Broken Cup
every living being wants
to hold and be held...
even the tree embraces the sky,
drops its leaves, as its sap
runs warm...
do you hate me so much?
no, that would take passion.
and to you i'm nothing
but a cemetary, a headstone,...
a vagrant crow...
a yellowed page in a book
no one takes off the shelf.
moth balls and insulin,
a broken cup on the floor.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Broken Rhythm
A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.
It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.
We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.
Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.
poem by Francis Santaquilani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Big Balls
Im ever upper class high society
Gods gift to ballroom notoriety
I always fill my ballroom
The event is never small
The social pages say Ive got
The biggest balls of all
Chorus:
Ive got big balls
Ive got big balls
And theyre such big balls
Dirty big balls
And hes got big balls
And shes got big balls
But weve got the biggest balls of them all
And my balls are always bouncing
My ballroom always full
And everybody cums and cums again
If your name is on the guest list
No one can take you higher
Everybody says Ive got
Great balls of fire
Chorus
Some balls are held for charity
And some for fancy dress
But when theyre held for pleasure
Theyre the balls that I like best
My balls are always bouncing
To the left and to the right
Its my belief that my big balls
Should be held every night
Chorus
And Im just itching to tell you about them
Oh we had such wonderful fun
Seafood cocktail, crabs, crayfish...
Ball sucker
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Window Left Open...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...
god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.
another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.
old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.
even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.
while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...
the moth flew through a window left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life is short
It seems you forgot, our life is short.
There is no time to beg or extort for support.
Learn how to live yourself.
Take a book from the shelf and…
Delicately leafing page after page
you will find a wood sage.
People are like books,
some of them are good,
some of them are bad,
some of them are just mad,
some of them are not sassy,
they look more glassy,
they are not gassy,
they are classy
like books on the shelf
waiting for a warm hand.
Milliards of people are on the Land,
each one needs the right hand
so that to open it like a book and read.
If you manage to do it
you’ll succeed to learn a lot.
Remembering that life is short
you’ll learn how to burn the useless things,
how to leave the one without a gun
who troubles brings,
how to live with those you adore,
And… much much more.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Good Charlotte - Cemetary
I need a change
Not to immitate, to irritate
All the world to hate
Maybe late
Always sing together all day without you
I guess it's fate
I live in a cemetary
Full of good will and integrity
I have no specialty
Here's your warning
I'll give you click click boom
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
(intrumental)
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate...
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cemetery
I need a change
Not to immitate, to irritate
All the world to hate
Maybe late
Always sing together all day without you
I guess it's fate
I live in a cemetary
Full of good will and integrity
I have no specialty
Here's your warning
I'll give you click click boom
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
(intrumental)
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate
I live in a cemetary
I need a change
Not To immitate, irritate...
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hate Christmas Parties
I hope it snows this week
A snowflake on your cheek
Would make this Christmas so beautiful
But that would just bring the pain,
Because things cant stay the same
These holidays wont be wonderful
I look under the tree, but theres nothing to see
Cause its a broken heart that youre giving me
I cant figure you out
Is this what Christmas is all about?
Cause its a broken heart that youre giving me
I dont want to talk, Im sick of all this talking
A broken heart wrapped up in a box
Theres tear drops in my stocking
I look under the tree, but theres nothing to see
Cause its a broken heart, that youre giving me
I cant figure you out
Is this what Christmas is all about?
Cause its a broken heart that youre giving me
I hate Christmas parties
You offer me some punch, but I just shrug
I hate Christmas parties
You and the cookie tray, both hear me say
Bah Humbug
Falalalalalalalalala Falalalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalalala(2x)
I look under the tree, but theres nothing to see
Cause its a broken heart that youre giving me
I cant figure you out
Is this what Christmas is all about?
