Absence
I keep myself occupied
by searching for a job
on the Internet,
writing stories and poems,
taking care and feeding the animals
and sometimes I carry things
to the garage and back
and measure instinctively
about every step
and wonder why
I still care so much for you,
read stories and poetry books
and try to learn
something from other writers.
There are white arum lilies
that grows wild at the river
and on strange places
I see flowers
as if life makes opportunities
for the outcasts
and there are simple things
that I keep me busy with
to try and forget
how empty and painful
your absence becomes
and when we are together
things sometimes get muddled,
but without you
it’s the darkest night.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Change Of Time!
A change of time changes everything in life!
Glorious poetry turned into prose for use earlier;
Stories, novels and articles ruled prominent;
With the coming of computer poetry resurrected!
Now everybody enjoys indulging in poetry for fun;
Articles, stories and novels are superseded by poetry!
Many poetry websites entertain new poets daily;
Many enjoy poetry reading and writing at anytime!
Poetry has become cheap product for all to use;
Nobody thought that such a thing could happen!
Nobody buys poetry books but novels and magazines;
Is poetry a use and throw material only in market now?
The things that cannot be expressed in stories, novels
Are done in poetry to satisfy heart, thought and spirit!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stories and dreams
Stories and dreams
~
Still writing stories and dreams
Into poetry the essence of life
Waiting to become written
Into a real memory
If every poem tells a tale
It becomes a step away from reality
A hope held, the fantasy
And all of it is beautiful
Even in the deepest tragedy
Sewn through verse to be spoken
In words carefully chose
Picked like flowers gently
Into the vase upon the page
Replacing dying laments
Picked so long ago
That even dreams forget
And so it goes on without end
Writing into the night
Stories and dreams all waiting
To become a real memory
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Christ Still Redeems
Short and abrupt they seem to be; almost miserable is what it seems,
Filled with discontent and a need, yet they go on with empty dreams.
Searching alone to fill their need, they fall into many evil schemes,
But look to your Eternal needs, and you’ll find Christ still redeems.
This life is filled with vanity, chasing dreams that just won’t be,
Pursuing dreams of vanity, your heart and life will remain empty.
But Christ came that we may have life, and have it more abundantly,
Yes He gives you life abundantly, step out in faith and you will see.
God knows your needs, it is true, and it doesn’t matter what you do,
Seek first God’s Kingdom and all of your needs will be given to you,
Once you’re in Christ old things fade, and He makes all things new,
He’s coming back to take you to a new place He’s prepared for you.
Many are walking the empty and deceptive road of self gratification,
Although satisfied for a time, they will face eternal condemnation.
There is another road to select, with a sure everlasting foundation,
This road is free of man’s deception and it leads to God’s Salvation.
Busy at life taking care of needs, I didn’t need God, so it seemed,
But life can be quite empty indeed, trying to be one who’s esteemed.
Now that I’m saved and doing God’s deeds, never once had I dreamed,
That I would be attempting to lead you to be one of God’s Redeemed.
Things at A Time Were Simple
Things at a time were simple, small things are full of danger
everywhere I walk into your things, as if you are here
while time passes much too slowly,
your things fill the whole garage
and I wonder when a relationship ends?
Outside children ride past on bicycles and life goes on
and everything feels muddled,
when the church bell in the distance rings off the time,
things at a time were simple.
How our relationship ended is disputable
but it remains a fact that I have got to accept,
I am wet with sweat while I am hitting of a tennis ball,
standing ready for the next one,
almost staring at the women with the short skirt,
things at a time were simple.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Strange Things
I was on top of the world
It was right in my pocket
I was livin' the life
Things were just the way they should be
When from out of the sky like a bomb comes some little punk in a rocket
Now all of a sudden some strange things are happenin' to me
I had friends,
I had lots of friends
Now all my friends are gone
And I'm doin' the best I can to carry on
I had power (power)
I was respected (respect)
But not any more
And I've lost the love to the one whom I adored
Let me tell you about the strange things are happenin' to me
Strange things
Strange things are happenin' to me...
