'm dead and cold in my grave.
Still not understanding why.
Why people can be so cruel.

None of that matters now though Im gone.
Im free.
Free from my pain.
And free from life

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet XXVII

FAire proud now tell me why should faire be proud;
Sith all worlds glorie is but drosse vncleane:
and in the shade of death it selfe shall shroud,
how euer now thereof ye little weene.
That goodly Idoll now so gay beseene,
shall doffe her fleshes borowd fayre attyre:
and be forgot as it had neuer beene,
that many now much worship and admire.
Ne any then shall after it inquire,
ne any mention shall thereof remaine:
but what this verse, that neuer shall expyre,
shall to you purchas with her thankles paine.
Faire be no lenger proud of that shall perish,
but that which shal you make immortall, cherish.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet LXVII

Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escapt away:
sits downe to rest him in some shady place,
with panting hounds beguiled of their pray.
So after long pursuit and vaine assay,
when I all weary had the chace forsooke,
the gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way,
thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke.
There she beholding me with mylder looke,
sought not to fly, but fearelesse still did bide:
till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke,
and with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde.
Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wyld,
so goodly wonne with her owne will beguyld.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet LIIII

OF this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
My loue lyke the Spectator ydly sits
beholding me that all the pageants play,
disguysing diuersly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion sits,
and mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy:
soone after when my ioy to sorrow flits,
I waile and make my woes a Tragedy.
Yet she beholding me with constant eye,
delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:
but when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry
she laughes, and hardens euermore her hart.
What then can moue her? if nor merth nor mone,
she is no woman, but a sencelesse stone.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Prisoner

I'm not a prisoner
I just can't be
Waiting every Tuesday to tune into tv
Being hypnotized by the stars
while they take away our rights to put us right behind bars

I can't be a prisoner
there's no way
Hey did you know I'm on their prescription drugs so that way
I can be a Slave to their political ways and not notice
The subliminal waves to be controlled and locked up and put away

I'm also eating a lot isn't that weird
fat, lazy and have no drive to vote
But hey I'll take a douhble cheeseburgers without fear

No I'm not a prisoner I'm bright
But wait if my government does take away my rights
Will I fight?
Probably not cause I'm scarred, what if I get hauled off to jail
freedom of assemble Seems to fail
and what the hell
am I doing
I'm losing my train of thought is it the ADHD
Or is the man trying to control me.

I'm not prisoner
ok I admit it
I'm fat, stupid and addicted to these figments
On TV and oh I like the pills they gave me
I really don't care about anything

I'm finally a prisoner
I'm regretting never paying attention
These metal bars really put reality into perspective
Controlled by a system today
Learn your facts
or get picked up, cuffed and locked away

poem by Alex Guzman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Solitary confinement

He paces up and down his cell
as he has done so many times before
a human eye peers through his spyhole
watching his every movement.
The prisoner does press ups on the floor
shadow boxes an imaginary opponent
then falls exhausted on to his bed
noticing a fly on the grey ceiling.
He is aware of the eye in the door
but he continues observing the fly
also the tiny spider in the corner
he ignores the watching eye
then falls into a deep sleep.
He dreams of Green verdant fields
long golden sands and crashing ocean waves
holding hands with a beautiful woman
but reality hits him as he wakes in his cell.
Long tedious days of solitary confinement
for killing a fellow prisoner in a fight
but it was a situation of kill or be killed
the law of the jungle inside the dark walls.
Each day the same as the previous one
each year the same as the previous one
this is the life of the solitary prisoner.

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

On The Death Of Mr. James Van Otton

The first day of this month the last hath bin
To that deare soule. March never did come in
So lyonlike as now: our lives are made
As fickle as the weather or the shade.
March dust growes plenty now, while wasting fate
Strike heare to dust, well worth the proverbs rate.
I could be angry with the fates that they
This man of men so soone have stole away.
Meane they a kingdome to undoe, or make
The universe a Cripple while they take
From us so cheife a part, whose art knew how
To make a man a man, nor would allow
Nature an Heteroclite still to remaine
Irregular, but with a jugling paine
Deceive men of their greife, and make them know
That he could cure more than ere chance or foe
Dare to instring. Death now growes politique:
While Otton liv'd herselfe was weake and sicke
For want of food, therefore at him she aimde
Who bar'd her of her purpose. All is maimde,
All's out of joint, for in this fatall crosse
Behold Death's triumph and our fatall losse.

poem by William Strode
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Poem 11

BVt if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her liuely spright,
Garnisht with heauenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red
Medusaes mazeful hed.
There dwels sweet loue and constant chastity,
Vnspotted fayth and comely womanhood,
Regard of honour and mild modesty,
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne,
And giueth lawes alone.
The which the base affections doe obay,
And yeeld theyr seruices vnto her will
Ne thought of thing vncomely euer may
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures,
And vnreuealed pleasures,
Then would ye wonder and her prayses sing,
That al the woods should answer and your echo ring.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poet Became A Prisoner Of His Need For A Poem

THE POET BECAME A PRISONER OF HIS NEED FOR A POEM

The poet became a prisoner of his need for a poem
And so he lost his ability
To make and to know a true poem.
A poem became
A cliché of himself
And every line he wrote said
“You are a poor poet
Stop insulting us all
With your absence of silence.”

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sonnet LXXXIII

MY hungry eyes, through greedy couetize,
Still to behold the obiect of theyr payne:
with no contentment can themselues suffize,
but hauing pine, and hauing not complayne
For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne,
and seeing it, they gaze on it the more:
in theyr amazement lyke Marcissus vayne
whose eyes him staru'd: so plenty makes me pore.
Yet are myne eyes so filled with the store
of that fayre sight, that nothing else they brooke:
but loath the things which they did like before,
and can no more endure on them to looke.
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,
and all theyr shewes but shadowes sauing she.

poem by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!