Who and what I am no one really knows
Who and what I am no one really knows
and the things in my mind
at times like a tornado blows
for a place of escape to find
into a world of bewildered noise
where my esteem and memories are lost
in a place without comfort or joys
where in shattered pieces my words are tossed
where even a whole religion spreads gossip and lies
while I try to walk with the creator God
they try to destroy my integrity, my humanity dies,
and friendless on uncharted ways I have to trod
while my own loved ones know me not,
do not even comprehend the thoughts that I have got.
[Reference: “I am – yet what I am none cares or knows” by John Clare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
I Am
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live like shadows tossed
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.
poem by John Clare (1865)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Written in Northampton County Asylum
I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
My friends forsake me like a memory lost.
I am the self-consumer of my woes;
They rise and vanish, an oblivious host,
Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am—I live—though I am toss’d
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dream,
Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys,
But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem
And all that’s dear. Even those I loved the best
Are strange—nay, they are stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod—
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,—
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky.
poem by John Clare
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I am tossed into a wretched life
(after John Clare)
I am tossed into a wretched life
where all my friends have forsaken me
and you whom I loved are only found in memory
while senses and sensibility is all at strive
and yet in this nothingness I am still alive,
but from hardship I am never free
and its only darkness that around me I see
but once you were my beloved wife
and now all my aims and esteems
are shattered, broken to pieces,
even our love, our joy and happiness
are swept away like broken dreams
while the darkness, the destruction increases
and people treat me with a kind of aloofness.
[Reference: “I am – yet what I am none cares or knows” by John Clare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lost To Find My Lot
Lost in a world, that scares me to death,
Lost in a crowd I’m losing my breath,
Lost as a kid, lost as an adult
I feel everything is falling apart and its my fault
Lost as a person, cant find my way
Lost in life every day, Lost in worry
Who am I?
I’ve lived a Lie
Lost to Kindness,
Lost to Love
Lost in the sky,
Like a lonely dove
Lost in thought which I shouldn’t do
It Winds me up,
I can’t get through
Lost to comfort all kind words
Lost to advice that isn’t heard
Lost to those who really care?
All these people always there
Lost in Me, I need a break
Lost in wonder which road should I take?
Lost in a place I don’t know well
Where are you now? There’s no one to tell
Lost here all alone To break these walls
Lost in mind
Lost in soul
Lost memories, there just a hole
Lost family, lost my place
Still yet I’m full of hate
Lost in boredom think I’ll leave
There’s a lot in life I need to achieve
poem by Olivia Braun
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Who Cares?
who cries for a lost love
and shattered dreams?
if the black angel who took them away
is not worth dying for....
who cares for memories and souvenirs?
if the ladywho just walk away
cares for the devil in her soul...
who cares for a love gone sour
if all her promises are but blatant lies..
SIMPLY NO ONE CARES...NO ONE DARES...
poem by Villiamor Calventas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right across the country from me
(after Dorothy Parker, for A)
Right across the country from me
is the place that you call home,
a place where my spirit at times roam,
where you live in a kind of tranquillity.
Sometimes I do not know
how to put my feelings in words, to express
my utter loneliness
and at break of day and its end the horizon glows
in the place where you dwell
and under others skies
the day begins and dies
while of my thoughts I want you to tell
but maybe it's much better
not to say anything,
not even to make your telephone ring
and never to write a letter.
[Reference: "Hearthside" by Dorothy Parker.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Friends Have Left Me
(after John Clare)
My friends have left me,
they do know me not
and at times I am struggling with my sanity
but there are still some words that I have got
while the sense of nothingness
envelops all of my world
and to everything I have a strange aloofness
while I am trying to hold
onto some kind of meaning
as my life under the whip of destiny bends
but it's at the edge of disaster that I am leaning
and it feels as if everything somehow ends
while instinctively I know
over the edge at a time I have got to go
[References: 'I am - yet what I am none cares or knows' by John Clare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Heartbreak Road
I’m walking down this road called heartbreak,
which leads to a place called despair.
It’s a long and lonely road that I’m travelling
and I’ll find no comfort there.