Ain't no doubt about it
You got someone you think you know well
It turns out a stranger
The minute you turn your back
You're in it all by yourself
They laugh at your jokes
You think you're doin' well
But you're in danger, boy
You end up alone, forgotten, way up on the shelf
Strange things are happenin' to me
Strange things
Strange things are happenin' to me
Ain't no doubt about it
Strange things are happenin' to me
Strange things
Strange things are happenin' to me
Strange things
Strange things
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Romance Of A Book
Reading a book, you're hit by romance,
No matter the subject matter,
You can read and read,
And every book is different,
Some stories are more pleasant than others,
While some are funny, but most are serious,
For the romance of a book,
Is in everyone's heart,
No matter their age or height,
Whether male or female:
It is all relative and I devour,
Each and every book,
I can read the classics,
Or even a heart-warming romance,
I just get through so many books,
I love every storyline,
Not so much the gory parts,
But the cleverness of the fictional detectives,
And those rock stars that roam the stage,
For a book is something that will never age,
No matter how many years on the shelf,
And stories can be shared with everyone else,
Yet everyone has their own views,
And books can be lifting when they're feeling blue,
For people have been reading fiction for centuries,
But, of course, not all books are fictional:
There're the historical books, interesting,
Even if a reader is just passing through,
And we can all learn something from the history books,
And let's not forget the autobiographies:
Many a man and woman fascinating,
Having lead unique lives and having had special loves,
And there is a romance to these people,
For they walked the same earth as everyone else,
Yet brought something strange and special to the world,
Like a scientist making a new discovery,
Or a rock star penning a hit song,
And all these things are which make books belong,
I haven't met anyone yet who finds books boring,
Because books are not boring: they are fascinating,
Unique, special, strange, romantic and enjoyable,
And every reader's dream: like hitting 'play' on a record,
For this is the romance of a book.
poem by Paula Glynn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Faculty
Sometimes it seems so hard to work out the words,
and then again it seems not hard at all. Just write,
is as simple as that. There are times i can't seem to
work the words, other times the words come up
bubbling in my head with character and meaning.
At times i feel challenged by other writers, and i
begging to doubt my ability to work the words,
i simple read another writer and then i know i have
nothing to be worry about. I understand then that my
contest is with myself and not with other writers.
We all think about the same things, because once
in our life’s we all go through the same situations.
We all have the brain to create anything in our heads.
There’s nothing that i can't do if i focus and if i
don't focus; “you see” this word- focus is meaningful
in some ways, we need the focus, but in poetry we
need more the fantasy in our thoughts, the meaning
to our words, focusing can be important, but if your
head is not in the mood, there’s not going to be any
words bubbling up, even though you don’t need it so
much, because you can create a poem out of anything.
There’s one thing about writing, and reading poetry,
understanding the meaning behind the words.
Every word or phrase has a meaning behind, this is
where readers need to understand; for example-if i'm
drinking away my sorrows, it can mean, crying my
heart out, it can mean, i need to forget, it can mean,
a big hangover, it can mean, sleeping out in the porch,
it can mean, forgetting all you did last night; how many
things out of a phrase. Right know I would just like
to be in my cabin and sit right in front of the fire-place
with a bottle of wine and enjoy my pastoral life while
i write, amazing things.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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An Internet Culture!
It unites people,
Creates friendships
And develops love!
It makes publication of
Articles, short stories,
Novels and poems
Easier than before!
It makes impossible things possible
And makes talents never go waste in life!
Internet culture has made the big world
Into small village within the palm of man!
The development of this culture
Will make life better than before!
