From birth my father taught me
From birth my father taught me to trust in God,
to distinguish between both good and bad,
doubts to remove and to hunt for what is good,
to be far greater than what is in the human cell
and to hold on to truth, past life and death
but passion for poetry was on his very breath.
poem by Gert Strydom
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What Does Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a poem
Good poetry is a rhapsody
That makes my spirit roam
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from an ode
Good poetry is the world to me
It is the mother lode
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a verse
Good poetry makes my soul soar free
And lifts the darkest curse
What does poetry mean to me
A sorry sonofabitch
Good poetry grabs me by the balls
And makes my life seem rich
What does poetry mean to me
An ageing U3Aer
Good poetry takes me back to youth
To when I was a player
What does poetry mean to me
A frustrated would-be bard
Good poetry trips not off my pen
It’s far too blooming hard
A Saying We Hear Often
A saying we hear often like father like son
It is only human when all is said and done
That the boy models himself on the behaviour of dad
More often than not for the good than the bad.
Though few so few ever grow into a sage
Good values by people learned at a young age
In behaviour the son the dad does imitate
One might say from life we get what we create.
The son mostly models himself on the father what more proof does one need
That by good or bad example one only can lead
Though on some occasions this has been proved wrong
The bond between father and son mostly strong.
I'm not into human psychology so don't ask me why
Like father like son in most cases apply
Without a good father the child in life may not succeed
Good role models in their life every young person need.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Doubts (About Myself)
No matter what people say?
I am good at what I do
I still have my doubts
Of whom they say I am
It drives me so crazy
To hear the positive
And the good
I keep asking myself
Am I really that good?
Am I worthy to be here?
Am I really any good?
I know it sounds so silly
Thinking negative
In what I do
But when I read others
Poetry and stanzas
I know this to be true
Their poetry so damn good
Am I worthy to be here?
Am I any good?
poem by Kaila George
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God Will Be Good To You
The Lord my God is good to me, open your eyes and you will see,
And the Lord shall be good to you, if you would only allow Him to.
God had died for both of us, and is waiting for you to in Him trust,
Trust in the Savior Jesus Christ, and God will give to you new life.
Friend, new life in God’s Son, is freely available today to everyone,
Your trust, is all He asks of you, for a new life with Christ to ensue,
And God will supply all you need, if His Truth you would only heed,
The Truth set forth from Calvary, of Grace provided to you and me.
What does one have to lose, by embracing the Lord’s Good News?
The news sent to all by Grace, not for some, but for all to embrace.
The only thing we need to do, is accept God’s Gift, to me and you,
A Gift from Him, prompted by love, sent to all from Heaven above.
God is good to all who come, into a saving knowledge of His Son,
For they become part of His Family, not for a time, but for Eternity.
If you treat your family good, don’t you believe The Father would?
Caring for believers in many ways, as we live out our earthly days.
God truly cares for all His own, as Christ prepares an eternal home,
Prepared for all those who believe, as the Gospel they just receive.
You will see, no limits for Christ, or the good He pours on your life,
And all the good He starts you’ll see, continues on through eternity.
(Copyright ©06/2008)
There Is Another Poetry
THERE IS ANOTHER POETRY
There is another Poetry-
A poetry of inspiration
A poetry of help
A poetry of encouragement
A poetry of courage and heart
A poetry of love of life
Which teaches greater love of life.
There is another poetry
A poetry I would write
But the poetry I largely live in
Is complaint and question and fear and doubt
And trouble and sadness-
Oh why can’t I give some greater goodness to others
Than I am myself in my soul?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Angels Would Fall
The rope that's wrapped around me
Is cutting through my skin
And the doubts that have surrounded me
Are finding their way in
I keep it close to me
Like a holy man prays
In my desperate hour
It's better that way
So I'll come by and see you again
I'll be such a very good friend
Have mercy on my soul
I will never let you know
Where my mind has been
Angels never came down
There's no one here they want to hang around
But if they knew
If they knew you at all
Then one by one the angels
Angels would fall
I've crept into your temple
I have slept upon your pew
I've dreamed of the divinity
Inside and out of you
I want it more than truth
I can taste it on my breath
I would give my life just for a little death
So I'll come by and see you again
I'll be just a very good friend
I will not look upon your face
I will not touch upon your grace
Your ecclesiastic skin
I'll come by and see you again
I'll have to be a very good friend
If I whisper they will know
I'll just turn around and go
You will never know my sin
song performed by by Melissa Etheridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Spirit of Rumi - 15
To My Beloved I said
O My Beloved,
tell me of Yourself;
I yearn to know
My Beloved said
O my dearest one,
tell me, rather, of yourself;
for only in knowing yourself
and knowing what you do not know
may you know Myself
to My Beloved I said
I breathe; and yet
I was never taught to breathe.