It’s not a road I ever thought I’d be taking
and it’s not the way I’d choose to go,
but my failure to hold onto my loved one
has left me with self pity and sorrow.
This road has deep holes filled with sadness,
when I stumble, tears form in my eyes.
With loneliness and misery I walk in puddles
from the raindrops from the weeping skies.
My broken dreams and schemes accompany me
even though they weigh heavy on my mind.
Memories, happy and sad hinder my progress,
which makes new dawns so hard to find.
My heart has been emptied and shattered,
and I’ve only heartbreak road to walk.
It’s an endless one-way road of darkness
to which my troubled mind is fraught.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Memories in the mind
Memories are made in the mind,
and there if you search, you will find.
There in the mind, so many things,
so many memories it brings.
So many years have passed,
of our youth, away we have cast
some memories happy, some memories sad,
memories have I, when I was a lad.
Memories have I, of a dog named shep,
memories of him, when he kept in step.
Memories of my friends, when we played,
of those days, for ever memories relayed.
Memories of family and fun,
when we talked until the setting of sun.
Memories of washing our fifty-seven Ford,
and wanting things we couldn't afford.
Memories are made in the mind,
long lost, search and you will find,
memories of days gone by,
searching memories, oh how you try.
Memories will fade out,
you have forgotton, what it's about,
memories lost in the mind,
dig them out and you will find.
The Voice Says In My Heart
Dreaming of a life of peace,
Though I am shattered to pieces.
A damaged spirit, resulting from a defective mind.
Broken and irreparable, so I think.
But my thoughts got me here in the first place.
On my knees, looking up, I see the light.
Shining down on me from above.
It connects with the light inside.
The voices in my head silence.
My mind clears, true vision appears.
'Pick up the pieces.', the soft voice whispers from within.
'Many pieces, put together, makes a piece.'
'That is what you seek isn't it? '
'Give them to me, for the pieces are heavy'.
'What I have created, only I can fix.'
'It was broken by you in the first place.'
'Because I was not your first place.'
'I was your last. I was your end.'
'But now you have reached me, '
'Let me show you what I can do.'
'For I come with an eternal warranty and a misery back guarantee.'
Piece by piece, I was put back together.
Until I was one.
Not one with my thoughts, but one with my maker.
No longer listening to what the voices in my head say.
But to what the voice says in my heart.
As it whispers to me, I can feel it's voice.
'Peace.'
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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I can't escape
I can’t escape from this place,
I am caged inside from this nightmare,
So what if you can see the darkest side of me,
Too many lies you told me,
Somebody help me,
From the person I have become,
I can’t escape from you,
Somebody help me escape from this nightmare,
We believe that I can be a good person,
Yet something sweet as you,
Just fades away like the rest,
I can’t escape from this place,
This place that calls out my name,
My heart is empty,
My eyes are black,
I am cold as ice,
Forget me,
Forget that we ever met,
I am on the edge of falling off,
My mind is scattered,
I can’t escape from this place no matter where I run to.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Aspiring to Horizons Unknown
Those perfected and protected realities...
One may shield,
To share with others of like mind...
Will soon awaken to find themselves,
And those times,
Lost.
Tossed away.
Like things unneeded during an exhaustive Spring cleaning.
As collected momentos come to mean not a thing.
Especially to those who look forward to the exposure,
Of fresh and new beginnings.
And something more purposeful,
Than the rearrangement of the old and tried.
And much overused complacencies.
Complimenting a compliance.
Perhaps to traditions known.
Like worned out furnishings...
That do nothing but trap dust.
But treasured to keep wiltering memories alive!
Just for someone to feel a sustained trust!
Thriving.
With a need to know what is in place,
Will be there!
In a comfort...
One continues to repeat.
To keep a significance.
When reminiscing!
But...
An effectiveness is lost in a time that has gone.
And yet...
One may sit in wishes nothing comes to change this.
Although change is what life is!
And has always been since its inception.
Like a birth that grows to shed life...
Aspiring to horizons unknown!