poem by Ramesh T A
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Mary's In India
Danny is lonely
Cause Mary's in India now
She said she'd call but that was three weeks ago
She left all her things well, her books and her letters from him
But as the sun rises on Mary, it sets on him
And just dance, and just drink
And just see the things I'll probably never get a chance to see
Danny's not eating, he's drinking and sleeping in
I saw him last night at a party, he's definitely thin
He says he's happy, looked pretty good
But I think
That as the sun rises on Mary, it sets on him
And just dance, and just drink
And just see the things I'll probably never get a chance to see
Danny came over last night and I cooked for him
He talked about you Mary and how much we loved you still
He told me he's packed up your books and your letters and things
But as the sun sets on Mary, it's rising on him
And we danced, and we drank
And I've seen some things you probably never got a chance to see
Don't worry, Mary
Cause I'm taking care of Danny
And he's taking care of me
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If I may say
Love comes and goes and it rarely lasts these days
That's one of the things that makes me sad if I may say
It becomes more and more difficult to find a true friend these days
That's one of the things that makes me sad if I may say
Too often siblings fight each other for property these days
That's one of the things that makes me sad if I may say
Greed and desire are what many people nurture these days
That's one of the things that makes me sad if I may say
Moral and ethic less and less people care these days
That's one of the things that makes me sad if I may say
Too many dubious actions and decisions I have seen these days
That's one of the things that makes me sad if I may say
With paper-white mind and evil thoughts astray
How much I yearn for my childhood life left behind so far away.
poem by Henry Chen
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All for Myself
Today I am doing everything for myself.
I am feeding the stray birds and animals
Giving alms to the stretched hands on my door
Watering the sun-perched plants and saplings
Helping the blind man to cross to the other side
Picking up things from ground for her
Plucking flowers for her dark scented hair
Offering the seat in the bus to the old man
Acting friendly with all at office and home
Teaching a child to learn alphabets
Pointing at the constellations in the night sky
Telling her stories at dinner and wishing sweet dreams…
So much I have done for others,
And so much more for myself!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Francis Duggan- Poet Extreme (dedication)
Francis Duggan- so much to say
the best on the internet in every way
the poems that you read put you on a quest
and when you think that this one is the best
then you start to read the rest.
he can take you to oceans, and rivers far away
but in your house- 'you will not stay'.
he will take you to the tops of the mountains
and down into the valleys
and even introduce you to the town girl sally.
he knows so many people by first name
to remember them all
to him is a game.
he can tell you about the drunks in the streets
and everyone else you care to meet.
it is not that he is a busybody
who wants to know your life.
(but i think he's been there once or twice) ha-ha
but! he is easy to talk to everyone knows
and of his knowledge they wish to expose.
but! i think he is known best on the internet
for all the poetry he has put on line (close to 8000)
for his poetry is one of a kind.
so Francis Duggan, i return the praise
for the journeys you take me is just a phase.
a phase that i don't care to end
for in you i found a friend.
GOD BLESS
poem by Louis Rams
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Leech
Written by max collins and jon siebels
Tell those stories to me
Im dying to hear the things youve done and seen
Farfetched as they may be
You strike a smile in me
Your stories ring of perjury
Construted with self empowering theme
Suckin on my brain youre the teacher Im the student
Turning things around your storys not congruent
Tabloid decoys pitiful excuses
Turning things around
Youre turning things around
A manic stunning scene
Im taking notes your taking me away into your false realtiy
I know your comfort lies in lying to try to make your life make sense
But youre not making sense
Id say it aloud but Im not aloud
I see your head spin round and round
Broken record talk tonight
Skip that needle back and fourth on your mind wearing out unconvincing lies
Like a seedling dropped from an old oak tree
Your shade dont hide no sun from me
Fake stories humor me
Its graduation time
I love you like a mother
song performed by by Eve 6
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unstable
A world war is in progress and,
The end of the world is at hand;
But like the ox that eats grass,
Let your life show others the way.
To be known and to be repected,
To learn and to share with others;
I will come to you like a thief in the night,
So be ready to receive your reward as well.
Love to the brotherhood,
Love to the sisterhood,
Love to the fatherhood,
Love to the motherhood,
And by the way of remembrance;
But those who are unclean and unstable will twist the law.
This is my first letter to you and you have to learn,
This is my first love to you and you have to care,
For a dog always returns to its own vomit.
This is my second letter to you,
Like a washed snow in the field of love;
But the unstable will always twist the law.
This is my third letter to you,
For faith always goes with works;
And you have to do your best on this love.
Of the things which we have heard,
Of the things which we have to share,
Of the things which we have to read,
Of the things which we have to laern,
Of the things which we have to say,
Of the things which we have to write,
Of the things we have built,
And of the things we have seen;
Do not allow that which is evil to be your friend.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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