It May Happen
as though it doesn't matter what is real
" . . . something almost . . . with asking."
—Brenda Hillman
According to their signs we're in the country
Far off things are being put on the record
Where it may not matter to anyone
If the shadows hide themselves behind rain
The canal opening below the sky
Daytime moving in swirls the painted colors
Or the idea wind sometimes stops and starts
What we might more properly call nostalgia
If we wanted to we could follow later
Without giving up his place in the world
A color postcard folded in our pockets
The light informing us it's afternoon
When what we feel is we remember feeling
Not long ago it was the time before
poem by G.E. Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
What is the Color of love?
Written by: Wilfred C. Mellers Monday, February 12,2007
I have dated different people before and the one thing that I have found out is that we all want the same thing. To love and be loved, to be understood and appreciated, to be valued as a human being, and to be respected as a couple.
It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from.
What matters the most is what is on the inside.
Trust doesn’t come with a color
Honesty doesn’t come with a color
Commitment doesn’t come with a color
Hope doesn’t come with a color
Sharing doesn’t come with a color
Faith doesn’t come with a color
Sacrifice doesn’t come with a color
Wanting doesn’t come with a color
Despair and loneliness doesn’t come with a color
Unfaithfulness doesn’t come with a color
Longevity doesn’t come with a color
Caring doesn’t come with a color
Wanting to be with someone doesn’t come with a color
Spending your life with someone doesn’t come with a color
Giving oneself doesn’t come with a color
Sharing values doesn’t come with a color
If all these things don’t come with a color, then why do we look at the superficial than the substance of love? It doesn’t matter who you are with but that you are with someone that loves and cares for you. That someone that will be there for you in your darkest hour of need is what that is important. We train our kids to look at the differences that we have than look at the content of ones character. We all belong to the human family and this is what makes us the same. We are all like flowers blooming in a great garden we call earth. We come in many different colors, shades, and styles. What makes us different is what makes us the same. A bee doesn’t care about the color of the flower only that the nectar is sweet.
You my friend are sweet nectar that blooms only for awhile just to disappear till time again to bloom. Cherish the differences that make us all human. A color is nothing more than just that; a color.
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Goodbye Mine M.j.
A "Stranger in Moscow" told me that you've gone!
But is it true that you've gone my M.J.?
And with tears in my eyes I say goodbye my M.J.
You who feeds the eyes and the ears
And has graced our African soil
But why did you have to go, you "Smooth criminal"
When you know "They don't care about us"
Tell me, who will "Heal the world"?
Who will make it a better place for us?
Who will give to the poor once and again to their necessity?
Who will be there for them in their anguish and pain?
O', know you not that admired you are of those that hate you most
And did you have to go; or where you too lonely?
But you said "We're the world" that "You are not alone"
Then why did you have to go? And did you leave another "Thriller"
If no, then why choose to be "The man in the mirror"
Thus dirge and elegy now met in my heart. Why?
"Do you remember the time" we first met in my dream
And "The way you make me feel" with your "Childhood"?
Oh king of pop, my M.J., "I want you back"
And you "Got to be there" for me on my birthday
To sing me your song, "Don't stop till you get enough"
While "Rockin Robin and Ben" "Off the wall" till they "Scream"
For your love is magical because you're angelica
You are so wonderful because you're beautiful
You are indispensable because you're irreplaceable
And now I see the "Liberian girl" cry because you're "Speechless"
And upon our bodies the nighted color of mourning you. Why?
Alas death! Why taketh him away when all that look on him yet not satisfied?
O', let not the world lose another "Michael Jackson".
Michael I love you "Yesterday, today and forever."
May the spirit light your way
Through the land of the shadow
To the halls of eternal peace. Amen.
In the cabinet of my imagination, in the treasury of my reason, in the registry of my conscience, and in the council chamber of my thought, there shall you live forever.
I LOVE YOU MINE M.J.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Revolt In The Ranks
I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half
handicapping tomorrow's
card.
when am I going to get at the poems?
well, they'll just have to wait
they'll have to warm their feet in the
anteroom
where they'll sit gossiping about
me.
"this Chinaski, doesn't he realize that
without us he would have long ago
gone mad, been dead?"
"he knows, but he thinks he can keep
us at his beck and call!"
"he's an ingrate!"
"let's give him writer's block!"
"yeah!"