Cause its a broken heart that youre giving me
I look under the tree, but theres nothing to see
Cause its a broken heart that youre giving me
song performed by by Relient K
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Shadow, For Dust!
the old woman,
face bruised and wrinkled,
clothes dirty and worn...
lies alone in the bed,
except for the cat...
shadows whisper, she moans,
as if closing a book.
even the hungry walls are silent...
the pages of the book
tattered and yellowed.
her teeth broken or gone,
her fist clenched tight,
the comfort of no one,
the prayer to no god.
the clock on the wall ticks amen...
her spirit taken, her fist opened,
a bag of trash falls in the corner,
the old cat runs for shadow,
for dust...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(Inspiration Poem) A Book Never Read
Living by the fire
Living to admire
Living down to the wire
Still the wheels don't turn
I think it is because I want it
Urn for it
The beautiful almighty
I will not pray
Not as long as I live day by day
How much does my soul really weigh?
How many sins can be forgiven?
The fog will eventually choke you out
Whine and pout all you want
It won't make a dent in my steel cage
Because it was built from pure rage
If Its not a stage
What am I going through?
Its just another page of my book never read
Words as stale as the food I was fed
Maybe it was how many times I have been dropped on my head
I plead guilty to an unwritten destiny
I lied to myself in a mirror straight to my very own face
Memories erased
It's just another page of my book never read
I can't be lead astray
Especially if I'm willing
It's not much different then stealing
A moral yeng then yang
A oh so perfect harmony
Keeping things on a even keel
Always questioning what is real
It's just another page of my book never read
I hold on so tight to my comfy bed
Such a beautiful night
The stars are glistening oh so bright
I turn off the lights
Sleep for the dreams of a tomorrow
We are all living on borrowed time
So I ask again where's mine?
A question that continues to go unanswered
Draw your own conclusion
It's another one of the deep dark mysterious illusions
It's just another page of my book never read
It's as if every word has never been said
It's just another page of my tattered and torn book that will be never read
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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I Hate It
i hate this stupid world
and the place i have in it
i hate this stupid house
and the life that its finished
i hate this computer
so ragged, so slow
i hate all the things
that i do not know
i hate the way words
can bring a person to their knees
i hate that hearts
break so easily
i hate that people die
when theyre oh so young in age
i hate it when my book
is oddly missing a page
i hate it when you cry
and won't tell me what's wrong
i hate the way people write random stuff
and sing it and call it a song
i hate that life sucks
and always will for me
i hate it that we can't
go on living happily
i hate it that i like you
when you so obviously don't like me back
i hate it when my parents
never cut me any slack
i hate it that im breaking
and nothing can fix the truth
i hate my wounds for healing
and not staying to give proof
i hate that i hate so many things
yet i don't regret a bit
i hate it that i don't always hate the days
when i feel like shit
poem by Something Changing
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You Painted the Tree I'm Looking For
Your eyes are love
Their holding on to me
I need a big paper so
I can paint them alive
You painted the tree I’m looking for…
Every night I go to sleep
I want to taste your smile
So that my blood starts to boil
I fall asleep in warm dreams
You painted the tree I’m looking for…
I’m stuck here in prison
It’s really really cold
But your voice embraces me
Keeps me from my illness
You painted the tree I’m looking for…
…You painted the tree I need for living
poem by Ilme SonCries
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I Hate Myself
I hate myself for being so rude
I hate myself for watching them nude
I hate myself for crying alone in the dark
I hate myself that i did not made any one to notice my bark
I hate myself for my frantic work
I hate myself for being called defected, outdated, and jerk
I hate myself for distracting the attention
I hate myself for always getting detention
I hate myself for not smiling in my life ever
I hate myself for being so dumb and useless forever.
