Dream For The Future
Oh that chaos would settle down
underneath these skies,
then we could look at this sweet earth
with angelic eyes.
There will come a day when all
sins of men shall be
swallowed up and cast aside
for all eternity.
For much too long has man forgotten
the reason he was born.
So the chaos and fear that's with us still
will be plucked out like a thorn.
The poets of the body and poets of the soul
shall choose their words with care.
And describe to those who come after
the burdens of those who dare
to repeat the times that were with men
in times when most were blind.
For the clock now chimes the moment
when every man will find
that spiritual adventure belongs to him
and will not be denied.
The cries, the hurts, the pains of all
will finally subside.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Related quotes
Paradise Of Chaos
We march like fools in a parade of chaos.
We march like fools in a parade of chaos.
Led by our enemies.
While we sing their praises.
Led by our enemies.
While we kiss their hands.
The morning rained fire.
Let the heavens retire.
Over the eyes of the blind.
And the vioces of spoiled children.
True leadersare gone.
We turned our back too many times.
And bit the hand of the provider.
Chaos kills us.
Chaos.
song performed by by Zao from Parade Of Chaos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Poet Time Travelers
I thought of it all day and well into the night
That for you a poem I would write.
What words can you use to describe a person
You’ve never seen.
Then a realization came into my mind
I’ve been writing them for a very long time.
Every time we write about GOD and his begotten son
The words flow freely and never left undone.
So it matters not if it is sight unseen
We write about everything- it’s a poets dream.
Poets go into worlds never traveled before
Seeking all that GOD has made
And come back with knowledge that they’ve gained.
Into the realms of mystery, love, excitement and fear
So that with you these words they could share.
They see the realities of today
The dreams of yesterdays
The future of tomorrows
And the pains and sorrows.
They are the time travelers of the mind
Their eyes are open - they are not blind.
So when you read what they write
It’s because of this time travelers insight.
So to my time traveling co-poets, this I must say
I am proud to have traveled this road with you
Into the minds of man, and writing
The stories that they all understand.
poem by Louis Rams
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An Exhortation
Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame:
If in this wide world of care
Poets could but find the same
With as little toil as they,
Would they ever change their hue
As the light chameleons do,
Suiting it to every ray
Twenty times a day?
Poets are on this cold earth,
As chameleons might be,
Hidden from their early birth
In a cave beneath the sea;
Where light is, chameleons change:
Where love is not, poets do:
Fame is love disguised: if few
Find either, never think it strange
That poets range.
Yet dare not stain with wealth or power
A poet's free and heavenly mind:
If bright chameleons should devour
Any food but beams and wind,
They would grow as earthly soon
As their brother lizards are.
Children of a sunnier star,
Spirits from beyond the moon,
O, refuse the boon!
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Think Of The Soul
THINK of the Soul;
I swear to you that body of yours gives proportions to your Soul
somehow to live in other spheres;
I do not know how, but I know it is so.
Think of loving and being loved;
I swear to you, whoever you are, you can interfuse yourself with such
things that everybody that sees you shall look longingly upon
you.
Think of the past;
I warn you that in a little while others will find their past in you
and your times.
The race is never separated--nor man nor woman escapes;
All is inextricable--things, spirits, Nature, nations, you too--from
precedents you come.
Recall the ever-welcome defiers, (The mothers precede them;) 10
Recall the sages, poets, saviors, inventors, lawgivers, of the earth;
Recall Christ, brother of rejected persons--brother of slaves,
felons, idiots, and of insane and diseas'd persons.
Think of the time when you were not yet born;
Think of times you stood at the side of the dying;
Think of the time when your own body will be dying.
Think of spiritual results,
Sure as the earth swims through the heavens, does every one of its
objects pass into spiritual results.
Think of manhood, and you to be a man;
Do you count manhood, and the sweet of manhood, nothing?
Think of womanhood, and you to be a woman; 20
The creation is womanhood;
Have I not said that womanhood involves all?