"yeah!& quot;
"yeah!"
the little poems kick up their heels
and laugh.
then the biggest one gets up and
walks toward the door.
"hey, where are you going?" he is
asked.
"somewhere where I am
appreciated."
then, he
and the others
vanish.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Slight Ripple, The Mind Perceives The Heart
In the slight ripple, the fishes dart
Like fingers, centrifugal, like wishes
Wanton. And pleasures rise
as the eyes fall
Through the lucid water. The small pebble,
The clear clay bottom, the white shell
Are apparent, though superficial.
Who would ask more of the August afternoon?
Who would dig mines and follow shadows?
"I would," answers bored Heart, "Lounger, rise"
(Underlip trembling, face white with stony anger),
"The old error, the thought of sitting still,
"The senses drinking, by the summer river,
"On the tended lawn, below the traffic,
"As if time would pause,
and afternoon stay.
"No, night comes soon,
"With its cold mountains, with desolation,
unless Love build its city."
poem by Delmore Schwartz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hide and Seek
All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still,
All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill;
Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June,
Hark, a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune.
"Hide and seek!
"When I speak,
"You must answer me:
"Call again,
"Merry men,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"
Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass:
Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass?
Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns,
Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns.
"Hold him fast,
"Caught at last!
"Now you're it, you see.
"Hide your eye,
"Till I cry,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"
II
Long ago he left me, long and long ago:
Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low;
Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,--
Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face.
Far away,
Many a day,
Where can Barney be?
Answer, dear,
Don't you hear?
Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!
Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy,
Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy.
Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh;
Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die.
Heart, be glad,
The little lad
Will call some day to thee:
"Father dear,
"Heaven is here,
"Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!"
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Captain's Last Words
Where the foremost flag was flying,
Pierce'd by manny a shot and shell,
Where the bravest men were dying,
There our gallant captain fell.
"Boys! you follow now another;
Follow till the foe shall yield;"
Then he whisper'd, "Tell my mother
Stephen died upon the field."
"Mother!"
"Moth er!"
"Stephen died upon the field."
Through the battle they bore him,
But his words were growing wild;
Heeding not the scenes before him,
Stephen was once more a child.
"Ah, she comes! there is no other
Speaks my name with such a joy;
Press me to your bosom, mother,
Call my still your darling joy."
"Mother!"
"Mother !"
"Call my still your darling joy."
Men who were not used to weeping,
Turn'd aside to hide a tear,
When they saw the pallor creeping,
That assured them death was near.
Kindly as he were a brother,
Strangers caught his parting breath,
Laden with the mumur "mother"
Last upon his lips in death.
"Mother!"
"Mother!&qu ot;
Last upon his lips in death.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Egg-Shell
The wind took off with the sunset--
The fog came up with the tide,
When the Witch of the North took an Egg-shell
With a little Blue Devil inside.
"Sink," she said, "or swim," she said,
"It's all you will get from me.
And that is the finish of him!" she said
And the Egg-shell went to sea.
The wind fell dead with the midnight--
The fog shut down like a sheet,
When the Witch of the North heard the Egg-shell
Feeling by hand for a fleet.
"Get!" she said, "or you're gone," she said.,
But the little Blue Devil said "No!
"The sights are just coming on," he said,
And he let the Whitehead go.
The wind got up with the morning--
The fog blew off with the rain,
When the Witch of the North saw the Egg-shell
And the little Blue Devil again.
"Did you swim?" she said. "Did you sink?" she said,
And the little Blue Devil replied:
"For myself I swam, but I think," he said,
"There's somebody sinking outside."
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
John Evereldown
"Where are you going to-night, to-night, --
Where are you going, John Evereldown?
There's never the sign of a star in sight,
Nor a lamp that's nearer than Tilbury Town.
Why do you stare as a dead man might?
Where are you pointing away from the light?
And where are you going to-night, to-night, --
Where are you going, John Evereldown?"
"Right through the forest, where none can see,
There's where I'm going, to Tilbury Town.
The men are asleep, -- or awake, may be, --
But the women are calling John Evereldown.
Ever and ever they call for me,
And while they call can a man be free?
So right through the forest, where none can see,
There's where I'm going, to Tilbury Town."
"But why are you going so late, so late, --
Why are you going, John Evereldown?
Though the road be smooth and the path be straight,
There are two long leagues to Tilbury Town.
Come in by the fire, old man, and wait!
Why do you chatter out there by the gate?