As this process comes to all,
To be shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Yesterday, today and tomorrow
Today part of my life is shattered
and lay in pieces
like a pane of broken glass.
Yesterday my wife left me,
for another man
and her children
do not any more regard me
as a father,
though I sacrificed
my life for them.
Yesterday my reputation was in ruins
and not only with the people that I know,
but across the globe
lies were spread by emails about me
to make me loose integrity.
Yesterday two cars were stolen from me
and no police could find the cars
or the villains
and the insurance
absconded from paying
with very clever clauses.
Yesterday I started doing contract work
and do not really know
from where the next job will come
and what lies ahead
for the next month or year.
Today part of my life is shattered
and lay in pieces
like a pane of broken glass,
but today I started a new life
and are free
from the persons
that impeded me.
Today I love somebody really special
that I know loves me,
today I act as I always did
with respect and integrity,
today I do my work
to the best of my ability,
today I go to interviews
and still believe
that the right permanent job will come
and today I live my life
as if it’s the last and only day.
Only the great creator knows
what tomorrow holds,
but tomorrow is safe
in His hands and I wait
while His love unfolds
with the passage of time.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By A Person Of Quality.
Remote from Strife, from urban Throngs, and Noise.
Here dwells my Soul amidst domestic Joys:
No ratling Coaches serious Thoughts annoy;
Nor busy prating Fools my Peace destroy:
Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rural Ease,
My great Creator's Works my Senses please.
The Mind, in peaceful Solitude, has Room
To range in Thought, and ramble far from home,
Others may court the Joys which Princes give,
Whilst I, in sacred Silence, truly live.
poem by Mary Barber
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When I look upon a world
When I look upon a world
with shattered people,
see small children living in poverty
with heartache written on many faces
in different places
as if the words have left them
in the asking,
as if they have been abandoned
as if all words have been lost
and will never again be heard
in the paying of a terrible cost
and nothing will bring light to the darkness
the thought comes to me
that somehow I can still pray for them,
that past man’s inequity
God is still able to comprehend and see
and his love that shines through
is filled with compassion and mercy.
[Reference: Ash-Wednesday: V. “If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent” by T. S. Eliot.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I walked into this Vista
I walked into this Vista
to work there
and the garden was beautiful,
but in such a place
I did not want to stay
and nobody will get me
into such a place.
The people that work there
were decent, friendly and god fearing
and a patient followed me,
as if I am the leader
in a game
and a woman walk stark naked
and asked me
where the president’s office is
and if I came from the parliament?
That this Vista is a wonderful place
when life’s walls fold in on you
and life loose all its meaning
and you hear voices in your mind,
nobody can deny,
and I saw people find God there
while there humanity
and life tried to destroy them.
a Polish doctor wanted to know from me
why the grass in summer
is yellow brown and dried out,
while the winter chill was biting me
and I wondered
from which Siberia she comes.
I saw there that specialist doctors
are also people
and there were rumours
that some of the doctors
had more serious problems
than their patients
and that one has a drawer
full of crumbled paper
which he hoards like a rat.
and I wondered how a doctor
that lived next to the hospital
opened his garden gate with his feet.
Electric shocks that goes straight through you
and hypnotic therapy
can pass me by
and the day that I walked out of there,
it was better
than escaping from a jail
and I could comprehend
Ingrid Jonker’s poem much better
and maybe the damage
was more in her soul
than in that Valkenburg.
[Reference: Ontvlugting by Ingrid Jonker.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I'm Going Home
Her soul departed from this earth
But she lived life for all its worth
There was not a person that she could not touch
With her kind and gentle ways.
Everyone wished that she had stayed.
Have you ever noticed how a butterfly
catches your eye- and its beauty while it flies?
How this butterfly spreads its wings
And it touches each and every thing.
How its gracefulness fills the air
And takes away your thoughts and cares.
Like the butterfly who had spread its wings
She has done such beautiful things.
She is a free spirit who can now roam this earth
To help others from their birth.
She will be that gentle breeze kissing your face
At different times and in a different place.
She will be like the fragrance from the flowers
Growing from the ground
Touching without making a sound.
