Changing Faces
You died in 1990
Yet still live on.
The living spread,
Disseminate
In more than one.
Discursive
Rhyme And Rhythm
Have taken on
And over
Reasoned binds
Seasoned
To smell
Of wood;
Just for one.
Now silent recitals
Pseudonymed
Bare all
To scatter like rods
Cast in pods
To fish
Anon.
poem by Harriet James
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Related quotes
A Poem Does Not Have to Rhyme
There are those who think in order for a poem to have rhythm it must rhyme, but a poem does not have to rhyme to have rhythm.
The rhythm comes for the poet’s soul not the rhyming of words.
The rhythm is in emotions that the poet’s poem evokes.
From a soulful cry to feeling of love and from the passion of hate to the awakening of understanding this is the beat, the rhythm of a poem. Now don’t get me wrong if a poem rhyme and has soul it is cool too, but I just wanted everyone to know that a poem does not have to rhyme.
Hedge Layer-Gap Mender
Hedge layer, gap-mender
forged from frost and fissured trees;
your split hazel brash
a white slash against
black wintered leaves.
Rhythm of the billhook
rhythm of the fields
deft, quick, sure,
sharpening the air
with slash, cuts and
stakes spear shaped, stuck notched
crooked up, tawny bark
peeled green in places,
hint of dormant
summer traces.
Wood rips, wood rends, wood gives,
wood cries out as far as the far fields;
Welsh Cobbs black as stout
start as one, rising pall of horse breath
blots out the sallow-sun.
Hedge layer, gap-mender,
glove-less, hands seasoned old-hand;
resurrector, life pleacher,
Green Man for a modern era;
within your living walls
you weave the spring.
poem by Bob Dellar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slave To The Rhythm
Work all day, as men who know,
Wheels must turn to keep, to keep the flow,
Build on up, dont break the chain,
Sparks will fly, when the whistle blows,
Never stop the action,
Keep it up, keep it up,
Work to the rhythm,
Live to the rhythm,
Love to the rhythm,
Slave to the rhythm,
Axe to wood, in ancient time,
Man machine, power line,
Fires burn, heart beats strong,
Sing out loud, the chain gang song,
Never stop the action,
Keep it up, keep it up,
Breath to the rhythm,
Dance to the rhythm,
Work to the rhythm,
Live to the rhythm,
Love to the rhythm,
Slave to the rhythm.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bullet Ride
Do you feel anything at all?
Do you hear steps at the door?
Do you reckon the smell of....?
It's life-the the dark that binds you
Frigthened by your own smell
Bitternes will run you through
Silent screaming
Turning, twisting the alphabet
Frantic eyes
Awaiting the answer
Splinters of a poem
Fragments of what you used to be
Habitual and gullible
Run-down memoirs is all that's left
Do you wish to sleep?
Do you aim for the shadow?
Do you feel infected?
It's life-the the dark that binds you
It's the cowardice that puls you under
And takes you to the end, where it begins
Release, the world is waiting on your arrival
Close your eyes, as we witness another bullet ride
Do you know about atrocity?
Do you that everbody's gone?
Do you know that you're on your own?
It's life-the the dark that binds you
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Children of the Streets
To blow on the thistles,
And scatter the spores to the dusty winds,
Where the thistle loses its identity.
Growing bare,
Where they are the pods of the Gods sent
Down from heaven,
To become the creatures of the true heart.
The only sin they have committed
Is being born alive.
With no one to care for them,
Where their only aim is to survive.
As they must hide unloved,
poem by Consuelo Suarez
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Gary Granada’s definition of a house
A shanty of cartons as walls
Some tin for roof
Several cuttings of tin
And some worn out rubber tires
To keep the tin roofs
In place
Ten persons reside there
Too crowded
Smell of dead fish
Smell of decayed fish
And dried urine
Rodent and human urine
Hotter than the
Temperatures of
An Arizona desert
Patches of wasted wood
Planks of leftovers
Undefined window frames
There is no comfort
Room or living
Room or bed or
Sala
Every floor
Every patch
Is a bed, a room,
A kitchen
All in one
For ten people or more
Is this what you call a house?
Gary Granada is singing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lucky Catch
Once saw a small boy
Hand line a very large fish
Very lucky boy!
With expensive gear
Fisherman cast very far
Not a single fish
'Boy could barely cast'
Remarked the old fisherman
'Just beginners luck'
True about boy's skills.
Could only cast to the fish
Feeding at his feet
Not just gear or skill
To be lucky in fishing:
Fish where the fish are!
poem by Zen Bojczuk
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Pulicate Lake (Chennai)
A rollicking trip on a boat
we had through the Pulicate Lake.
The nests cast all along the creek
warn the boat-men take care.
Men, women and children
dip in and come up the water,
with pulsating trout in their palms
and dropp into the slinging bags and creels.
The weak and the old in loin-cloths
are holding the fishing-rods,
and peering at the wood pulp with eager
to lug up the unwary dab.
