Ah!
i am not your poet,
not even your rising poem.
i am but the simple sound, 'ah',
that comes between
your irregular heartbeats!
i am the sperm
that fell to the floor,
the dust wiped from the cover
of an unread book.
i am the rust on the plow,
the burp of the earth.
i am the nest made of straw.
i am the old clothes,
washed in the creek.
i am the pot simmering.
i am the child
forgotten by god,
i am the body
left for the crows.
i am the silence that overwhelms,
i am the healing without name.
i am the lover, the cross,
and the road not walked.
i am the embrace of death,
and the quiet companion.
i am the still beauty
of scars and bruises,
the kiss that lights the night.
i am the hope
that looks like you...
the simple sound,
'ah'!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Straw, Or Sky?
is a sparrow's nest
made of straw,
or made of sky?
do we come from the womb?
or return to it?
do we plow the earth?
or does it plow us?
where will we be at harvest?
do we spend all of our lives
trying to go back
to what we knew as a child?
are we then mouth,
nipple,
or the lonely phallus
of a forgotten god?
the empty hand,
or the sound of wings...
testify!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet Of Motherhood XLV
Dearest, your mother feels (though dead) this birth—
Laughs at the fire within your shining eyes—
Your eyes, yet mine, wherein such glory lies
Never before beheld upon the earth.
She scents the fragrance of the lily-mirth
Lilting this body that I drew all-wise
Out of your own, so hers, and with low sighs,
Mellowed in mine to what a wondrous worth.
Kiss me. Kiss her. The miracle is wrought—
The simple beauty out of simple love—
Mother and father, child and God—all One—
Eternal trinity for ever sought.
O, blessed from her quiet place above,
Your mother kisses us—a life’s work done.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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In Every Dawn
there is a moment just before darkness,
when every sound is amplified.
when the senses come alive,
and smell and taste take bodies.
when the eyes see, really see,
and there be no more need for words.
when memories like trees walk into stillness,
and the heart names every stone.
when the butterfly becomes the teacher,
and the dew is strong drink indeed.
when scars and bruises put on their jewelry,
and the soul becomes the earth.
when clouds come like ghostly chariots,
and the sun tips its hat in farewell.
when every battle is forgotten,
and every truth etched in time.
when nothing is left but love itself,
to wrap the night in eternity.
now timeless and without borders,
the simple man has but one request.
bury me beneath the willow,
and listen for my footsteps in every dawn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Labyrinth
the uneven rhythm of silence
as night pulls the living into
its patchy blanket falls heavy
on the heart’s ears…
the sound of sound sleep
breathes heavier on the
jagged walls of the night
echoing on the abandoned skin
the abandoned echo fills
the precincts of the streets
the irregular rhythm throngs
the foot-paths of the night
once in a way a baton
proves its power
once in a way
blazing lights stop by…
in the dark silence
do they seek a brief respite
and shake off night’s embrace
to begin yet another day…
17mar2010
14.14hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Simple Poem For My Mother From My Mother
A SIMPLE POEM FOR MY MOTHER FROM MY MOTHER
All I am is a simple poem.
A few words in language
A child can read.
Simple words
Like my beloved mother
Of Blessed Memory’s Talk-
Simple, straight
Sometimes with quiet humor-
Happy trusting loving
And in intention
Good for the other.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sounds Of The Earth (Part Two)
i hear the sounds of young lovers,
moaning, groaning, and whimpering.
the rush of wind,
that startles the curtains.
the slap of wet bodies,
the sigh of the candle.
low words cooed,
without need for definition.
i feel the tears of the sinner,
hear them hit the floor.
the prayers, and confessions,
the guilt, and the need.
the heavy breathing of redemption,
and the silence that heals...
yes, even the silence
has its own sound!
i hear the bones of the nameless,
rising from their hidden graves.
to dance in the holiness,
of identity regained!
i hear the crackle of the fire,
as life becomes vapor.
i hear the stranger at the door,
and know well his voice!
i feel these sounds,
swelling up within me.
erupting from my conscience,
till song becomes song.
and i hear the heartbeats,
of newborn babies and small children.
of the old woman dying
in a forgotten room.
the heartbeats of wolves,
of birds, and silent cattle.
the heartbeats of things
lost to memory and time....
and each sound alike,
alike in their difference...
sounding like mine,
like yours...
and like god's!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gasping For Light
1
i built a fire in the yard.
slowly walked back into the house.
gathering everything of value.
my books, my clothes, my boots,
old photographs, letters, pictures,
everything i've ever written.
every memory.
took them outside,
and fed them to the fire!
and walked off barefoot
into the night.
2
lover, dance with me!
we call unto each other
from distances, through barriers,
breaking down walls of seperation;
through tears and angry silence,
echoing through the night.
i kiss your eyes, your lips,
the arch of your neck.
your fingertips, your feet,
the inside of your thighs.
your wetness.
you open your eyes,
and the shadow disappears!
