Snail Crossing... (Part Five)
i could very easily walk away... if i could find a cabin in the hills. grow my own food, and live simply.... read poetry to the trees, and the creeks.... there is nothing, and no one, that i wish to own.... i have no desire to be known, or well thought of.... and yet, i must continue... i must breathe!
the more honest i become with myself...
the more i love other people!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Read my poetry
Read my poetry
My poetry is enough
My poetry is independent
My poetry creates itself.
Read my poetry
My poetry is not mine
Everything belongs to my poetry
My poetry creats itself.
Read my poetry
My poetry is psyche and
Alchemy in me
My poetry is independent of me.
Read my poetry
It agony its ecstasy
Its inspiration
Everything belongs to
My predecessors-poet
Read my poetry
Read my poetry.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Dance My Love
you are so beautiful when you start to dance
when all the leaves fall off from your arms
naked, i have seen everything that your earth has to offer:
your hills and trees and forest, your creeks and rivers,
your clouds and seas, your grass and flowers
i have seen them all and touched them
your hills i have climbed
your trees with sweet fruits
i have gathered them all
and bit and sucked and savored each sap and juice
its flesh and fiber
i have slept on your grass
i have smelled your flowers
i have gazed on your clouds and have taken the dive
on your seas
i have sailed on your rivers
i have bathed on your creeks
i have done everything for you to please you my love
yet why are your eyes so sad tonight?
you are like a moon fading in the dark
you are like the song of a bird dissolving in distance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reading Writing Rich
Always after reading
poetry
I fly like ducks for life
poetry is my season for love
a fat girl goes by and
I wonder what it is like
to walk so full
as she must wonder what it is like
to run so empty
(what do our bodies mean?)
I cant tell her: read poetry
you will see a boy with spiky hair
and a gallant stride
and it won’t matter
about full or empty
or if you are tired
or that words in migration
are only emulation:
you will love
simply
that he exists
and that the secret moment
you kissed
has flown like ducks into Poetry
So, You Think You've Found Me
I am not here
Not in these words
not on these pages.
I know..
You think if you read
Enough
Of what I write
You'll know me inside and out..
One small problem though
(I say this as I smile)
I am no longer
Who I use to be
When I use to be
The 'She' who wrote this..
I don't publish until I've grown
From the poem I use to be
If I was her at all...
Sometimes the 'She' you read
She isn't me at all
But a friend,
Or a story I read in the paper
Or a conversation I overheard..
The she you're looking for
You'd have to confront
Ask her all the tough questions yourself.
I'm not there..
In the tattered old pages
Of the poetry book you love so much..
If you read enough
Maybe you'll get a glimpse of the girl
The fragile creature I use to be..
That innocent thing who believed
In magical things so easily..
She does make an appearance from time to time..
She was very sweet..
The me you seek, you may not find..
I hide even from myself from time to time..
I grow from day to day
Oops! You missed it,
I've already changed.
Now some things, those are constant..
But, they aren't found here
Where you look for me.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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cn U rd ths? Its nt gd nws...
The National Literacy Trust in Britain
did a survey and
- yes, you guessed -
57% read 'only a bit' or not at all
and 25% of the older ones said
they had no intention to
read any more than this
So what do they read when
they read?
Well, mags,
and websites
and txt msgs of course
and jokes,
and TV books and mags
and e-mails
and eighth on the list comes fiction
that's made-up stories, right?
right
then comix ninth
then newspapers well
they're just for people
who don't have TV and
don't mind waiting 12 hours
to read the news put that tenth
what's that? poetry?
sorry would you spell that
oh poetry nah
girls said, they read
to find out how other people live
and feel and
to help them understand
more about themselves
boys said, they read
because they have to and
because it helps them
get a job so
some old farts might say
put up a sign
civilisation's postponed until further notice
but it may all work out
well it'll have to
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Explaining poetry
How can I ever explain poetry?
To a child it would be easy
Eenie minee minee moe
Catch the monkey by the toe
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To get a pail of water
Is a poem easily understood by
A child
But to an adult
How can I ever explain poetry?
Can I explain it with a straight
Look in the eye
And I will tell him
Poetry Is looking a person straight in the eye
Yes you have only one more day to live?
Can I explain it to him
Like I have a gun and point it straight to his head
And say
Yes poetry kills and it kills you in a minute
And for free?
Or can I explain poetry to him
Like I am on the tenth floor of this building
And I tell him I am so problematic
And all I have to do is
Jump and kill myself
And he would be there
To tell me
Life is beautiful
There is reason to live
That I am loved
That many people still care
That I have a mission
That I have lots of good things to do
That this world has meaning
That I am the child of this universe
That I am no less than the trees and the stars and that by all means
I have the right to be here
That poetry can save
That poetry is one saving person holding one back to his senses
that poetry is hope, love, kindness
it has no word for hate
it does not kill
or enslave
or annihilate
Poetry is a decision
Not to jump.
