En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Moment Of You

small tiny prayers,
passing thoughts,
a moment of you....

maybe just the sunlight
sifting through the blinds,
the wind blowing a branch

against the windowpane.
the sound of the train
on the distant tracks....

the ticking of the clock
in the dead stillness.
a child laughing and talking,

walking down the road....
a sudden pain in my heart,
that lingers, then is gone.

an empty bird's nest
on the ground beside the shed....
a stray cat begging for food....

small tiny prayers...
clouds in the afternoon sky...
water dripping, an old spicket......

a moment of you!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Never Lit!

we are but
small burnt memories,
unnamed ashes that smolder.
blades of grass never speaking,
small stones half buried.

dust on the windowpane,
raindrops that fall
and then rise...
straw gathered for the nest,
the silence of the eggs.

the tongue, and the ear,
the moment that does not pass.
the lid on the box,
the nails shaped like prayers.,
nothing, everything...

candles never lit!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

No Train

brackish water dripping
from a rusted spicket
a broken wagon wheel
spinning in the sand
smoke rising from
a fire already dead
bells tinkling in the wind
on the porch of an
abandoned house
train tracks, no train!

words i have written
with a pen dipped in blood.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Valentine's Day

Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.

I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.

poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In A Small Moment

(carly simon)
In a small moment
She accepted credit for something she did not do
She said shed done the water color in her bedroom
But it was done by a friend from school
Just a little lie
No one would discover
At least not very soon
In a small moment
Just a little lie
When she wasnt looking it just slipped on by
In a small moment
In a restaurant where she worked the late night shift
She short changed a sailor and made five
You could never really call it a theft
Just a little lie
Swept up in her apron and kept as a well deserved gift
In a small moment
Just a little lie
When she wasnt looking it just slipped on by
In a small moment
She cheated on her lover and placed it in the back of her mind
As long as nobody knew the truth about her
It could never really be unkind
Just a little lie
That slipped beside her as she tossed and turned in her alibis
In a small moment
Just a little lie
When she wasnt looking it just slipped on by
Just a little lie
When she wasnt looking it jsut slipped on by
Slipped on by

song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Twenty

This is my world, small as it is,
It is a planet by itself with very
Small moons, and tiny stars,
And so tiny, you cannot just
See me there, I am hiding,
But I still live here just the same,
Breathing atomic air, and drinking
Molecular waters, so you see,
How tiny I could be, how tiny
I could get, but this is my
Small happy world, my smile
My laughter so tiny, that you
Cannot hear, you cannot feel,

And that is your world as big
As the sun, with comets and
Meteors, and so big and so
Wide, with oceans and rivers,
And continents, and gigantic
Arctics, and snowy lands, and
We are then so different, and
With me, there is no problem,
I, in my small world, can fit
In yours, but you, you cannot
Fit in mine, that we must
Accept, I am a small world,
And you are a space still expanding,
Now, do you understand,
why I hide?
why I shy away from you?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

This Is My World That Is Your World

This is my world, small as it is,
It is a planet by itself with very
Small moons, and tiny stars,
And so tiny, you cannot just
See me there, I am hiding,
But I still live here just the same,
Breathing atomic air, and drinking
Molecular waters, so you see,
How tiny I could be, how tiny
I could get, but this is my
Small happy world, my smile
My laughter so tiny, that you
Cannot hear, you cannot feel,

And that is your world as big
As the sun, with comets and
Meteors, and so big and so
Wide, with oceans and rivers,
And continents, and gigantic
Arctics, and snowy lands, and
We are then so different, and
With me, there is no problem,
I, in my small world, can fit
In yours, but you, you cannot
Fit in mine, that we must
Accept, I am a small world,
And you are a space still expanding,
Now, do you understand,
why I hide?
why I shy away from you?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Guest

black coffee, and
cigarettes... clearing
the cobwebs from my head....

spent all night talking
to dead poets, and
standing by my mother's grave...

mortality hangs from my
neck like an anvil... waiting...
for the train to come....

sunlight pouring through
my fingers like dust....
falling to my feet with finality...

it comes down to this...
who have i loved by my living?
small children, women, companions...

or the wolf in the darkest
recesses within my being...
that longs to run with the wind?

have i been true for a moment,
for a moment is all this is...
a moment on the pathway

of eternity... have i left my mark?
have i breathed raw air?
have i burned down the house

to let the guest in?