3
spirits dance in the moonlight!
a soft wind rustles
through the trees.
the howl of a dog,
car lights on a forgotten road;
a screen door closes softly.
old house wrapped in stillness.
only a faint sound.
the footsteps of God
walking in your heart!
4
i can smell your perfume,
or maybe the scent of rain coming.
i can taste you in the
cool damp earth,
in the blood of a small animal
killed by a passing car,
in the cry of the baby
waking up hungry,
in the web of the spider.
in the hollow of my soul.
5
two moths lost in the darkness,
gasping for light.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Simple Lessons
Simple, simple lessons, simple...
Sound to be where, make you want to scream.
Always left without, saying hello.
Ive seen chains the bear less, snap and fall long before you let go.
Times run over your sink onto my floor,
Its okay, weve cleaned them many times before.
Simple lessons are, simple lessons are, simple lessons are, simple lessons are, simple...
Sounds might be where, yeah I want to cry
Always left before, I said hello.
Hes had days where shades of brilliance, never granted him space.
Green shades of painful rains, its okay, theyll wash away now
Simple lessons are, simple lessons are, simple lessons are, simple lessons are, simple...
Always taught you how, drain yourself empty.
Always taught you how, drain yourself empty.
Were all scarred up from ages of childish games.
Yet Ive never seen your head up higher.
It feels real this time, I see you happy again.
Reel it in for awhile, oh enough to take my
Aint enough to take my aint enough to take my, aint enough to take my, aint enough to take my place
Sounds might be where, you want to scream.
Always left without, saying hello.
Ive seen chains that bear less, snap and fall long before you,
Long before you let go
song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet vs Poem
Does a poet makes poem
Or poem makes poet?
The eternal war goes on.
The big confusion who will solve it?
Poet fight with sword of pen.
Poem armoured with shield of senses.
Poet tries to rich sky high,
Poem pulls rope of meaning and tenses.
Does poet sketc the poem
Or poem drags him through the invigible gravity.
A piece of paper becomes battlefield.
The war of ink and vocabulary,
Creates a historic beauty.
Poet cages the poem in a book.
Where the world will look.
Praises all to poet 'oh how great'
But the poem is what counts after his death.
poem by Saurav Karki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Desperate Ones
Jacques Brel, Jouannest, Eric Blau, Mort Shuman
They hold each others hands
They walk without a sound
Down forgotten streets
Their shadows kiss the ground
Their footsteps
sing a song
Tat's ended before it's begun
They walk without a sound
The desperate ones
Just like the tiptoe moth
That dance before the flame
They burn their hearts so much
That death is just a name
And if love calls again
So foolishly they run, they run, they run
They run, they run, they run, they run
They run without a sound
The desperate ones
I know the road tey're on
I've walked their crooked mile
A hundred times or more
I drank their cup of bile
They watch their dreams go down
Be hind the settin sun
Yeh, yeh, yeh, they walk without a sound
The desperate ones
Le he who threw the stone at them
Stand up and take a bow
He knows the verb "to love"
Beu he'll never, never, never know how
On the bridge of nevermore
They disappear one by one
Disappear without a sound
The desperate ones
And underneath the bridge
The water's sweet and deep
This is their journey's end
The land of endless sleep
They cry to us for help
We think it's all in fun,
They cry, they cry, they cry, they cry
Without a sound
They disappear without a sound
They walk without a sound without a sound
Disappear without a sound
Cry without a sound
Yai, yaj, yaj, yaj, yaj, yaj, yaj
The desperate ones
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Simple
It would be, it would be
It would be so simple
What is
And what it was
What should it be
When it comes to you
And how it seems
And how it is
There's been a change
When it comes to me, yeah
Oh baby you, oh baby me
Oh maybe we can try another day, another way
All in my mind,
I'm wondering why,
We can not find what was left at the beginning
If I could kiss you again
If I could kiss you again
If I could kiss you again
It would be, it would be so simple
Cause I would love you again, hold you again
Kiss you again
It would be, it would be,
Could it be, could it be so simple
Now it's hardly simple
It's just simply hard, when it comes to you and
I'm by myself
Not being myself
Just to avoid all this confrontation with
Oh baby you, oh baby me,
Oh maybe we, can put this armour down and settle down
Oh it's off track
That is a fact
Can we get it back, get it back to the beginning
If I could
Kiss you again
Kiss you again
Kiss you again
It would be, it would be so simple
Cause I would love you again, hold you again, kiss you again
It would be, it would be,
Could it be, Could it be so simple
Don't you know that it would be
Don't you know that it would be
Don't you know that it would be
It would be
It would be
It, it would be
It would be
Kiss you again
Kiss you again
Kiss you again
It would be, it would be so simple
Cause I would love you again, hold you again, kiss you again
It would be, it would be,
Could it be, could it be so simple
Yeah la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Yeah, we gotta work till we're like this don't stop
Here we got it going on
Now we drive on
song performed by by Alicia Keys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Friend Who Says That She Does Not Know How To Write A Poem Anymore
it is sad, when you think that you do not know
how to write a poem anymore
a simple poem as simple as you
what does it take for humanity to write one poem?
does it take that much from those who claim they know the way?
shall blood be shed to drive another point?
do not lose hope in the power of our ordinary words,
for as long as we quiver, poems are written
for as long as we lose the consciousness about our beings
the metaphors always come and build upon themselves their own meanings
take your time, breathe the air of poetry, and let the molecules
enter your lungs that long to see the light of the sun,
just be patient, keep on waiting, savor the silence, shower yourself
with the light of the moon, on another lonely night,
sleep soundly, and listen to the sound of your snores,
in your dreams, the poems write themselves.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Does The Night Have A Poem?