That is poetry to me
And as an adult he must understand.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry Is
poetry is what the soul wants
poetry is infinite sound that taunts
poetry is strength of ones spirit
poetry is the powerful truth within it
poetry is love and hate
poetry is what makes you stop wait and appreciate
poetry is something you should die for
poetry is what makes you dropp to the floor
poetry is put up randomly
poetry is, well, simply poetry
poem by Daniel Romero
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Three
How can I ever explain poetry?
To a child it would be easy
Eenie minee minee moe
Catch the monkey by the toe
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To get a pail of water
Is a poem easily understood by
A child
But to an adult
How can I ever explain poetry?
Can I explain it with a straight
Look in the eye
And I will tell him
Poetry Is looking a person straight in the eye
Yes you have only one more day to live?
Can I explain it to him
Like I have a gun and point it straight to his head
And say
Yes poetry kills and it kills you in a minute
And for free?
Or can I explain poetry to him
Like I am on the tenth floor of this building
And I tell him I am so problematic
And all I have to do is
Jump and kill myself
And he would be there
To tell me
Life is beautiful
There is reason to live
That I am loved
That many people still care
That I have a mission
That I have lots of good things to do
That this world has meaning
That I am the child of this universe
That I am no less than the trees and the stars and that by all means
I have the right to be here
That poetry can save
That poetry is one saving person holding one back to his senses
that poetry is hope, love, kindness
it has no word for hate
it does not kill
or enslave
or annihilate
Poetry is a decision
Not to jump.
That is poetry to me
And as an adult he must understand
he must understand what i am really trying to say
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry Is All In One!
Passion for poetry is insatiable!
Poetry gives pleasure nothing can!
Poetry is many subjects under one roof!
Poetry never bores to write and read ever!
Poetry is a compression of many ideas in a nut shell!
Poetry displays power of pen to capture men ever!
Poetry captures as photo castles built in air!
Poetry is spontaneous over flow of ides!
Poetry flows free if extemporary!
Poetry is prolific words sure!
Poetry is a thing of joy!
Poetry is beauty!
Poetry is witty!
Poetry cheers!
poem by Ramesh T A
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I Read Today A Hundred Poems
I read today a hundred poems
And cannot find
A single one that moved me -
Perhaps it is not the poems
But my poetic soul
that has no life -
I remember a poem
I read yesterday by Neruda
How beautiful how deep
How filled with passion and longing-
How rich in surprise-
I marvel at the greatness
Of his Poetry of Love-
There is Poetry
One only has to read a true poet
To find it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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~ O' Poetry I Read I Write ~
~ O' POETRY I READ I WRITE ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
29 December,2009.
Poetry ~
I read I read I read
Without asking,
Knowing why?
Poetry ~
I write I write I write
Without asking,
Knowing why?
O' Poetry ~
Read n’ write
To share
Dare n’ bare,
Don’t care
Love to dye
By
Hi and fie.
.
O' Poetry ~
Life I buy
Never sell bye bye
All I’ll do until I die
Lo! I’m no hi-fi.
----
Copyright reserved by the author
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Early Morning With You Talking And Talking
regret, it is with deep regret that i tell you
that i regret sitting on this
computer chair
and facing the screen
and i am here writing for you
as you talk and talk
and talk and talk
like a quacking duck
oh Adam did not lay eggs,
or have the temerity to hatch them and so the chickens came first
how nice of you
regret that is all i feel now
i could have gone
out and take my walk
i could have read
the most wonderful poetry
of the trail
the line of green mahogany trees
blooming with their summer leaves
the sun finally coming out
with an array of clouds
and white herons
gliding and landing
on ricefields
and grasses creeping
and covering
the mud and the stones
indeed, it would have
been lovelier that way
and i should have
been happier
than simply sitting
and writing
and feeling
what poetry should
not be
this early morning
with you
what a hell!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is Mumbling This Is Rambling
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face. That is the best way to speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Silent Conversation With Myself
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face.
That is the best way to speak.
This is what is life is all about.
Speechless. Alone always.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's For Me
Poetry for me, is just like breathing
I inhale Life and exhale poems
It's for me - I do the writing
No matter, if ever, comments come.
As chosen words come out soothing
Release the pained and burdened heart
I find relief in simply writing
Touching others with what I impart.
