Gary
You need to read my poems thoroughly and,
You need to compare them to your muse;
For the sun shines direct through my window.
Need, weed, seed, feed;
You need to know me as Gary,
For i have prepared the fuel out of corn for you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Related quotes
The Butterfly Weed
Oh lady bug, you've done a good deed.
Setting your table on the butterfly weed,
You're the custodian of all you survey,
On butterfly weed, till the end of the day.
Oh beautiful monarch, where do you feed,
I see you too love the butterfly weed.
You and the ladybug would be poor indeed,
If it was'nt for the butterfly weed.
Oh hummingbird whose throat seems to bleed,
What do you here on the butterfly weed?
All hummingbirds, good advice heed,
We love the orange butterfly weed.
God's smallest creatures, go by one creed,
To congregate on the butterfly weed.
Let the south wind blow, and spread your seed,
So that there will be millions of the butterfly weed.
5/31/03 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Mintah William
Sieve, believe, grieve;
And like the muse of 'Mintah William' in the land of my birth;
Succeed, proceed, seed, creed, heed, weed, breed!
With words of love and works of peace;
But, my mind is still on you.
Greed, reed, freed, treed, peed, need, deed, feed!
Searching around and looking for you;
But, i do hope to meet you one day,
For the muse of this village is all about the works of your people.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Unique Are My Poems All
Who knew the kind of stuff, I was made of?
Who thought would flow my numbers, this much fast?
And now, the world around me dare not laugh;
As Indian Sonneteer, my spell is cast.
My other poems too are very good;
Simple, direct, they often have morals;
And write most poems in fast-track, I could;
And most of them will bring many laurels.
I writ my poems for all men to read;
They have the answers, they had been seeking;
And some do happen to be hybrid seed;
And they will find many to their liking.
My poems will help them to live better;
And Doctor John Celes is trend-setter!
poem by John Celes
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The Flower
Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.
Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.
Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
"Splendid is the flower!"
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.
And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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In addition to contributing to erosion, pollution, food poisoning, and the dead zone, corn requires huge amounts of fossil fuel - it takes a half gallon of fossil fuel to produce a bushel of corn.
quote by Michael Pollan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Greed
Where there is a need
There is always greed
A rotten exploiting deed
That manifests with speed
When there are mouths to feed
Read between the lines and take heed!
Lurking around is an Inspiring greed
Ready to take advantage and proceed
Even when there is no need to succeed
By now it is agreed, there is always greed
Our desire for more always exceeds our needs
Hence wealth, power and greed have always been married
We always want more
Sometimes I don't know what for
I read to understand what generation of breed
Has given birth to this senseless weed
Because life is a circle of endless greed
I urgently need to know, I plead
Who planted this seed of greed to deliberately mislead?
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Foresight
Some sweet peas still defy the frost.
A battle which will soon be lost,
Though they have battled valiantly
they can’t defeat their enemy.
Which kills each blossom one by one.
Quite soon the last one will be gone.
I pick the seed pods to be dried
and store them safe and warm inside.
When spring returns I will prepare
their seed bed with the greatest care
I will ensure it is weed free
and I will feed it thoroughly.
Before I plant my precious seed
So I am sure they will succeed.
and in due course produce for me
their pretty blooms abundantly.
20-Nov-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Happy Endings
some poems are sad but we may help
them to be happy again
to let the poems wear a smile
and let these poems like
fairies dance in the
prairies let them sing the songs
of love and
passion and thanksgiving and
praise and be
so venerable before the throne
of the divine
i read this poem this morning
that has made my day
a very inspiring one indeed
and it was not that long and winding
and direct to the point
it simply said: i love you too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
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Justice Denied In Massachusetts
Let us abandon then our gardens and go home
And sit in the sitting-room
Shall the larkspur blossom or the corn grow under this cloud?
Sour to the fruitful seed
Is the cold earth under this cloud,
Fostering quack and weed, we have marched upon but cannot
conquer;
We have bent the blades of our hoes against the stalks of them.
Let us go home, and sit in the sitting room.
Not in our day
Shall the cloud go over and the sun rise as before,
Beneficent upon us
Out of the glittering bay,
And the warm winds be blown inward from the sea
Moving the blades of corn
With a peaceful sound.
Forlorn, forlorn,
Stands the blue hay-rack by the empty mow.
