Side drawings of a monk
He transcribes every word
with every stripe and line
like it belongs
and deep in the dark night
he writes on
and unseeing his eye falls
over walls
where the shades draw long lines
and his thoughts
takes their own direction
and for long moments
he looks at his own life
to know where
to trim things in place
or iron them out.
Somewhere in his soul
he longs for another place
away from the chilling dungeons
that the cloister locks in
and suddenly he wants out.
In his thoughts he sees a young woman
remembering from his childhood days
and her eyes radiates blue like the sky
and his heart bounces while a smile
folds softly around the corners of her mouth.
When his eyes catches the paper again
his thoughts says damn
but there’s no word
coming over his lips
and a big blot mark
next to the neat rows
of his writing
where he praises the virgin.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Each word breathes the breath of every soul
each word breathes
the breath of every human soul
takes the shades of every thought
for the meticulous wordsmith to sow
a clever wordsmith catches and weighs
each for propriety like a chef that examines
every ingredient to draw out the best of his trout
to apply those pigments of feelings and emotions
onto his theme that would sweep through the sea of thoughts
his canvas shows how each word has come in their best
to give credence and shine to his party for the evolution of thoughts
each word leaves with full vigour knowing that each
has done his best and learnt something about each other
and the knowledge that soon they will be having another rendevouz
in another sea where another wordsmith would try matchmaking them into another of his illuminated breath, and where they will again
take up another shade of their original personality
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alone, Gone for So Long
i've been gone for so long...
my eyes can't recognize the image in a mirror,
my voice can't follow my thoughts
and my dreams left me alone.
I've been gone for so long...
my family doesn't realize when i'm here,
my own self doesn't know when i'm there
and my thoughts left me alone.
I've been gone for so long...
my friends can't speak anymore with me,
my stopped writing for me
and i left my own-self alone.
Alone, I've been gone for so long...
obnoxious thoughts and writings
people standing with me not being there
and superheroes showing up their faces.
As the end approaches
where was i at the beginning?
cause i've been long for so long...
that alone has to be the only word
or thing that could fulfill the rest overs of me!
Alone, gone for so long
as I've been gone for so long alone.
poem by Abel Obando
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nocturne
With eyes that are gleaming like the stars outside
you whisper about how much you miss me at times,
the rays of the silver moon splashes over you face,
hanging for moments gleaming on your forehead, chin and cheek
where it catches a teardropp that glitters like a dropp of dew
while my hand folds loving over yours
and around us the night is full of insect noises, croaking frogs
and cooing doves
but you sigh when my lips find yours,
for moments the depth of passion blinds us
and your breasts are hot, soft and round
while a smile hides at the shades of your mouth,
your figure is slim and naked
while you make unforgettable moments for me
groaning in self-satisfaction and the dark night
stretches far and wide with the coming goodbye,
where moments of moonshine are filled with fear,
about when I have got to be away out of your life.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Young Love
(graham russell)
Lately all my thoughts have gone to you
You know that's true
Sometimes i feel just a word away
You'll say oh how i miss you too i do
Time is tight i'm lost for words
That's not like me
Only your eyes could know the way that i feel
And how much i need you now with me
(chorus)
Young love so strong has never been a part of me
Young love hold on we're feeling it now is this the way it's meant to be
I know i'll be the one to lose if i'm so wrong
Don't be afraid to put your heart on the line
I'll take you where i know you belong
Take my thoughts away beyond the things we see
Sometimes it seems just a word away
You'll say oh how i really feel it should be
(repeat chorus)
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The muses kiss
Her beauty has stole my thoughts
Kept each word from my lips
While each kiss becomes a blessing
I find myself at a loss to speak
I long to lay beside her indefinitely
To close our tired eyes and sleep
That we may dream such dreams
We had never dared dream before
Beneath what moon we could lay
The open stars, the astral heavens
Full beautiful and endless
And there I see only my muse
She who swept in to steal my thoughts
Only to touch my heart in a way
That I had only previously believed
In each waking hour or dreaming state
I find myself, thoughts captivated
By the muse, those lips, her kiss
That have claimed my every word
Even that the heart forbids
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When will the desires arise?
When will
The desires arise?
The soul speaks
Thoughts arrive
When will the pen get up?