But always the joy is within me
The reading by others may truly bless
I'm grateful they read my poetry
But the writing is my true happiness!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hills That Surround A City
There are hills that surround a city,
I do not know if everyone loves these hills as I do,
From a child to an adult, I traveled the roads of these hills,
Through all seasons these hills are inviting, to a city dweller,
There are hills that surround a city,
In summer these hills can be dangerous,
Bush fires, the enemy of all,
But a friend at times,
Trees and plants re-shoot after bush fires,
Foe to animals and residents,
Cool nights, bring summer breezes to these hills,
Autumn colours surround the hills,
And bring the city dweller to visit,
Colours line the ever winding roadways,
Magical colours along the roadways,
Breathtaking trees, so tall,
Falling leaves line the winding roadways,
Around the hills that surround a city,
Log fires creating smoke from chimneys, dot the landscapes,
During winter,
Winter rains flushes the creeks and rivers,
Throughout the hills that surround a city,
Frosts, fog create an old world atmosphere,
Don't forget your scarf, beanie's, or gloves,
It is cold in these hills,
Spring, the hills are coming alive,
Magical gardens, on display,
Watch for the colourful birds, that come alive,
There is still a chill in the air,
Grab a bit of sunshine, feel the warmth,
There is another world in these hills,
A historical world, for those who wish to visit,
The Adelaide hills surround the city,
Many abandon the city, for the day,
Or a weekend retreat,
The many winding roads amongst the Adelaide hills,
Will take you many places,
I have traveled these roads all my life,
Now I am finding many new roads to travel,
Around these hills that surround a city.
poem by Batibchar Mocculta
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Poetry Is Sexy
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
Poetry is sexy
Engaging in its tease
Poetry is sexy
It radiates with verb
Poetry is sexy
Every idyllic word
Poetry is sexy
Refined for purity
Poetry is sexy
Stripped of subtlety
Poetry is sexy
When read between the lines
Poetry is sexy
Laced with frilly rhymes
Poetry is sexy
Both singular and plural
Poetry is sexy
Every exclamatory swirl
Poetry is sexy
Grammatically raw
Poetry is sexy
Even typos and all
Poetry is sexy
Consummated publicly
Poetry is sexy
When performed properly
Poetry is sexy
Irrespective of its font
Poetry is sexy
Fashioned any way you want
poem by Brian Dorn
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My Fondest Dream
It has always been my desire,
To be alone amongst hundreds of trees, deer and
In solitude beneath the sun as it would shine through the trees in the woodlands,
Casting shadows upon the creek that meanders throughout-
I remember a story my mother used to read to me
When I was none but a child of three years old,
A story about living alone in a little cabin in the woods-
And to this day I believe that that story was written for me-
I can almost envision that cabin built from branches of fallen trees,
Where I would make my home,
Far from the millions of people in this world,
But not far at all from the deer, birds and all of nature-
It is my belief that there are different ways of being lonely.
Alone, far from threatening people who dwell amid this planet, as
When I am amongst these people, I am truly lonely and misunderstood,
While inside the place of my dreams I have escaped these billions of people,
Made a home in the cabin from my storybook, and
Am living amongst the wonders of nature and the world of my own thoughts-
Never alone, never lonely until I awaken and find myself
Rudely thrown back to reality-
Now I know that if I want to escape
What is true loneliness to me, all I have to do is to close my eyes and
To lose myself inside the world of my fondest dreams.
Standing beneath the shadows cast by the tallest trees,
Watching the deer running freely- and listening to the wild geese calling-
Looking upward toward the sky here at nightfall, I wish upon a star,
That my dream will someday come true- because
What I dream shall never harm me- and in my thoughts,
Being misapprehended by a multitude of strangers is
What loneliness truly can be? Being alone with my familiar thoughts,
Amongst the magic of nature is peace, happiness and never being lost-
And being the star of my childhood storybook-living in that cabin in the woods,
Perhaps alone there, but never lonely…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Sonnet: Live Usefully
Oh, how they sprout fast, flourish- trees in wild!
To generate tons of fruits, flow’rs and seeds;
And how their leaves and twigs fail to get piled!
Who knows what fauna uses them as feeds?
But ’tis not so with trees useful to men;
They grow less easily and by men’s sweats;
A lot gets wasted despite any fen;
The weary farmers live al life in debts.
Such is the case with bad and good men too;
The bad outnumber good ones manifold;
Yet, that’s the way the world goes, what to do?
But all must pass away, both young and old.
How usefully we live is what matters!
Sin should not turn soul’s fabric to tatters.
9-5-2002
poem by John Celes
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The Other Half
Over the hills, lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there is a way I know it
Over the hills
You can't bring all the gloom
Your heart is frayed and so empty
You glorify the future
Living in a different world than me
The journey ends in death
You are giving up so easily
You are the other half of me
Over the hills [4x]
We are drifting apart
Chilled to the marrow, cause you don't want to go
Cause we've got a different wish at heart
The amulet guides us to the other side
When I go down it's you who'll bleed
I'm not scared to die, as long as I'm with you
You are the other half of me
Over the hills, lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there's a way I know it
Over the hills
song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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