DOES THE NIGHT HAVE A POEM?
Does the Night have a poem?
Is there anything worth saying now?
To hear the Quiet is a kind of poem,
But I do not know-
The Night says the Wind now,
But is a small breeze enough
To make Heart and Mind
Come to Life again?
The Night is silent now
And Darkness is no answer either.
Night, Quiet, Sound, Light, Love,
The Beauty of simply being alive.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Story Of The Sharp Tongue
with the repetitive sound of sighs and symmetrical silence
the tongue has become sharp and it stabs hearts
it breaks open what has been closed all along and hidden
birds start breaking out from cages
and feathers are left as memories which somehow the one who is left
empty takes it to his heart and becomes his pen
the lonely man writes
with blood from his bleeding heart stabbed by the sharpness of his own
past
the sound becomes even more demanding like routine that you cannot refuse
and somehow the silence becomes irregular, asymmetrical taking the shape
of a scream, which the tongue most sharpened now
slices into dust
and this reaches to the conclusion that no matter how sharp the tongue can be
it too shall in the end turn into
dust..............................
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Desperate Ones
Jacques brel, jouannest, eric blau, mort shuman
They hold each others hands
They walk without a sound
Down forgotten streets
Their shadows kiss the ground
Their footsteps
Sing a song
Tats ended before its begun
They walk without a sound
The desperate ones
Just like the tiptoe moth
That dance before the flame
They burn their hearts so much
That death is just a name
And if love calls again
So foolishly they run, they run, they run
They run, they run, they run, they run
They run without a sound
The desperate ones
I know the road teyre on
Ive walked their crooked mile
A hundred times or more
I drank their cup of bile
They watch their dreams go down
Be hind the settin sun
Yeh, yeh, yeh, they walk without a sound
The desperate ones
Le he who threw the stone at them
Stand up and take a bow
He knows the verb to love
Beu hell never, never, never know how
On the bridge of nevermore
They disappear one by one
Disappear without a sound
The desperate ones
And underneath the bridge
The waters sweet and deep
This is their journeys end
The land of endless sleep
They cry to us for help
We think its all in fun,
They cry, they cry, they cry, they cry
Without a sound
They disappear without a sound
They walk without a sound without a sound
Disappear without a sound
Cry without a sound
Yai, yaj, yaj, yaj, yaj, yaj, yaj
The desperate ones
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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238
i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gathering Dust
They sink into the ground with silence,
Voices we’ll never hear making a sound,
Only wishful smiles appear in a trance,
Gathering dust where the names are found.
They cannot rise from the deep isles,
To raise a smile even to murmur a sigh,
More darkness pours into the abyss,
Sunlight has closed time against the sky.
Idle flowers bowed in quiet solitude,
Left to revive by the morning early dew,
Flatten with footprints walked in tribute,
Push the hollow ground from distant view.
There they lay on bed of silent dismay,
Awaiting eternity, bodies gathering dust,
Old moss and rocks cover the mystery,
The verdant grass becomes a blanket of rust.
In disguise spirit rise to fly like an arrow,
Leaving the resting place to gather dust,
They may return as forces in a shadow,
And walk over grass where they lay the host.
poem by Gerry Legister
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Never Sleep On
that book on the shelf,
the one you've forgotten,
waiting in silence,
untouched and unread.
the crack in the window,
rainwater seeps through.
the lamp by the table,
you never turn on.
the axe in the corner,
covered by shadows and web.
the limbs ripped from the tree,
blown by the storm.
that old photograph album,
pictures yellowed by time.
the guitar in the closet,
waiting to be strung.
and the sound of the ocean,
in the shell you never pick up.
the skin left by the snake,
clouds that cover the moon.
the letter you never opened,
the ring in the drawer...
my heart on the pillow,
you never sleep on!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Believing We Can Fly...
do we stand on the floor of our thoughts?
in the basements of our heart?
or on the edge of the nest made of straw....
pounding our chests, believing we can fly?
do we stand on precept or illusion?
are mountains then made of sand?
and again chant the way of the gods,
'we feel with our thoughts,
and think with our hands'....
truth speaks in the unspoken,
and liberty is but remembering...
the best we can do a simple touch,
a farewell kiss, and....
a key to your most precious door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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