Have I not told how the universe has nothing better than the best
womanhood?
poem by Walt Whitman
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Parade Of Chaos
We march like fools in a parade of chaos.
We march like fools in a parade of chaos.
Led by our enemies.
While we sing their praises.
Led by our enemies.
While we kiss their hands.
The morning rained fire.
Let the heavens retire.
Over the eyes of the blind.
And the vioces of spoiled children.
True leadersare gone.
We turned our back too many times.
And bit the hand of the provider.
Chaos kills us.
Chaos.
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glastonbury 09 - In Search of Avalon
Tomorrow we set sail on tarmac ocean soil,
To spoil ourselves, to ruin ourselves.
To bring our blood up to the boil.
Settle into the notion,
Seek the elixer not the potion.
The stone awaits you.
Calling you.
Don't pretend that you don't hear it.
Clear your mind to chaos
Order forgotten logic to decay
Rise in the night
Set in the day.
So many souls, the surface is shimmering
A million bright eyes, a million lights glimmering.
The city born of mud, given life by fire
As Each child is lost to their own desire.
Some see only demons here, others find no reason to fear.
Seek the dragon of the circle, he guards his wisdom well.
Drink from it as you wish, remember your story to tell.
Forget not the world beyond the hedgerow, but know.
Know that here all rivers flow
An ocean of souls devouring
With every moment empowering
Every moment a step in right direction
How could it be wrong?
I guess it must be right
I can feel the skies erection
I can feel the earth delight.
poem by David Lacey
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There's hope for hypocrites...
Yes, there’s hope for hypocrites –
hypocrite poets, who write
from the goodness of their hearts
of the good, the true, the beautiful;
out of the chaos of the well-intentioned
and sometime messy life;
hypocrite readers, who turn
to those same poets for reminders of
the good, the true, the beautiful
out of the chaos of the well-intentioned
and sometimes messy life;
(hypocrite editors, dare we add, who,
knowing the good, the true, the beautiful,
turn down our poems, because
it’s been said oft and better, long before…)
the blessing for all hypocrites
is that they know better; and one day…
may match their actions to their words;
words, well-intentioned, sometimes messy,
written from the goodness of their heart;
and in the heart, as given timeless time,
hypocrisy dissolves…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The 'budding' Poets
The 'budding' poets in early teens
Pen down here lyrics on love!
They write lines on ravishing beauty and craving eyes!
The 'budding' poets here flee from care
And embrace the images silhouetted
On the canvas of their dime-heroines of infatuations!
My past asks me, ' What about your lines in my times? '
I keep my eyes closed for some time and answer him,
' I was innocent of course, but a coward too then'.
I see the budding poets marching ahead
Enchanting the magic of sweet love and nectar
And I applaud them for their courage.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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I Dream of a New Land
my soul chained with fears
caged in a dark place
cries with sorrowful tears
down my pale, hollow face
the notes of my song die
before even being born
my broken wings cannot fly
deep in my heart, I can feel
this sharp, constant thorn
I dream of a new land
the land of the blue skies
-the land of the free-
across this desert,
across this dry sand
across this stormy sea
will I dare to act on my dreams?
will I dare to rise and break my chains?
will I dare to free all the inside screams?
will I dare to reveal all my pains?
my soul without any fears
flies free in a colorful place
cries with new happy tears
down my bright, beautiful face
a new song is born in an instant
I carry it on my new silver wings
there’s no time and no distance
I’m born in the eternal existence
my heart forever sings
I dream of a new land
the land of the blue skies
-the land of the free-
across this desert,
across this dry sand
across this stormy sea
poem by Alexandru Marius (3 February 2021)
Submitted by anonym
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why People Become Poets Poets Dreams
have you ever wondered why people become poets?
poets have been around since the beginning of time
and they have been mostly men, speaking of their loves, life
and emotions.
famous love stories, plays, movies, all seen thru a poets eyes.
just as the centuries have gone by and everything in life has changed
so have the poets.