I breathe perfectly;
who taught me then, to breathe?
In the light of the Sun,
I see all that may be seen;
who taught my eyes to see?
who taught the Sun to shine?
With my breath,
with my eyes,
I see love, breathe love in my heart;
who put it there?
Every day, I eat,
every day I need to eat;
every day there is some food;
who makes earth into bread?
Every day I make mistakes,
yet every day I live again;
my children I forgive their mistakes;
who will teach me my mistakes,
who will forgive me my mistakes?
Every day I find my world the greater,
every day my powers are greater;
every day the world’s glory is greater;
who made these boundaries to be boundless?
Every day, I think of death;
every day, I am alive;
every day, I seek the truth;
who joins these three, and who divides?
my Beloved said to me
In your questions, love.
In the answer, love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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For Death
Death is
Not a danger...
Death is
Good silince...
Death is
Not a fear...
Death is peace...
Death is
Not for cry...
Death is
Only at happy..
Death is
Not distup for
All... all...
why...!
Death is
Simply with out
Breath...
For others
Not for relatons
And dead body's...
At same time
Death is one of
Birth...
O...soory for sins...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Tell A Lie
Tell a lie against a liar
As it will put him on the pyre
And add to it some good butter
This will make him a good food of the fire.
Thousand lies can not make a truth
But the truth can die a gruesome death
So I must have to tell a lie to save the truth
Lies are like salt and pepper to the wound
And lies can bread fast without any ground
The inflicted wound of the truth getting sour
And the life of the truth becomes too bitter
So it is better to tell a lie against a lie
Though I know it will not make a truth but makes the lie die
The lie can not go scot-free and be allowed freely to multiply.
So the liar must be checkmated by a lie and stunned his growth
As it will strangulate him and he will be out of breath to death.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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5. Death
He knocks
At the door of Death
Untiringly,
As the one question knocks
Persistently the walls of his living heart.
Death reveals Himself, seven suns later.
Death lives not in Hell, nor Heaven
Nor amid reeking carcass, nor amid purging souls.
No, Death embellishes the throne of his own Empire,
The King of Liberation and the Liberated.
Death is a kindly demigod, radiant and young.
His tongue speaks naught but the truest of the Truth.
Death smiles at the visitor, a human
Clothed in earthliness-a mortal.
The Human bows, and asks
“All conquering, all pervading Lord Death,
I seek answers!
What is Life? ”
“A choice between Good and Comfort.
All that is Good may not be a comfort,
And all Comfort, not always good.
Choose wisely, bravely and
You shall then have lived a life.”
“Then what is Death, What are You? ”
Death laughs.
“A reversal of Life?
The End of all creation?
A New Beginning?
Darkness and Destruction?
What are You, then? ”
Persists his persistence.
Death laughs again.
“I am Change.
I change all that is mortal.
That which is immortal, I cannot touch.
I take the body, the senses, the mind and the intellect
But the Indestructible within all this,
I cannot touch! ”
The mortal bows, his questions answered.
He bows and turns to leave.
But as he turns, one more question tumbles out:
“Can Death be conquered? ”
Death laughes yet again, and says,
“Conquer birth and you conquer Death.”
And closes the door.
poem by Krishnarasa Seshadri
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It screams your name
I doubt my future
I also doubt everything that's good
or good for me
I second guess everything into nonexsistance
I stand strng next to you
But I tremble with the thought of love
I don't trust my heart
I trust evil and doubt, because I know it can't get any worse
My days grow longer while my nights shorten
My excuse is that I don't feel
It's that I feel too much
My impossible emotions keep me gaurded
Preventing good and happiness from entering my life
In my mind I know your good
My heart knows the same
Yet I can't ever trust my heart,
Even though it screams your name
poem by Infinity Poetry
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One
[Track 13...9mins, 52sec.]
I can't remember anything
Can't tell if this is true or dream
Deep down inside I feel the scream
This terrible silence stops me
Now that the war is through with me
I'm waking up, I can not see
That there's not much left of me
Nothing's real but pain now
Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh please God, wake me
Back in the womb it's much too real
In pumps life that I must feel
But can't look forward to reveal
Look to the time when I'll live
Fed through the tube that sticks in me
Just like a wartime novelty
Tied to machines that make me be
Cut this life off from me
Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh please God, wake me
Now the world is gone I'm just one
Oh please help me
Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh please God, help me
Darkness
Imprisoning me
All that I see
Absolute horror
I cannot live
I cannot die
Trapped in myself
Body my holding cell
(Get 'em up! Get 'em up!)