I hate myself for the manner-less things that I've done
I hate myself because I'm loved by none
I hate myself for losing myself in reading mysteries
I hate myself for not having my name in the book of histories
I hate myself for always over thinking on everything
I hate myself for refraining my thinking
I hate myself for living life stridently
I hate myself for living only in my nightmares particularly
I hate myself for the nobbling
I hate myself for my killing
I hate myself for all the pain that I've caused you mom
I hate myself as your 'son' was the poi-son of the home
I hate myself for everything
I hate myself as I let the stressful wail to sing.
poem by Chitresh Jhawar
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A Few Drops Of Dew
Bound by earth and sky
The particles of darkness
Of my existence
Got crystallized into
Fertile dew-drops.
The thin clouds
Of scattered dew-drops
In the womb of an
Unfathomable vacuum
Assembled in ones and twos
Over my semi-bald head,
Promising a heavy downpour
On the pale leaves of grass at my feet,
During an autumnal twilight.
I was really amused to perceive
How those mere dew-drops
Could regenerate
So much greenery
Here, there, everywhere
And even on my bald- head.
At a distant horizon
On the dark boughs
Of a parched gulmohar tree
Red petals appeared
And singing birds perched
And surprisingly I could hold
The fragrance of thin hairs
Grown around her nape
With a solid passion,
Singing nursery-rhymes
To utmost perfection.
In the empty corridors of my ribs
Broken desires and disabled opportunities
Raised their wrinkled scalps
For a few drops of dew.
I really marvelled
At the sight of those dew-drops
Of such multiple colours
Creating a cascading effect
In their beauty and significance
Which I adored
And many a time imbibed.
But, alas! I didn’t know
Such ethereal dew-drops
Could feel so insecure
Merely at the sight
Of a pregnant eastern sky.
Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
poem by Billy Collins
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All of us can think of a book... that we hope none of our children have taken off the shelf. But if I have the right to remove that book from the shelf -that work I abhor- then you also have exactly the same right and so does everyone else. And then we have no books left on the shelf for any of us.
quote by Katherine Paterson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Seed
See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down,
And through the Winter neglected lay,
Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown,
With tiny root taking hold on the clay
As, lifting and strengthening day by day,
It pushes red branchless, sprouts new leaves,
And cell after cell the Power in it weaves
Out of the storehouse of soil and clime,
To fashion a Tree in due course of time;
Tree with rough bark and boughs' expansion,
Where the Crow can build his mansion,
Or a Man, in some new May,
Lie under whispering leaves and say,
"Are the ills of one's life so very bad
When a Green Tree makes me deliciously glad?"
As I do now. But where shall I be
When this little Seed is a tall green Tree?
poem by William Allingham
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A Closed Book
A book unopened
leaves words to die.
A book unopened
leaves words to lie
in perpetuity,
never alive, never free
to deliver its thoughts
for any to see.
Who was the writer?
What did he pen?
The absence of readers
are lost and then
the book lies quietly
on a shelf
and maybe all by itself it knows.
It will never be opened.
It will always be closed,
just like some people
who won't open up
and speak their words to you.
Their life is something
you'll never know,
something you won't view.
For they are a closed book too.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Crows Words
Crow and
Crow...
On the tree...
Speak one crow
With another crow
'Kaa kaa kaaaa'
Another crow
Also...
'Kaa kaa kaaaa'
Speaking
This is crow words
You i did not
Understand ok...O...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Buddha at the Bodhi tree (Sri Lanka)
Here, to the oldest living tree
Pilgrims have flown, sailed, crawled and bussed
To feel its shade to know its strength
The world’s not owned but held in trust
It never withers, fresh shoots grow
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Does not apply to such a tree
The world’s not owned but held in trust
Buddha, in this tree’s motherland
Had conquered self and fear and lust
Now every seed the message gives
The world’s not owned but held in trust
Treasures you covet, things possessed
Silver and gold all turn to rust
Others will claim your home, your land
The world’s not owned but held in trust
Your little self’s a puff of smoke
To every living thing be just
Power brings responsibilities
The world’s not owned but held in trust
The fluttering leaves eternal tell
Man’s not immortal, die we must
Live a full life but live it well
The world’s not owned, but held in trust
poem by Sheena Blackhall
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