there is now as many and if not more female poets
than male poets. why? because they are more sensitive to emotions
and are not afraid to show or speak of it, unlike men who want to
show the 'MACHO MAN IMAGE'
poets see life thru different eyes for different situations
and write about it in so many forms, and see the light and
the darkness in everything, including the good and bad.
it may be just one word, or a line, or verse
that enters their mind to start creating
what will become a poem,
what is the poets dream that you will create?
a love story, a sad story, one of fear or hate, or passion
one of beauty, or war.
so many things to choose from- but it doesn’t matter
what you may choose, you must take the first step.
just as reading this is the first step to start on your way to writing poetry
and opening up your mind and soul.
touching other people and receiving comments
and feedback on your writings will help you to improve
on your weak areas.
some people do it because they are looking for fortune and fame
while others want to communicate with others, and others
just to see their names on something other than
a bill being paid.
poem by Louis Rams
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As Destiny Unfolds
There is always a choice to make
When two paths merge and life takes a break
For a split second, all things are one
As destiny and chaos collide once more
When two paths merge and life takes a break
No one will warn you that it is already to late
To change the path you have taken
As destiny and chaos collide once more
For a split second, all things are one
In that moment, you realize God will not be outdone
This place and time will no longer exist
As destiny and chaos collide once more
No one will warn you it is already too late
The first man and woman sealed your fate
Nothing can stop what was meant to be
As destiny and chaos collide once more
To change the path you have taken
The original spirit must reawaken
To be forsaken was never part of the master plan
As destiny and chaos collide once more
In that moment, you realize God will not be outdone
By now you realize that life is not a dry run
No second chances are guaranteed
As destiny and chaos collide once more
This place and time will no longer exist
And mankind is summarily dismissed
For failing to exercise discipline and reproof
As destiny and chaos collide once more
The first man and woman sealed your fate
The choice is no longer yours to make
What you do now is fruit of the poisonous tree
As destiny and chaos collide once more
Nothing can stop what was meant to be
Two paths have merged into life’s potpourri
The world is filled with to much hate
As destiny and chaos collide once more
The original spirit must reawaken
Or those waiting for the rapture will not be taken
It will all be for not in the end
As destiny and chaos collide once more
To be forsaken was never part of the master plan
The time has come to take a stand
What you do now repeats the past of long ago
As destiny and chaos collide once more
By now you realize that life is not a dry run
What has been will always return
As it was in ancient times, so it will be
As destiny and chaos collide once more
No second chances are guaranteed
No end in sight, no need to proceed
Since all you know will be forgotten
As destiny and chaos collide once more
And mankind is summarily dismissed
Because he labors for vanity
His soul adrift in a sea of confusion
As destiny and chaos collide once more
poem by Nettie Pennington
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My Home Remains Sky
I will not return to earth
Once on the earth and the earth turned me down, only briefly with
I went back to the sky, I'm in heaven where my original
In the sky more beautiful in the sky over calm
Actually I had stayed at home on earth
Even now I miss her
But on earth I could scarcely recognize the permanence
So I'm just one or two times to the earth
I am the son of heaven who loves the sky
High and difficult to reach, or do not think anyone
After the sky I'm difficult and not easy to come back to earth
Only the rain was the tears that tell of the earth
Echoed devastated what is on earth
And I will continue in the sky
Before there was earth is really for me
Earth friendly and beautiful for me
So that's what eternity will tell their own
And we both lost in eternity swallow
Silence swallowed, swallowed by the beauty
Swallowed by time, into the night and day
Swallowed by love and affection both of us forever
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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The Cover of the Book
The cover of the book
is astral violet,
& within it
are poems,
most of them
earthbound,
but for one
to the poet's
daughter
which soars
into
the empyrean
on umbilical wings.
Oh we poets
are so afraid
of making babies-
& yet
of all
the fleshly chains
that bind us,
our children
are the chains
that bind
most closely
to heaven.
How can that be?
Poetry
is an astral
affliction.
Poets are always
saving themselves
for their poems.
Yet in that saving
there is no grace,
while in the child
there is distraction,
chaos, disorder
& through that fleshly chaos
peace.
poem by Erica Jong
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Naughty Words!