Landmine
Has taken my sight
Taken my speech
Taken my hearing
Taken my arms
Taken my legs
Taken my soul
Left me with a life in Hell
song performed by by Korn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dying Concerto
~This is a poem about the Holocaust~
Imagine it- the last, sad song of a violin and violinist pair.
Believe it- the dead's melancholy grin.
Trust it- we know the reasons why-
Access Denied!
We’re all walking,
To a single song,
A song a lifetime away from birth,
The Dying Concerto,
Write in-between the lines! !
One must die for the other to live,
Greater good, greater good,
One must live or we all will die.
We all walk,
To a single song,
A song a lifetime away from birth,
The Dying Concerto,
God left with it too.
Messiah, if you let them burn than surely shall I!
Save my brethren.
Who’s your God now?
Twisted cross bearers,
Controlling the crowd.
poem by Nicholas Weaver
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The Poetry Of Confession
THE POETRY OF CONFESSION
The poetry of confession -
The poetry of self- indulgence-
The poetry of the ‘wretch con-centered all in self’-
The poetry of moods and feelings-
Of all ideas only as they relate to the poet himself-
The poetry of desperation-
The poetry of need-
The poetry of urgency -
And serving the poet first-
Not enough of the world
Not enough of others- of other perspectives
Not formal and disciplined enough-
The poetry which is not crafted and polished
The poetry in which the need of the poet
Is more central than the quality of the poetry –
The poetry which may be too selfish to be good-
Whose moral failure makes more prominent its aesthetic flaws-
The poetry which is not so good
And not great
But quite banal and commonplace –
A poet can give his life to his poetry
And that still be nothing at all-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Religion or Life
Religion I hate, Life I love; one’s from earth the other from above,
The Life I love is from God, while religion is from this earthly sod.
A religion of earth leads to death; Life from God is eternal breath,
New Life is given by Christ Jesus, as religion will only mislead us.
Religion, call it what you may, distorts Truth from God’s only way,
The way provided to all of us, who in God’s Word place their trust,
New Life from God, in His Son, regarding truth, is second to none,
For religion truthfully has no part, in truly changing a sinner’s heart.
Religion can make us feel good, creating a common brotherhood,
Filling life with religious stuff, but salvifically it doesn’t do enough.
It doesn’t reach the heart of men, inspiring them to be Born Again,
Through the Spirit of Jesus Christ, who alone offers men New Life.
Religion can fill a need on earth, but, eternally men need new birth,
We need to be born spiritually, to have new life with God eternally.
All religions on earth my friend, with the world will come to an end,
While all who have Life from God, will live beyond this earthly sod.
Religion comes in many forms, and around men’s ways conforms,
While God’s Only Way is higher, with Eternal Life being His desire,
Which will be granted to all of us, who, in His Son place their trust,
A Life far above all man’s ways, while giving to God eternal praise.
(Copyright ©06/2008)
A Father's Prayer
A Father's prayer...but to be with his ladies, unseen:
To see and aid them as they e'er too rapidly, grow;
Not a greater pleasure and honor in my life, will I know!
Has it been forever, since last I have seen?
A monster, named fear, took me away,
As though a death sentence to me each day!
All was tried, to rationalize actions taken,
Left was I: forlorn, heart-broken and forsaken!
I am the antithesis of all that about me, was said;
If there be truth inherent-wish myself would I, dead!
I have been asked to pay for crimes, not my own,
For others though, I have indeed penance, atoned!
All I have ever asked, was for the truth to emerge-
Surely it has indeed-soon to remove us from this scourge!
Maurice Harris,8 March 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls
It is a matter of life and death.
We sense our mortality in the destiny of another.
This isn't easy for us to confront.
We seek ignorance of such final thoughts.
Only those who have been made aware,
Can truly face death.
We look at its empty eyes and see nothing.
At first, we are afraid.
This is our human existence at stake.
If we were merely mortals, then this would be normal.
However, humans are not merely mortals.
Every single word within us cries out against the waste.
I am unique. So are you.
There is an expression,
'We will never see his like again.'
Even so, Easter has taught us
That God preserves the life force beyond death.
It is the hope of resurrection
That sustains us in this life.
Those that have this faith in God,
Believe in the past, the present AND the future
And we therefore spend our lives
In prayer and good works.
No matter where we are,
While there is a single thought left within us,
We can still pray.
This is life.
Not the striving for more and more things,
While others starve to death.