And the petals drop to the ground,
Leaving the tree unfruited.
The sun that warmed our stooping backs and withered the weed
uprooted—
We shall not feel it again.
We shall die in darkness, and be buried in the rain.
What from the splendid dead
We have inherited —
Furrows sweet to the grain, and the weed subdued —
See now the slug and the mildew plunder.
Evil does overwhelm
The larkspur and the corn;
We have seen them go under.
Let us sit here, sit still,
Here in the sitting-room until we die;
At the step of Death on the walk, rise and go;
Leaving to our children's children the beautiful doorway,
And this elm,
And a blighted earth to till
With a broken hoe.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written
I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Hot Iron
Expose her,
Expose him,
But on the stage like the ceasefire after the war! !
But, whose guns killed these people?
Reverent,
Dignified,
Filthy lucre!
Breed, greed, reed, need, deed, feed, heed, peed, seed, teed, weed;
But new and inexperience! !
However, the conduct of yourself was like the boldness of your sweet love.
You are giving heed to seducing spirits and the doctrine of demons!
And like a hot iron in the land of your muse;
But founded with the law to expose him or her! !
However, a righteous degree is the way of life than the negative chains of war.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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I love chapbooks. They're in some ways the ideal form in which to publish and read poems. You can read 19 poems in a way you can't sit down and read 60 to 70 pages of poems.
quote by Robert Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fosuwaa
The foundation of your love,
After these things;
The foundation of your muse,
After these moves;
But this is my letter to you!
Chosen and spoken of in my poems.
Obey my words,
Read my lines,
Learn from my muse;
To enhance and educate your staus-quo!
Becaise, i am Fosuwaa in the land of your muse,
And, my love is now with you in your heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Rains
After a lengthy waiting game
In a parched southern Indiana
Belated summer rains came
Like the gift of heavenly manna
Due to a dry-as-a-bone summer
Corn fields withered and failed
This pitiful yield was a stunner
Bushel predictions got curtailed
Bad year for the resolute sodbuster
Watch a lone, ugly-ass turkey vulture
Soon others will circle in a cluster
Death knell of the farming culture
Check what the almanac says about spring
Deal with the high cost of fuel, feed, and seed
Tighten the belt; Live on a shoe-string
He is a Hoosier farmer and he will succeed
poem by Charles Hancock
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In The Poppy Field
Mad Patsy said, he said to me,
That every morning he could see
An angel walking on the sky;
Across the sunny skies of morn
He threw great handfuls far and nigh
Of poppy seed among the corn;
And then, he said, the angels run
To see the poppies in the sun.
A poppy is a devil weed,
I said to him - he disagreed;
He said the devil had no hand
In spreading flowers tall and fair
Through corn and rye and meadow land,
by garth and barrow everywhere:
The devil has not any flower,
But only money in his power.
And then he stretched out in the sun
And rolled upon his back for fun:
He kicked his legs and roared for joy
Because the sun was shining down:
He said he was a little boy
And would not work for any clown:
He ran and laughed behind a bee,
And danced for very ecstasy.
poem by James Stephens
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A Creed Indeed
I have a creed:
In word and deed
I will proceed
Without the greed
That can impede
Me to succeed.
I will feed
But not exceed.
I won’t use weed;
I’ll often read,
And be studied,
And thus be freed
From the need
To be pitied;
But not envied
And, too, copied.
Besides varied,
I’ll be journeyed;
My home tidied
(Maybe married) .
If I’m bullied
I'd rather plead,
And maybe bleed
Than be dirtied.
Advice I’ll heed
And not mislead
My future seed.
When I’m wearied
I’ll be carried,
But when readied
Myself will lead.
I will not cede,
Perform misdeed,
Or stay worried
My life.
Agreed?
-written and submitted by
poem by Shadigo Claws
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where poems grow
I love poems that grow
out of themselves
out of nowhere really
like an empty window-box
you’ve cleared, but haven’t
any plans for and one day
some seed from
some bird and
some meal
somewhere
settles in and look
yellow courgette flowers
sprawling delicately
all over the garden path
poems that grow from
a random glance
like someone gives you
a useless present and
it asks to be told its story
poems that grow from that
patch of waiting soil
in the heart saying
there’s always something
to surprise, to please when
there’s earth and water
there,
and warmth.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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