Often words are but tiny turds of humor and of wit,
Flotsam in a poets mind…“Oh my, what junk, what shit! ”
Alas, it’s true at times words can form a perfect line,
“How wonderful, how clever” the words are so sublime
When all is said 'n done, its truth that’s clear 'n real,
By writing what we see 'n hear...especially what we feel
Write on poets!
There be no rules that we must heed or follow
Drink in the gifts of words sweet chums...
But don’t forget to swallow!
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Innocent Times
By eric clapton and marcy levy
I was a child born so free;
It seems that time has put age on me.
And when I grow old, will I once again find
All of those sweet, innocent times?
I was a child born without fear;
It seems that time has placed me here.
With no freedom to laugh, theres more reason to cry.
I really miss those innocent times.
I used to feel joy in my soul,
But now my sorrow has taken control.
As I look around I pray, lord be kind;
Just one more taste of those innocent times.
As I look around I pray, lord be kind;
Just one more taste of those innocent times,
Just one more taste of those innocent times.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Do Poets Write
(just written)
Why do poets write, a question that I wonder.
I’ve asked myself that question over a thousand times.
And I always come up with the same answer
It’s because we are blind.
We accept all that we see constant, as the daily norm.
But I cannot accept it, it’s not where I belong.
There are questions to be answered that we must write about
We’ll climb the highest mountain, and to the world we will shout.
Why is the sky blue? Why is the ocean deep?
Why is the mountain high? Why do we weep?
We have been given everything man could possibly need
This is the reason GOD had planted the seed.
We are the only creatures that have a mind to think
But when we do not use it, we can lose in in a wink.
We as poets see all the beauties that are around
We will write about it, without even making a sound
We will also see the suffering, for not everything in
Life is a bed of flowers, for people are dying
Each and every hour.
There are too many topics for us to write about
War, poverty, hunger, sickness, just to name a few
We can’t write about everything, what are we supposed to do.
So I look around to all that surround me
Then I pick a topic of which I do not foresee.
I put myself in that position of what I am writing about
If it’s about pregnancy, I will feel her aches and pains
And by doing this there is knowledge that I gain.
Life is two sided of that there is no doubt.
Rich, poor, happy, sad, love, hate, boy, girl,
Life, death, all in suits of twos
All this excites me, but which one will I choose?
Why do poets write? now you tell me?
maybe it’s just because we love the poetry.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Versatilty
I think that I can claim to be
a poet who is versatile.
I try to write my poetry
in varied form and varied style.
I emulate and imitate
styles of great poets of the past.
To show that I appreciate
poets that time has over cast.
Although long dead their words live on.
A source of inspiration to
poets today.Though they’re long gone
and I give credit where its due.
Although some things I write are new
I cannot trace their origin.
I trust my muse as poets do.
She prods me until I begin.
She tells me there is no such thing
as writers block there cannot be.
A poor excuse for not writing
I’m not allowed to be lazy
That’s something she won’t tolerate
and drags me from my bed to write.
Though I protest the hour is late.
She is insistent that I write.
If she should choose to stay away
I’d seize the opportunity
to simple have a lazy day
Without my conscience pricking me.
11-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Destroy The Map
You couldn't hold you mouth to stop the sound,
with all these riches on the tip of your tongue,
and I was trying to dampen it all out.
You were talking louder than I should here,
producing nothing but all these mirros,
and I was trying to play it all down.
With eyes of blood,
these kisses won't ruse.
Where the baptized drown,
we used to breathe.
Underneath the red,
come running back to me.
Sad song, so wrong,
your body shakes for so long,
towing my down.
Let's just stay late,
a safe bet for second place.
This tiem, our time, we have, we'll last.
That evil, a brutal sickness brings,
at times you can't let go
it chases you from everything.
To settle for almost anything,
it's times like these
when you should only choose just not to speak.
And the clouds don't break when the sun is on empty.
song performed by by 36 Crazyfists
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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