Let's be more sympathetic
In regard to complete strangers,
Men, women and children
Facing terrifying squalor, disease and persecution.
It's easy to feel sorry
For the good old Georges of this world,
Because they are the good ones we don't want to lose.
But what about the tiny babies
Who haven't the strength to lift a finger
To do any good works?
They are more deserving if left to live a full life
Than the ones who have already lived for decades...
Many of these have never seen a shoe...
And they don't even know that each one of them
Has an eternal soul...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Dont Hold Your Breath
One day Ill get home before the sun hits the blinds
And give you - Ill give you something to remember me by
Thats the way I am
Its what I got in mind but I dont know if I can
You gotta shoot your gun - dont expect me to dance
Hold me up to the spotlight but
Dont, dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
These empty pockets are my deepest friends
Full of nothing but good intentions
Thats the way it is
It may not be much but I can blow you a kiss
Ive been wrong - Ive been wrong once before
Ill be all right tomorrow but
Dont, dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
I may be lazy or a living wreck
I wont be swayed by your expectations
Thats the way it is
It may not be much but you know what to kiss
Ive been wrong - Ive been wrong once before
Ill be all right tomorrow but
Dont, dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
Dont hold your breath
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One more death
One more death in hospital for three months old
By a father with extreme limit, shame and turning cold
First burn on body all over and then striking head against wall
What we feel about this behavior from civilized world to be called?
Mother came to know about this little later
The body bore all wounds from cruel hater
He had no hitch in hitting girl to wall for death
The girl survived to stay in this world for few more breath
The doctors opined about her health and fate
She should have been incapacitated for all the dates
She should have remained unresponsive
As her organs were damaged and no more to live
One more death from excessive tobacco consumption
Same dose mustered by father to few months old for her destruction
Mother revolted when came to know about ill treatment
What else we can offer as mark of hate and resentment?
Law may take its own course but what do we expect?
Does any stringent punishment needed for all those who act?
Against humanity and child abuse for no fault of their birth
We have become inhuman and intolerant for pushing them to death
Unlucky girl survived for 3 days under medical care
No one was able to speak against cruel father or dare
What will be use when he has done enough damage?
The girl is no more in this world before coming of an age
I shall cry and shed tears for degrading human race
The girls are not a burden in any case
They are true carrier of human chain
How can we push them to death and throw in drain?
Shed few tears along with me and observe silence
Pray almighty to give them good sense hence
They behave as per civil norms and refrain
This gives lot of irritation and causes pain
Let us stand for their preservation
They are the only link for building relation
World salutes many brave women for their contribution
It is high time now to remove if there is any confusion
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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It's_Got_To Be
'When it's _got_ to be,'--like! always say,
As I notice the years whiz past,
And know each day is a yesterday,
When we size it up, at last,--
Same as I said when my _boyhood_ went
And I knowed _we_ had to quit,--
'It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!'--
So I said 'Good-by' to _it_.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say in a hearty way,--
'Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!'
The time jes melts like a late, last snow,--
When it's _got_ to be, it melts!
But I aim to keep a cheerful mind,
Ef I can't keep nothin' else!
I knowed, when I come to twenty-one,
That I'd soon be twenty-two,--
So I waved one hand at the soft young man,
And I said, 'Good-by to _you_!'
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a cheerful way,--
'Well, it's _got_ to be.--Good-by!'
They kep' a-goin', the years and years,
Yet still I smiled and smiled,--
For I'd said 'Good-by' to my single life,
And I now had a wife and child:
Mother and son and the father--one,--
Till, last, on her bed of pain,
She jes' smiled up, like she always done,--
And I said 'Good-by' again.
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a humble way,--
'Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!'
And then my boy--as he growed to be
Almost a man in size,--
Was more than a pride and joy to me,
With his mother's smilin' eyes.--
He gimme the slip, when the War broke out,
And followed me. And I
Never knowed till the first right's end ...
I found him, and then, ... 'Good-by.'
It's _got_ to be, and it's _goin'_ to be!
So at least I always try
To kind o' say, in a patient way,
'Well, it's _got_ to be. Good-by!'
I have said, 'Good-by!--Good-by!--Good-by!'
With my very best good will,
All through life from the first,--and I
Am a cheerful old man still:
But it's _got_ to end, and it's _goin'_ to end!
And this is the thing I'll do,--
With my last breath I will laugh, O Death,
And say 'Good-by' to _you_!...
It's _got_ to be! And again I say,--
When his old scythe circles high,
I'll laugh--of course, in the kindest way,--
As I say 'Good-by!--Good-by!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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