From deep sleep
I do not know
However, I know one thing
Whenever it opens its eyes
It will convert my thoughts
Into words
Turn them into lines
Carve them on a paper
Give birth to a poem
Pleasure to my heart
Contentment to my soul
20-03-2012
419-153-03-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A precise woman
A precise woman, something of a control freak
with hair cropped short, reminds me
of the military
brings order to my life and thoughts
while she arranges everything
putting shining shoes in their place,
panties, pantyhose, brassieres shelved
in neat rows
in a easy accessible way
and even when we make love
her behaviour is predictable
from the removing of her stockings,
where she folds them,
the look in her eyes
and her whimpers and cries
and yet somehow
there is something sweet in the loving,
in the order that she brings.
[Reference: A Precise Woman by Yehuda Amichai.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamful Thoughts
Long ago when in class room
having dreamful thoughts
of days yet to come.
Dreams of travel to
places far away
to lands of adventure.
Dreamful thoughts of
hollywood and the star
I would become.
Dreamful thoughts of writing
the great american novel,
what a vidid imaination
I had back then.
Suddenly I heard a voice
speaking to me, 'Well
what's the answer Jim.'
Dreamful thoughts oh,
how sweet they were
back in days of my youth.
wrote 4-12-07
My companion
I don't know where I'll be,
when who ever buys my book to read.
I was just writing the date on my new
notebook, and these thoughts came to my mind.
Sometimes when I'm going over some
writing I see the date on the paper,
and it brings me memories of
how I felt at the time when I
wrote those poems,
Those notes, they have the flavor
of me. My intimate thoughts my most
saddest and happiest moments of
my existence.
My poems my notes my
stories and my hands, they are one.
One memory in all together.
The way my hands clinch my
writing my every move of prose.
I don't know who
Will want to read the writing coming
from a stranger a none-known poet.
From lonesome I, no one
knows who she is.
I cherish every letter,
word and phrase my hands have writting.
Because all of this has been to me a wonderful
companion of my lonesome life of appetence to feed.
Copyright©ElenaToledo2011
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take Back the Virgin Page
Written on Returning a Blank Book
Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill.
Thoughts come, as pure as light
Pure as even you require;
But, oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.
Yet let me keep the book:
Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.
Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair
To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there.
Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home;
Fancy may trace some line,
Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,
Pure, calm, and sweet.
And as, o'er ocean far,
Seamen their records keep,
Led by some hidden star
Through the cold deep;
So may the words I write
Tell through what storms I stray --
You still the unseen light,
Guiding my way.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Such A Lovely Place
I am a new comer
Don't know what style should I say
Where to go and roam about
Where to live, where to stay
Banners along roadside
And 'WELCOME HERE' they say
My heart comments aloud
'Such a lovely place'
I know nothing about the ways
Except I stand on this lovely place
Where no discrimination stays
No casts and no race
I behold the remembrance
Of my thoughts which I chase
Somewhere in my graveyard
Or at my birth place
Where sunlight danced
Along the coast of the brimming river
My heart starts a spark
And then catches whole fire
Which takes the dark out of me
For now and forever
My soul feels right now
Even at 104 degree fever
Here dew drops and candle light
Adorn the sight of this night
With a decent smile, a lovely flame
Adds beauty with some light
I don't fear as I am used to the dream
That if I sleep I may not see the morning light
But till I lay in this place
Things seem beautiful and bright!
poem by Ketan Hukare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Melody In A Restaurant
The cigarette smoke loops and slides above us,
Dipping and swirling as the waiter passes.
You strike a match and stare upon the flame.
The tiny firelight leaps in your eyes a moment
And dies away as silently as it came.
This melody, you say, has certain voices—
They rise like nereids from a river, singing,
Lift white faces, and dive to darkness again.
Wherever you go you bear this river with you:
A leaf falls, and it flows, and you have pain.
So says the tune to you—but what to me ?
What to the waiter, as he pours your coffee?
The violinist who suavely draws his bow ?
That man, who folds his paper, overhears it.
A thousand dreams revolve and fall and flow.
Someone there is who sees a virgin stepping
Down marble stairs to a deep tomb of roses:
At the last moment she lifts remembering eyes.
Green leaves blow down; the place is checked with shadows;
A long-drawn murmur of rain goes down the skies.
And oaks are stripped and bare, and smoke with lightning;
And clouds are blown and torn upon high forests;
And the great sea shakes its walls.
And then falls silence And through long silence falls
This melody once more:
Down endless stairs she goes, as once before.