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Buddha Thoughts (Meditation)

emptying the old
woman's bedpan...
sunlight sifting

through dirty blinds.
the cough of the clock,
the body, and stillness!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Always Walking, Never Alone!

always walking, never alone...
be it the wind,
whose voice has comforted me
for longer than i can remember.
be it darkness,
my lover, passion unfolding.
be it the lights in unknown houses,
signaling life to the traveller.
be it the whisper of stone,
and wood aging and holding.
be it the cry of emptiness,
vacant buildings, desolate streets.
be it the smells of food cooking,
of woodsmoke, of flesh on flesh.
be it the taste of rain,
the cold touch of falling snow.
be it the stillness of graves,
row upon row, life upon life.

my god walks with me,
naked in the night.
we listen for the whimper of babies,
the meow of stray cats.
for the sound of the shot,
and the body falling.
for the key turning the lock,
and the creaking of the swing.
for the perfume of the pines,
for the man picking up the trash.
for the heart moaning
low and gutteral in need.
for the sound of the man weeping,
having given up,
and the woman that holds him.
for the prayers of small children,
and the echoes of longing...

always walking, never alone!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tiny Drop

Waste of Tiny, Tiny Water Drops.
Always Trigger my Conscious Thoughts.

A Tiny Water Drop can make a Sapling Laugh
Tiny, Tiny water Drops can get you sweet Pod.

Tiny, Tiny Water Drops can make a Plant to Stand
As a Tree, This can give Shelter to a Lot.
Because of Waste of Tiny, Tiny water Drops
Many lives have become short.

So try to save even tiny water Drop, Which will
Get you Heartily Laugh.

poem by Narendra Kuppan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Christmas Zen #2

pickup loads of wood,
stray dog running beside the tracks...
young girl hauling a baby,
old coat pulled across her face.
somebody somewhere is crying,
the hands on the clock slowly crawl,
... bare Christmas trees in a parking lot.

& already a line at the soup kitchen,
the sound of bells, water dripping from a spicket...
old man in coveralls, selling...
pickup loads of wood.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Carry With Me

seems i walk alone
so much of the time....
but i carry with me

tiny slivers of hearts,
many colored splotches
of cloth woven into a blanket

that warms me against the cold.
my feet are worn... my eyes near blind...
but i see with the eyes

of small children
too alive to deny
the magic in each moment....

i breathe with the breath
of human hungering....
for what cannot be contained....

my heart beats with the spirit
of light... the hope of the hopeless,
the determination of the beaten....

the prayers of those who will not quit...
whose feet tired like mine,
keep walking!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Silence Is Not (For Hune)

silence is not...
the absence of sound,
but sound stripped naked and pure!

the thunderous crash of the acorn,
to the ground that startles the squirrel,
and freezes him with fear!

the squeak of the old spicket,
wailing for the water to rise,
from the dead bones of time.

the moan of dead bones,
returning back to dust,
as if sexual release.

and the prayers of the trees,
who see our foolishness,
and weep!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Moment

I must take a moment
and just stay still.
I must enjoy the stillness
and get my fill.
For my moment
can give me what I need
to keep me quiet
in thought and deed.
This moment to me
is like a day.
Though tiny in time,
It's huge as I pray
for a moment.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Little Girl's Prayer

Grant me the moment, the lovely moment
That I may lean forth to see
The other buds, the other blooms,
The other leaves on the tree:

That I may take into my bosom
The breeze that is like his brother,
But stiller, lighter, whose faint laughter
Exhoes the joy of the other.

