Melkisu
The bitterness of death passed me by but,
Your sword has made many women childless!
And i have set my mind on a mission to meet Melkisu.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Man With A Mission
I see these women at the car wash; women
At the mall
Little-bitty women, and women who are tall
One of them is perfect and I want her for
Myself
Never gonna settle for anybody else
All my good buddies try to fix me up-
Buddy, Ive had enough
Im gonna run a few red lights; grind a few
Gears
Start a few fist fights; drink a few beers
Even though Im tryin every trick in the book
You gimme drop dead (drop dead), drop
Dead looks
You the finest woman that Ive ever seen
Why you wanna be so mean?
Well everybody tries to tell me
Theres nothin I can do
But Im a man with a mission
Baby you know its you
Man with a mission
Man with a mission
Man with a mission
Baby, you know its you
Well Im a man with a mission
Man with a mission
Man with a mission
Baby, you know its you-its you
Everybody runnin round here
Sayin, wheres the party? wheres the
Party?
Sonny-boy, dont ask me, cause I dont know
I got somethin else on my mind today-
Somewhere else to go
Well-a, well-a, well-a everybody tries to
Tell me
Theres nothin I can do
But Im a man with a mission
Baby, you know its you
Its you
Man with a mission........
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eliab
Mankind has not changed at all!
And these acts of wars are for us all;
But blessed are those who keep the laws.
Eliab, come and let us teach the people how to love one another;
For their swords had made women childless.
Eliab, come and let us change the people from hate;
For their swords had made women childless.
Their rebellion is as witchcraft!
But how many people are they ready to kill in the Valley of Elah?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet #219
In women there`s a thing I do know well
Though truth does say I`ve been with just so few.
But my with knowledge mind, the sound of bell,
Has made my experience come to see this true;
For women it is hard a man to take
If her eyes don`t see approval, taste.
But men`s desires with any she would bake
For the sake his rod in her duct have placed.
But when a man approval does he meet,
Women are known to bare a shameless act.
They`d him allow in a female heart beat
And with sincerity they make a pact.
In women there`s a thing I here do tell;
To take a man they do not like is hell.
poem by Luis Estable
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Death
Death is a road our dearest friends have gone;
Why with such leaders, fear to say, "Lead on?"
Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried,
But turns in balm on the immortal side.
Mothers have passed it: fathers, children; men
Whose like we look not to behold again;
Women that smiled away their loving breath;
Soft is the travelling on the road to death!
But guilt has passed it? men not fit to die?
O, hush -- for He that made us all is by!
Human we're all -- all men, all born of mothers;
All our own selves in the worn-out shape of others;
Our used, and oh, be sure, not to be ill-used brothers!
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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The Mission
I open up my head
Inside I find another person's mind
I'm gonna take this chance I've got
I run denying as we speak
Hiding my face among the weak
Some say their day is all away
Into the wild
I'm with a mission
Over the hill
Come here with me
Into the wild
Into the wild
High above the serpentine
I cross below the well-worn lines
Entangled in a missing memory
I find an oversight
I formed this sword that will give rise
To something the world is here to seize
Into the wild
Into the wild
Into the wild
I'm with a mission
Over the hill
Come here with me
Into the wild
I'm with a mission
Over the hill
Come here with me
song performed by by 30 Seconds To Mars from 30 Seconds To Mars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A love to dominate
Love only dominates
Love only originates
All rivers from its fold
which flows with the Gold
It makes way and lead
we only have to heed
The simple life of love and affection
That is only left as human action
love for all and bitterness to none
finding favor always with some one
who knows where the road will meet?
Why not mex with all and greet
Loveless life is not a mission
Hatred, bitterness and inclusion of so many as an admission
Colorless raibow as natural displeasure
How dark patches can grant us pleasure?
Love to rule and love to last
Nothig to come as steps last
It is natual and must impose
Time to act for truest to repose
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Death Of A Women
a death of a women is a lost for us
a lost of a great personality
a lost of some one special
a lost of a mother n a loving sister
a lost of a great wealth
a death of a women is full of cries
a death of a protected shield
a death of a key of paradise
a death of a trainer;
a taker carer
a death of a women,
is a death of our heaven
a death of a cheering smile
a death of a emotions n wishes
a death of a world!
poem by Angels beauty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mission accomplished
death -
the only means
to test whether
he has made
that perfect creature
a feeling heart
a mind capable
of memories
and a soul that would
cry out to him
for help
buzz - mission accomplished
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Enough Said
“Votes for women! ”
Was the cry.
Reaching upward,
To the sky.
Crashing glass,
And flashing eye-
“Votes for women! ”
Was the cry.
“Boats for women! ”
Was the cry.
When the men
Were come to die.
When the end
Was drawing nigh
“Boats for women! ”
Was the cry.
Life has many
Little tests.
Insignificant
As jests.
Doubt and bitterness
Assail.
But “boats for women! ”
Tells the tale.
poem by Jeremy Eddy
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Mission to Earth, A Child is Born!
Mission to Earth, mission on Earth
A baby cries, cold air, no warmth
No womb comfort, a life, a journey begins.
Mission to Earth, mission on Earth
A universe spreads forth,
Horizon, spreads a hand and boundless.