So says the tune to him—but what to me?
What are the worlds I see?
What shapes fantastic, terrible dreams?
I go my secret way, down secret alleys.
My errand is not so simple as it seems.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 05: Melody In A Restaurant
The cigarette-smoke loops and slides above us,
Dipping and swirling as the waiter passes;
You strike a match and stare upon the flame.
The tiny fire leaps in your eyes a moment,
And dwindles away as silently as it came.
This melody, you say, has certain voices—
They rise like nereids from a river, singing,
Lift white faces, and dive to darkness again.
Wherever you go you bear this river with you:
A leaf falls,—and it flows, and you have pain.
So says the tune to you—but what to me?
What to the waiter, as he pours your coffee,
The violinist who suavely draws his bow?
That man, who folds his paper, overhears it.
A thousand dreams revolve and fall and flow.
Some one there is who sees a virgin stepping
Down marble stairs to a deep tomb of roses:
At the last moment she lifts remembering eyes.
Green leaves blow down. The place is checked with shadows.
A long-drawn murmur of rain goes down the skies.
And oaks are stripped and bare, and smoke with lightning:
And clouds are blown and torn upon high forests,
And the great sea shakes its walls.
And then falls silence . . . And through long silence falls
This melody once more:
'Down endless stairs she goes, as once before.'
So says the tune to him—but what to me?
What are the worlds I see?
What shapes fantastic, terrible dreams? . . .
I go my secret way, down secret alleys;
My errand is not so simple as it seems.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth Of My Youth
There was a time and place
Where I never thought
I'd leave my own home town
But those days are finally
Dead and gone
It was never my intention
To stay there oh no
There was a conscious effort
Played by me
To disown anything I see
There was a girl I knew
Way back when
Who says she doesnt know me anymore
These are the lies
The things you never mention
These are my past mistakes
I'll stay away from
These are my thoughts
Written down on paper
Its my only savior
For not saying
What I want to say
These are the thoughts
That are on my mind
Moments that havnt yet been defined
And I dont know if you
Could ever understand
These are the things I cant say
When we're alone
There were countless hours
On the telephone
My ears were ringing
From the dial tone
There was flashing lights
People staring
There was nothing I could ever do
These are the lies
The things that you never metion
These are my past mistakes
I'll stay away from
This is the truth
The only time you'll hear it
I'll write it down
Because it seems so hard to say it
These are my thoughts
Written down on paper
Its my only savior
From not saying
What I want to say
These are the thoughts
That are on my mind
Moments that havnt yet been defined
And I dont know
If you could ever understand
These are the things I cant say
When we're alone
song performed by by New Found Glory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Our Days Are Minutes...
At life’s butt end, I offer this, my sweet,
A long, slow burn to, at last, defeat;
A dreamtime reverie of old, gone ways
And sleepy wakings at the nub of days.
A light touch, drowsy, on your fading skin
To feed slow warmth at your cold come-in,
A languid stroking at your liquid stirrings
Before sleep deepens and reclaims two virgins.
More long silences than words between us
(Thoughts drip silver where a word breeds fever) ,
Painful pauses at a mind’s long ache
When a thought brings anger, or a word’s too late.
All this, woman, can I see before us,
Life’s long panic that will cut and draw us,
But still I’ll hold you at the long-loved hand
When our days are minutes, and our minutes sand.
22 December 1991
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Can See Nobody
I walk the lonely streets; I watch the people passing by.
I used to smile and say hello. Guess I was just a happy guy.
Then you happened,girl, this feeling that posessses me.
I just can't move myself. I guess it all just had to be.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
I used to have a brain; I used to think of many things.
I watched the falling rain and listened to the sweet birds sing.
Don't ask me why, little girl. I love you and that's all I can say.
You're ev'ry ,ev'ry breath I take.You are my nights; my night and day.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
Every single word you hear...is coming from this heart of mine.
I never felt like this before...a love like yours so young and fine.
And now as I try to forget you...it doesn't work out any way.
I loved you such a long time ago...but in my eyes you'll always be.
Every single word you hear...is coming from this heart of mine.
I loved you such a long time ago...don't know why...
And I don't know why...baby...
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you.
I can't see nobody...no, I can't see nobody.
Mine eyes can only look at you...you
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Woman's Complaint
I know that deep within your heart of hearts
You hold me shrined apart from common things,
And that my step, my voice, can bring to you
A gladness that no other pleasure brings.
