At Best
a poet, at best,
is merely the bridge
between the small child
inside each of us,
and the Mother's breast!
the simple striking
of the common match,
that lights the fire,
the broom that sweeps,
yet has no name or need...
the words of the prayer
we pray with every breath!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Brooms Witches And Mothers
Witches have broom's
When i a child
Mother's had broom's
Mother's ran with broom's
Mother's ran fast with broom's
I was a very swift boy
I had to run from many broom's
Sometimes mother would strike with broom
Therefore throwing herself of balance
As i ran i would laugh
Like a kookaburra
She would become a angry mother with broom
She would call for me to stop running
So she could give me her broom
I would keep running
For i did not like broom's
Witches like broom's
Mother's like broom's
poem by Allan James Saywell
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Seeking Heat!
there is a heat
inside the fire,
friction inside the match.
there are clouds
inside each raindrop,
winter snows inside each bud.
there is a joy
hidden deep in sorrow,
there is touch
inside of the lonely.
there is a need
inside each prayer,
there is a hunger
inside those who take.
there is forgiveness
inside of anger.
there is a freedom
inside each cell.
there is a sameness
inside of difference.
there is a mother
inside each man.
there is a man
inside each body,
a hint of god
inside each soul.
there is a heart
inside of each man...
a heart seeking heat!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All Day Long Doses
Pray!
Pray to pray for prayer.
Pray to stay there in prayer.
There is no time to find prayer.
You must pray to make prayer,
The only time you have.
The only key you need...
To unlock all that keeps you fed,
And nourished!
Pray to pray for prayer.
When you're there,
Stay!
Like every wish you keep that comes.
Prayer should be the only thing decided,
That's done every moment you breathe a breath
Of life.
Pray!
Pray to pray for prayer.
Stay there in it!
Take it with you
Like you take and do your faith...
In all day long doses!
Without fear you have taken too long of a break!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Now I lay Me
When I pass from earth away,
Palsied though I be and gray,
May my spirit keep so young
That my failing, faltering tongue
Frames that prayer so dear to me
Taught me at my mother's knee:
'Now I lay me down to sleep,'
(Passing to Eternal rest
On the loving parent breast)
'I pray the Lord my soul to keep;'
(From all danger safe and calm
In the hollow of His palm
'If I should die before I wake,'
(Drifting with a bated breath
Out of slumber into death,)
'I pray the Lord my soul to take.'
(From the body's claim set free
Sheltered in the Great to be.)
Simple prayer of trust and truth
Taught me in my early youth-
Let my soul its beauty keep
When I lay me down to sleep.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Mother
A mother shows the child the world
A mother is its world when small
A mother shows the child what's love
A mother loves her child like a doll!
A mother makes the home and bed
A mother cares for all at home
A mother trains the child to walk
And stand on own, perfectly talk.
A mother is the teacher prime
A mother moulds the character
A mother shows the child to pray
And trust the unseen God all life.
A mother is the child's best friend
A mother knows its needs and wants
A mother cares for child when sick
And feels so proud, when child achieves.
Children, thank God for a good mother
On ‘Mother's day! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-05-12
poem by John Celes
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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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I Am Not Your Broom
Now broom, you must now sweep for me
The dust it fills my room
No, john, I will not sweep for you
For I am not your broom
What nonsense are you speaking, broom
My words you must obey
Another life awaits me and
Im leaving you today
I am not your broom
I am not your broom
Ive had enough, Im throwing off
My chains of servitude
I am not your broom
I am not your broom
No longer must I sweep for you
For I am not your broom
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Somewhere Between....
somewhere between....
a small fire and a rainy night,
an open book, a candle in the window.
the words of Jesus, revolution without restraint...
an agnostic, and a dreamer.
a murderer and a healer,
a poet and a farmer.
a pair of worn out shoes,
and a stone statue of Buddha.
a mad lover crawling in windows,
and a monk staring at the stars.
the last wolf in the night,
and the first rays of dawn.
somewhere between...
hope and despair,
understanding and anger.
a child and a dying old man.
a prayer and an erection.
a train coming in the distance,
and a lighthouse in the harbor.
the bark of the gun,
and the prayer of shovels.
somewhere between....
loving you and suicide.
standing to fight and running.
spreading my wings, and digging a ditch.
your breast and your lips,
a tear and a poem....
somewhere between!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Because!
a simple prayer...
to be a bridge, a boat,
a cup, a key...
a candle in the night,
a small fire by the road.
an old oak that stands
through the winter storm,
a barn, a saddle,
a hand-me-down coat.
whatever is needed,
whatever can be used.
given without regard...
just given... because!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am A Poet
Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me
poem by Metin Sahin
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Prayer Is the Soul's Sincere Desire
Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
The Christian’s native air,
His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters heaven with prayer.
O Thou, by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray!
Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice,
Returning from his ways,
While angels in their songs rejoice
And cry, “Behold, he prays!”
The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, in deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.
No prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads,
And Jesus, on th’eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes.
O Thou by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way,
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray.
poem by James Montgomery
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The Poet Is....
the poet is a vase,
collecting tears like rainwater,
with a tiny hole in the bottom,
connecting to the ground.
the poet is a prism,
seperating colors from black and white,
then drawing black and white from colors,
dissolving and evolving.
the poet is an illusion,
that looks and smells like home,
redefining distance by closeness,
finding the familiar in a stranger.
the poet is an orphan,
a messenger, and a thief.
bringing you a lit candle,
and stealing your heart for a stand.
the poet is a carpenter,
building from scraps of wood.
using time rusted nails,
and an eye for dreams.
the poet is a healer,
and the moment you forgot,
on the way to remembering,
who you really are.
the poet is a bridge,
borrowed wings, and a cross.
a simple fire tended by no one,
and ears left behind by god.
the poet is a body,
grown tired in it's dying.
and the small winged creature without name,
waiting to follow the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Art of Fire
Whether big, whether small
Whether tamed, whether monster
Whether damned, whether adored
Fire is always attracting
Whether solid, whether liquid
In the summer, in the winter
Whether friend, whether foe
Fire always born to burn
Match sparks, gas bursts
Hot springs vacation, sun bath holiday
Inside earth, the shear of space
Fire never truly dies
The light, the smoke
Training patience, teaching alertness
You must learn or left in ash
Fire is master of survival
The spirit, the god
Breath and move, eat and grow
The desire, the anger
Fire is enigmatic thing
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Ex Ore Infantium
Little Jesus, wast Thou shy
Once, and just so small as I?
And what did it feel like to be
Out of Heaven, and just like me?
Didst Thou sometimes think of THERE,
And ask where all the angels were?
I should think that I would cry
For my house all made of sky;
I would look about the air,
And wonder where my angels were;
And at waking 'twould distress me--
Not an angel there to dress me!
Hadst Thou ever any toys,
Like us little girls and boys?
And didst Thou play in Heaven with all
The angels that were not too tall,
With stars for marbles? Did the things
Play Can you see me? through their wings?
And did Thy Mother let Thee spoil
Thy robes, with playing on OUR soil?
How nice to have them always new
In Heaven, because 'twas quite clean blue!
Didst Thou kneel at night to pray,
And didst Thou join Thy hands, this way?
And did they tire sometimes, being young,
And make the prayer seem very long?
And dost Thou like it best, that we
Should join our hands to pray to Thee?
I used to think, before I knew,
The prayer not said unless we do.
And did Thy Mother at the night
Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right?
And didst Thou feel quite good in bed,
Kissed, and sweet, and thy prayers said?
Thou canst not have forgotten all
That it feels like to be small:
And Thou know'st I cannot pray
To Thee in my father's way--
When Thou wast so little, say,
Couldst Thou talk Thy Father's way?--
So, a little Child, come down
And hear a child's tongue like Thy own;
Take me by the hand and walk,
And listen to my baby-talk.
To Thy Father show my prayer
(He will look, Thou art so fair),
And say: 'O Father, I, Thy Son,
Bring the prayer of a little one.'
And He will smile, that children's tongue
Has not changed since Thou wast young!
poem by Francis Thompson
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Pray
I pray for your safety my love
Pray your dreams be fulfilled
Pray for help from God above
Pray a shattered world rebuild
Pray with me, that all are fed
Pray our Lord God will listen
Pray we see what lay ahead
Pray our mortal souls be risen
Pray for all who now do suffer
Pray for respite from their pain
Pray empathy provides a buffer
Pray for those few gone insane
Believe sincere prayers always work
Believe prayer lights where Satan lurks
(Dedicated to my Beloved)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Family
There's a child inside
A man inside
A woman inside
A sage inside
A mother inside with breasts of love
A father inside with hands of care
A child inside beautifully caressed
A mother inside with the wing of dove
A father inside the flight to share
A child inside with parents blessed
A sage inside with a peaceful face
The peace to bestow in all its grace
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A new broom sweeps clean, but an old broom knows every corner.
A new broom sweeps clean, but an old broom knows the corners.
A new broom sweeps well, but the old broom knows all the corners.
Abortion And Child Killing
Abortion and child killing
Are forbidden in Islam
Cause it is an act of outright cruelty
Abortion is a grievous sin
But in case of rape it is not
Since both the mother and the child
Will be unhappy
If the mother does not go for abortion
However the mother should pray to God
For the child’s welfare in afterlife
And ask for forgiveness
If a mother have had abortion
Or kill her child
She should pray to God
“O the Lord of the worlds
The Greatest Merciful
The Best Merciful
Please give my child
Who has passed away
A prestigious post in paradise
And forgive my sins”.
poem by Asif Andalib
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