Mission to Earth, mission on Earth
Giggles and applause, the friendly stars
Frowns and yellow eyes, the jealous frogs
Mission to Earth, Mission on Earth
The cross, he bears all, a thorn as crown
A mission, to save a life, though so thankless!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Two Gifts has Man
Beneath this old oak tree, I pondered why
The primal gloom of pain on faces passed.
What is the answer to the question asked?
'It is within, ' came chilling words nearby.
It was the Angle Death who made reply.
'It's soul asleep that causes man his cast.
The image of himself has held him fast.
To say the fault is his he will deny.'
'Two gifts has man; a shaft of golden light,
A two-edged sword that cuts the bonds of mind.
The other gift, the knowledge that 'I AM.'
Identity holds man within his plight,
Forgetting his creation, he is blind.
It's man who daily crucifies the Lamb.'
(Italian Sonnet Form)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Death is a taboo word in all realms
when you meet a spirit
please do not mention the word death
for it is a taboo, a sad reminder of god's curse
a tribulant time in the heavens
when you meet a poor ghost
also do not mention the word death
for he was once made to think
he would live forever
and now as a ghost
he does not want to be
disenchanted again with
such unfulfilled dreams
tears have all been shed
and he just wants to wander
in his realm waiting for God's
answer to his plight
when you meet Christ
do not talk to him about death
for it is taboo too
for he had come, died
to make sure we all live again
death to him is no more
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Who's Living With That Mission?
Who here,
Lives to dance and sing?
Who here,
Lives to hear the birds singing?
And who here,
Lives their life just to give?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Wakes up to give a damn?
Who here,
Demands to give a helping hand?
And who here,
Knows that peace has a chance?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Thinks about their fellowman?
Who here,
Gives their neighbor understanding?
And who here,
Wants the bleeding done by man...
To end and please them?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Thinks about what is right?
Who here,
Wants to do that day and night?
And who here,
Prays conflicts and fights
Would end!
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Lives to dance and sing?
Who here,
Lives to hear the birds singing?
And who here,
Lives their life just to give?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
And who here,
Wants the bleeding done by man...
To end and please them?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that,
As ambition?
To live to give as a mission?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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C. L. M.
In the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir.
But through the death of some of her.
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave.
For all her love, she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well,
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.
If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind ?
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days ?
For all my rnouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached ?
What have I done, or tried, or said
In thanks to that dear woman dead ?
Men triumph over women still,
Men trample women's rights at will.
And man's lust roves the world untamed.
* • * •
O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by anonym
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Something Inside Of Me
I want to feel,
I am on a mission to forgive...
And let live as is.
I want to feel this.
Instead of visitations...
From suppressed bitterness.
I would like to forget,
I have healed and moved on...
With a peace of mind that within me sits.
I would like to recognize it,
Immediately.
But something inside of me,
Remembers the tears and the loneliness..
And I ask myself this...
'Why is my love so deeply felt,
And tested? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Women and Food
Women the color of cinnamon
Is the salts and stripes
They are made to preserve life.
Women the color of milk
Is the sweetest type
They are of the utmost strife.
Women the color of chocolate
Is made to devour
It is the tastiest wine
Women of any nature
Posses these qualities
Made from harmony
Made to harmonize
As one alone
Are more beautiful
Then the flour
Used in a bakery
Used to make
The finest pastry
The delicate art
In of it self
That is
Women and foods
poem by David Bailey
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The Soldier's Grave
THERE'S a white stone placed upon yonder tomb,
Beneath is a soldier lying -
The death-wound came, amid sword and plume,
When banner and ball were flying.
Yet now he sleeps, the turf on his breast,
By wet wild flowers surrounded;
The church shadow falls o'er the place of his rest,
Where the steps of his childhood bounded.
There were tears, that fell from manly eyes,
There was woman's gentle weeping,
And the wailing of age and infant cries,
O'er the grave, where he lies sleeping.
He had left his home in his spirit's pride,
With his father's sword and blessing;
He stood with the valiant, side by side,
His country's wrongs redressing.
He came again, in the light of his fame,
When the red campaign was over;
One heart, that, in secret, had kept his name,
Was claimed by the soldier lover.
But the cloud of strife came upon the sky;-
He left his sweet home for battle;
Left his young child's lisp for the loud war-cry,
And the cannon's long death-rattle.
He came again - but an altered man:
The path of the grave was before him,
And the smile, that he wore, was cold and wan,
For the shadow of death hung o'er him.
He spoke of victory - spoke of cheer:-
These are the words, that are vainly spoken
To the childless mother, or orphan's ear,
Or the widow, whose heart is broken.
A helmet and sword are engraved on the stone,
Half hidden by yonder willow;
There he sleeps, whose death in battle was won,
But he died on his own home pillow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Back then
I don't want to work nine to five,
Just to end up barely alive,
I would rather sharpen a sword,
So to win myself a gold-hoard,
I don't want a means to an end,
I want to live solely to live,
To live like they did way back when,
Life surely was much simpler then,
I don't want to use wit and style,
Without going the extra mile,
I want to use chivalrous feats,
To tempt Madame beneath the sheets,
I don't want chess played as eyes meet,
I want love that's won through peril,
Women as women, men as men,
An age that's not to come again.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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