And yet, dear love, through all the weary days
You never speak one word of tenderness,
Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my hand
Within your own in loving mute caress.
You think, perhaps, I should be all content
To know so well the loving place I hold
Within your life, and so you do not dream
How much I long to hear the story told.
You cannot know, when we two sit alone,
And tranquil thoughts within your mind are stirred,
My heart is crying like a tire child
For one fond look, one gentle, loving word.
It may be when your eyes look into mine
You only say, 'How dear she is to me!'
Oh, could I read it in you softened glance.
How radiant this plain world would be!
Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a secret prayer
That choicest blessings unto me be given;
But if you said aloud, 'God bless thee, dear!'
I should not ask a greater boon from Heaven.
I weary sometimes of the rugged way;
But should you say, 'Through thee my life is sweet,'
The dreariest desert that our path could cross
Would suddenly grow green beneath my feet.
'Tis not the boundless waters ocean holds
That give refreshment to the thirsty flowers,
But just the drops that, rising to the skies,
From thence descend in softly falling showers.
What matter that our granaries are filled
With all the richest harvest's golden stores,
If we who own them cannot enter in,
But famished stand before the close-barred doors?
And so 'tis sad that those who should be rich
In that true love that crowns our earthly lot,
Go praying with white lips from day to day
For love's sweet tokens, and receive them not.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Myriad Thoughts
I sit here in myriad thoughts
dancing around my head
too fed up to put them to bed.
Thoughts of the past,
thoughts of the future too,
thoughts of things this and that
and thoughts of what to do.
Memories invade at times
of pastures long gone by
as the myriad thoughts
fill my mind with anger and with love
and times; I wish I could have lingered with
when my years were young.
Things pass in phases,
hearts entwine then fall apart,
seasons readily appear,
stay awhile and then depart.
Here I sit in a lonely waste
thinking thoughts of what might have been
if the crystal ball I look into had only seen.
Now the myriad thoughts appear
to haunt me in quiet times
and carry me to distant places
the world has left behind.
Those little specks of moments
that still linger from the past
that lay waiting to capture me
before the quiet time has passed.
28 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I sit in Teasers
I sit in Teasers
and there’s tenfold
of the most pretty
bare breasted girls around me,
but my thoughts
do not want to
be with them.
Light falls through
the yellow of the Hunters
in my glass
and throws a golden gleam
over the table
and my thoughts,
are with my life
that is fraying slowly
bit by bit.
The girls are merry
and maybe a man
can get a chance to touch
or more from some of them
and nowhere there’s fridgetness
that hides behind the surface,
but I am not here
to catch a beautiful butterfly.
Some of them glance at me
and a few dance with twisting bodies
near to me
and I wonder why my soul
wants to stay in its dungeons
and darkness keeps folding in
and slowly but surely
wants to kill
and I cannot also
like this pleasure,
get a quick fix
and happiness and the meaning of life
cannot be found here
or anywhere else.
Two couples come and sit near me
and I see how the men
watch the dancing girls wide-eyed
and a redhead clenches her husband’s hand
and I hear a black head say,
that she can also lie like that
and see how she kicks
her husband under the table.
.
a Soft hand is suddenly
on mine
and deep blue eyes
takes my pain away
and it’s as if every thing round me
disappears by itself
and we are in our own little world
and my fingers stroke
blonde curls,
but I am brought back
to reality
when a beautiful girl
shakes her supple body
right against me
and her perfume hangs strong between us
and her dark eyes catch mine
and a stranger
lifts his glass in a salute to me
and my blue-eyed girl stays dead
and hit by a car
and only for a moment
I can escape from it all.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Linguist
If we lived in a world where bells
truly say "ding-dong" and where "moo"
is a rather neat thing
said by a cow,
I could believe you could believe
that these sounds I make in the air
and these shapes with which I blacken white paper
have some reference
to the thoughts in my mind
and the feelings in the thoughts.
As things are,
if I were to gaze in your eyes and say
"bow-wow" or "quack", you must take that to be
a despairing anthology of praises,
a concentration of all the opposites
of reticence, a capsule
of my meaning of meaning
that I can no more write down
than I could spell the sound of the sigh
I would then utter, before
dingdonging and mooing my way
through all the lexicons and languages
of imprecision.
poem by Norman MacCaig
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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