She has left the material things
Of this earth behind- to live in another
Place and another time.
Wave your hand in a gesture of hello
You will miss her-that much she knows.
poem by Louis Rams
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Are You Ready?
This place inside my mind, a place I like to hide,
You dont know the chances, what if I should die?
A place inside my brain, another kind of pain,
You dont know the chances, Im so blind, blind, blind.
Another place Ill find, to escape the pain inside,
You dont know the chances, what if I should die?
A place inside my brain, another kind of pain,
You dont know the chances, Im so blind, blind, blind.
Deeper and deeper and deeper as I journey to
Living a life that seems to be a lost reality
That I could never find a way to reach my inner self
Esteem is low, how deep can I go,
In the ground that I lay, if I dont find a way to
Sift through the gray that clouds my mind.
This time I look to see whats between the lines!
I can see, I can see Im going blind. (x12)
Im blind. (x4)
song performed by by Korn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Still Breathing
Home
It's not brick or stone
A comfort in the fire light
not in that sense anyway
Dreams
If only I had known
That these things always seem
So much clearer at a distance
I'm walking out of this town
I'm never going back there
I'm never going back there
I'll burn the place to the ground
I'm never going back there
I'm never going back there again
Words
Only could break that ring
You know the words still sting
So much harder than the blows ever did
Hearts
Though it's hard and violent
My head is cool and quiet
As the Ashes that fall from the sky
I'm walking out of this town
I'm never going back there
I'm never going back there
I'll burn the place to the ground
I'm never going back there
I'm never going back there again
Now
I know this shattered feeling
Trampled I'm still breathing
I'm just waiting for a good day
I'm walking out of this town
I'm never going back there
I'm never going back there
I'll burn the place to the ground
I'm never going back there
I'm never going back there again
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Joy of Giving (Opinion)
THE JOY OF GIVING
Joy is a much sought after emotion welcomed and cherished by us all. We are joyful when incidents liked by us take place and incidents disliked by us do not take place. And that, persons near and dear to us, and their expression of love and affection, cause joy to us. We feel that joy causing things are outside us in this physical world. This is all a perception of joy.
Spirituality says joy is inherent in us and is our nature; rather we are the form and personification of joy. And joy and cheerfulness are our natural states of mind. Whenever pleasant things happen to us or unpleasant things do not happen, we are joyful, because then we are our Self, released of our ego.
But most of the times we expect others or things outside in the physical world to cause joy to us. Thus we are dependent on outside things and persons for joy to be experienced; and are joyless when such things do not happen. The real joy lies in our giving joy to our near and dear.
If we know that what all we are giving our near and dear is actually we are giving ourselves, we will just do that to be joyful.
In Narada Bhakti Sutras this aspect is very well expressed and highlighted.
The sutra is; “tat sukha sukhitvam”. “finding our happiness in giving happiness to our near and dear”.
This is a spiritual action full of significance. By doing so we are transcending our ego and are absorbing our ego in providing happiness to our near and dear.
Thus Gopikas (shepherd damsels) found their happiness in giving happiness to Sri Krishna. They have been very joyful when giving happiness to Sri Krishna and are thus blissful themselves. This secret of getting joy by giving joy to our near and dear must be noted by us all and make ourselves joyful by making our near and dear joyful.
We normally are intolerant of or indifferent to words, actions or thoughts expressed by our loved ones and are egoistic in our dealings with them. We love ourselves most. It is wise to love our loved ones more than we love ourselves. Actually if we love our near and dear, this happens automatically. Only when we do not love, and try making ourselves joyful all by ourselves, we run into problems and cause problems to our loved ones.
The best and shrewd way of being joyful is making our near and dear joyful by our words, thoughts, deeds and cheering and cheerful spirit and finding our joy in such gestures.
Many also say that contributing to charity, speaking lovingly and without hurting, being compassionate to all living and non-living beings gives happiness. Ordinary human beings may not have such wider horizon. If we find our joy in making our near and dear joyful the world will be much pleasant place to live. Let us practice giving joy and make it the art of living.
poem by Varanasi Ramabrahmam
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