Above on the blue and white cloud-spaces
There are small clouds at play.
I watch their remote, mysterious play-time
In the other far-away.

Grant I may hear the small birds singing
the song that the silence knows...
(The Light and the Shadow whisper together,
The lovely moment grows,

Ripples into the air like water
Away and away without sound,
And the little girl gets up from her praying
On the cold ground)

poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Child's innocence

Standing outside in the rain
the child of God
full of innocence and pain
Wondering and waiting
for the day to end

Tummy rumbling
feeling sad and dirty
needing the satisfaction of food
and the warmth of any person
willing enough to care

Begging for money
praying for food
all the people passing
without a further look
at the small child with tears in her eyes

Where is the love
and where is the care
to all the innocent children
walking around the streets
without anyone to love and care for them.

poem by Sharon Beukes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Eternity Then..... (One Small Flicker)

eternity then,
one small flicker of the flame,
a comma in the book of life,
the point where roads meet,
and diverge...
a tiny shard of broken glass,
a dropp of sweat on the back of a worker,
ejaculation, and echo...
each vein of the leaf turning,
a stray dog's turd.
the creak of the wheel that needs geased,
the sound between the gunshot
and the thud of the body.
the moment just after the body is covered.
the whisper of an empty plate,
the marching order of the ants.
the silence when your lover walks out the door.
the color of the bent nail,
the wrinkle on the pillow.
the shout for peace no one hears,
the rattle of justice breaking chains.
the flap of wings when the bird lifts off.
the groan of the mountain stripped.
the funeral dirge of oil stricken fishes.
the turn of the key in the lock.
the sound of god's footsteps,
the mourning cry of the empty room.
the brush of hands when the spirit shudders,
the tremble of lips forgotten.
the collision of ending and beginning,
but a moment, memory, and dust!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Baby Love-Angelina's Story

If time has elasticity
then stretch it across my love's heart
in the dead of night
make it stop as we try
to make our baby.

Now three years of trying.

Make it stop my aging.

Grant me the time;

reverse the ticking clock
inside my womb.

I want this baby.

I cannot be the barren woman.

Take this ticking clock
and silence it.

Translate
my husband's love into
baby bouncing
free.

Let me hear
baby's cry.

He said

'We could always adopt.'

And I said
'I guess we could
but it wouldn't be the same.'

So strong is baby love
so strong this longing
I'll not sleep again this night:

tiny hands

tiny face

in my dreams;

reaching out.

I have this baby love
yearning for my own
tiny hands and arms
reaching out to me.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Country For Old Men

A Country for old Men

I have been into town bought a paper and drank a beer,
in the café where the old men sit in the afternoon shade.
I feel more at ease here amongst other wrinklies.
On the other side of the road, near the pharmacy,
the big clock on the wall tells us it’s five and the temp is
41 Celsius, but in the shade and with a breeze blowing
it feels fine. In a few years the big clock will tell us that
time is up, but others will come and take our place.
There is a vast pool of us in deaths ante room; we are
but tiny ants on a window pane so easily squashed by
a child’s thumb. I sit in the shed, see how cigarette smoke
spirals up and out before dissipating in still hot air, and
thought of the silent sighs I heard when a beautiful girl
walked past our café. We shall never possess anything
as lovely again.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Was All Too Glad

it was just a passing moment
i was there
and i was all alone and
i only watched
what was happening
around me

i did perhaps say some
words
but only to describe
i did not subscribe for change
neither did i support
a revolution
it has nothing to do with cowardice
but more of
respect for the passing of
the moment
where i am not even
an important part

i was immersed in that passing moment
feeling like a river
or a sleeping fish

or perhaps it was more of me as a rain
falling to the grass
seeping on the soil
without so much noise

it was smooth experience
nothing tight
it was not tragic
but more only of
the clock ticking

it was more of the waiting rather than the going
really

and when i finally leave
as we were meant to be
or wont to do

i know
i was all too glad.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!