And why are you going so late, so late, --
Why are you going, John Evereldown?"
"I follow the women wherever they call, --
That's why I'm going to Tilbury Town.
God knows if I pray to be done with it all,
But God is no friend to John Evereldown.
So the clouds may come and the rain may fall,
The shadows may creep and the dead men crawl, --
But I follow the women wherever they call,
And that's why I'm going to Tilbury Town."
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wilful Missing
(Deserters)
There is a world outside the one you know,
To which for curiousness 'Ell can't compare--
It is the place where "wilful-missings" go,
As we can testify, for we are there.
You may 'ave read a bullet laid us low,
That we was gathered in "with reverent care"
And buried proper. But it was not so,
As we can testify --for we are there!
They can't be certain--faces alter so
After the old aasvogel 'ad 'is share.
The uniform's the mark by which they go--
And--ain't it odd?--the one we best can spare.
We might 'ave seen our chance to cut the show--
Name, number, record, an 'begin elsewhere--
Leaven'' some not too late-lamented foe
One funeral-private-British-for 'is share.
We may 'ave took it yonder in the Low
Bush-veldt that sends men stragglin' 'unaware
Among the Kaffirs, till their columns go,
An 'they are left past call or count or care.
We might 'ave been your lovers long ago,
'Usbands or children--comfort or despair.
Our death (an' burial) settles all we owe,
An' why we done it is our own affair.
Marry again, and we will not say no,
Nor come to barstardise the kids you bear.
Wait on in 'ope--you've all your life below
Before you'll ever 'ear us on the stair.
There is no need to give our reasons, though
Gawd knows we all 'ad reasons which were fair;
But other people might not judge 'em so--
And now it doesn't matter what they were.
What man can weigh or size another's woe:
There are some things too bitter 'ard to bear.
Suffice it we 'ave finished--Domino!
As we can testify, for we are there,
In the side-world where "wilful-missings " go.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
September 1961
This is the year the old ones,
the old great ones
leave us alone on the road.
The road leads to the sea.
We have the words in our pockets,
obscure directions. The old ones
have taken away the light of their presence,
we see it moving away over a hill
off to one side.
They are not dying,
they are withdrawn
into a painful privacy
learning to live without words.
E. P. "It looks like dying"-Williams: "I can't
describe to you what has been
happening to me"-
H. D. "unable to speak."
The darkness
twists itself in the wind, the stars
are small, the horizon
ringed with confused urban light-haze.
They have told us
the road leads to the sea,
and given
the language into our hands.
We hear
our footsteps each time a truck
has dazzled past us and gone
leaving us new silence.
Ine can't reach
the sea on this endless
road to the sea unless
one turns aside at the end, it seems,
follows
the owl that silently glides above it
aslant, back and forth,
and away into deep woods.
But for usthe road
unfurls itself, we count the
words in our pockets, we wonder
how it will be without them, we don't
stop walking, we know
there is far to go, sometimes
we think the night wind carries
a smell of the sea...
poem by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like a little pot of gold
Kneeling; I pointed out to my child,
Who really as yet doesn't speak?
Look" I said: the sky is wild,
And grey. Look" at its cheek"
Look" deep! The sky has many-a-ray
Many more colors registering,
Here today?
...Retuning...
...With one arm, waving...
He said: eh, err, eh, err, daddy...
He said: eh, err, eh, err, color, daddy...
Like a little pot of gold,
At the end of a rainbow
Wasn't that all... he said?
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Shag
"What is that great bird, sister, tell me,
Perched high on the top of the crag?"
"'T is the cormorant, dear little brother;
The fishermen call it the shag."
"But what does it there, sister, tell me,
Sitting lonely against the black sky?"
"It has settled to rest, little brother;
It hears the wild gale wailing high."
"But I am afraid of it, sister,
For over the sea and the land
It gazes, so black and so silent!"
"Little brother, hold fast to my hand."
"Oh, what was that, sister? The thunder?
Did the shag bring the storm and the cloud,
The wind and the rain and the lightning?"
"Little brother, the thunder roars loud.
"Run fast, for the rain sweeps the ocean;
Look! over the light-house it streams;
And the lightning leaps red, and above us
The gulls fill the air with their screams."
O'er the beach, o'er the rocks, running swiftly,
The little white cottage they gain;
And safely they watch from the window
The dance and the rush of the rain.
But the shag kept his place on the headland,
And when the brief storm had gone by,
He shook his loose plumes, and they saw him
Rise splendid and strong in the sky.
Clinging fast to the gown of his sister,
The little boy laughed as he flew;
"He is gone with the wind and the lightning!
And -- I am not frightened, -- are you?"
poem by Celia Thaxter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At Lulworth Cove a Century Back
Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:
"You see that man?" -- I might have looked, and said,
"O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban's Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought."
"You see that man?" -- "Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do."
"You see that man?" -- "Nay, leave me!" then I plead,
"I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!"
"Good. That man goes to Rome -- to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie."
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Gentle Hour's Nightmare
As I lay my head,
to sleeps comfort bed
The light bringer visits
A gentle hour's nightmare
Beautiful, Friday the thirteenth
Only in my dreams
Nightmare or reality?
Feeling like a night on Elms Street,
Eyes open yet no signs waking up
Clock stops
Noisy sounds, silent
Pins dropping,3am
The numbers triple six pop
Crowded figures suddenly appear
One in particular follows,
Like a shadow of mine
Every step mimicked
Movement to movement,
Could this be mine?
Many whispers
Only one whisperer.
Music begins to play
Another whisper,
An offer, "dance with me"
Sway with me"
Upon my refusal,
to shadows request
The clock starts to tick
Finally. I'm awake.
poem by Kelvin Owusu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant
—he's a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar
he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business
first time I met him, he said,
"hey! ya gonna make a
killin'?"
"maybe," I answered.
next meeting it was:
"hey, Ramrod! what's
happening?"
"very little," I told
him.
next time I had my girlfriend with me
and he just
grinned.
next time I was
alone.
"hey," he asked, "where's the young
chick?"
"I left her at home...."
"Bullshit! I'll bet she dumped
you!"
and the next time
he really leaned into the car:
"what's a guy like you doing driving a
BMW! I'll bet you inherited your
money, you didn't get this car with your
brains!"
"how'd you guess?" I
answered.
that was some weeks ago.
I haven't seen him lately.
feIlow like that, chances are he just moved on
to better
things.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dress-Maker
A CLOISTERED nun had a lover
Dwelling in the neighb'ring town;
Both racked their brains to discover
How they best their love might crown.
The swain to pass the convent-door!--
No easy matter!--Thus they swore,
And wished it light.--I ne'er knew a nun
In such a pass to be outdone:--
In woman's clothes the youth must dress,
And gain admission. I confess
The ruse has oft been tried before,
But it succeeded as of yore.
Together in a close barred cell
The lovers were, and sewed all day,
Nor heeded how time flew away.--
"What's that I hear? Refection bell!
"'Tis time to part. Adieu!--Farewell!--
"How's this?" exclaimed the abbess, "why
"The last at table?"--"Madam, I
"Have had my dress-maker."--"The rent
"On which you've both been so intent
"Is hard to stop, for the whole day
"To sew and mend, you made her stay;
"Much work indeed you've had to do!
"--Madam, 't would last the whole night through,
"When in our task we find enjoyment
"There is no end of the employment."
poem by La Fontaine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet LIX: As Love and I
As Love and I, late harbor'd in one inn,
With proverbs thus each other entertain:
"In Love there is no lack," thus I begin;
"Fair words make fools," replieth he again;
"Who spares to speak doth spare to speed," quoth I;
"As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow";
"Fortune assists the boldest," I reply;
"A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe";
"Labor is light where Love," quoth I, "doth pay";
Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far borne";
Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the bye away";
"You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn.
And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.
poem by Michael Drayton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It Really Doesn't Matter
You say your ugly, i say it doesn't matter.
You say you have a dark past,
i say it doesn't matter.
You say theirs overwhelming responsibility,
i say it doesn't matter.
I don't believe in walking away when things get hard.
In fact they are my spark to continue my march.
Through thick and thin where to begin.
You say you don't have a way.
I say it doesn't matter.
You say that you cant give back what you would like.
I say it doesn't matter.
You say, you say oh it really doesn't matter,
I live one day at a time.
Choices will be made that will save the day
but hurt me financially.
It doesn't matter Choice will be made
that will set me back in my expectations.
It doesn't matter,
It really doesn't matter.
Its well worth it.
To see the beauty that
you have placed before me.
Oh how its worth it.
To settle down and not be looking to be found.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!