Some dogs are emerging out in knee-deep water,
with struggling dace between the teeth.
We looked at the scene with pity
though we had fried fish to crunch at lunch.
Oh dear! They're stone statues not birds
waiting to pick up the misled fish!
The scent of coastal stuff from my friends
drove away the shrimps from our way.
Ah! Some baskets and towels too swirl around
to catch the lusty wealth of the sea.
Never these fish roaming in the lake
could go back to the estuary.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Adonis
1.
Each of us like you
has died once,
has passed through drift of wood-leaves,
cracked and bent
and tortured and unbent
in the winter-frost,
the burnt into gold points,
lighted afresh,
crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf,
gold turned and re-welded
in the sun;
each of us like you
has died once,
each of us has crossed an old wood-path
and found the winter-leaves
so golden in the sun-fire
that even the live wood-flowers
were dark.
2.
Not the gold on the temple-front
where you stand
is as gold as this,
not the gold that fastens your sandals,
nor thee gold reft
through your chiselled locks,
is as gold as this last year's leaf,
not all the gold hammered and wrought
and beaten
on your lover's face.
brow and bare breast
is as golden as this:
each of us like you
has died once,
each of us like you
stands apart, like you
fit to be worshipped.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Does a Fish go Pee?
Does a fish go pee
when it's swimming in the sea?
Does it ever get the notion
when it's swimming in the ocean?
Does a fish take a leak
when it's swimming in the creek?
Do they do it in a muddle
when you see them in a puddle?
Does a fish ever miss when it's taking a @! &%
and they find urination
in the farmer's irrigation?
Do you think they're rather fond
of going potty in the pond...
and then, for goodness sake,
do they go while in the lake?
Do they tinkle at all
while in the waterfall?
Could you see a yellow gleam
as they do it in the stream?
Now take a little quiz:
Does a fish ever whiz?
Does a fish go pee
when it's swimming in the sea?
(Written in 1990)
poem by Cathe Ferguson
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Jones The Rhythm
Rhythm is both the songs manical and its demoinc charge.
It is the original breath , it is the whisper of unremitting demand.
What do you still want to be said of the singer?
What do you think you can still draw from my lips?
Exact presence that no fantasy can represent.
Purveyor of the old secret, alive with the blood that boils again,
And is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart.
How your singers blood is incensed at the depth of sound.
Lacerations echo in the mouths open erotic sky where dance together,
The lost trenches of rythm and an imploring immobility...
Ladies and gentlemen...miss grace jones...jones the rhythm.
Slave!!
Slave to the rhythm, dance to the rhythm,
Axe to wood in ancient times, man machine production line,
The fire burns, with heart beats strong,
Sing out loud, the chaing gang song.
Never stop the action, keep it up, keep it up,
Never stop the action, keep it up, keep it up.
Slave to the rhythm, dance to the rhythm,
The rhythm...master...master.
Never stop the action, keep it up,
Never stop the action, keep it up, keep it up.
Slave to the rhythm, work to the rhythm,
Dance to the rhythm, live to the rhythm.
Slave to the rhythm,
Dance to the rhythm, live to the rhythm,
Slave to the rhythm, work...to the rhythm,
To the rhythm, work to the rhythm, to the rhythm.
Slave, slave,
To the rhythm, to the rhythm, to the rhythm.
*grace: oh thats weird [laughs].*
*interviewer: grace jones, welcome.*
*grace: thank you paul [laughs], if youre wondering whats wrong with my voice I just choked on my saliva...so...[laughs].*
*interviewer: now obviously, youre in the bond movie...*
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Walk The Talk
where do you live?
i ask him
'i live there' he says,
pointing to a far place
it is a greenery, a forest opaque to the mist,
there is a path that leads there
on bare feet, and without any burden
to carry on
your back,
he says he is an honest man
and shall live with it for many years to come
he says he comes from a family of honest genealogy
and he thrives on simple living and word of honor
his face has a very gentle disposition
like that of the
common lamb
his words are soft
like a rose that you enclose with your hand
before he left for his intended journey
i had a bowl of rice and a
dried fish in my kitchen
i almost believe him
until my bowl of rice
and dried fish are all gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A.K.A. Mario
before he finally left
he came to the house finding me alone and busy with words
the usual work on words
that makes me
bread,
he did not say much
as usual he is the silent mario of the class
many thought
he is at peace, i told me he is not actually and so i tell his wife
mario is confused, like some entangled seaweeds
where no fish can penetrate and stay or bring something
mario died two days ago
thinking that i am the happiest man alive
i think so, i must think so, otherwise
mario shall know, otherwise, he would have live a little longer
mario feels this sense of abandonment
like a port without boats and seagulls like a fish without a fish
he died
and that is enough to tell us what he believes in
he felt something so disturbing
he did not mind
before he finally left
he thought that i am the happiest man alive
and now, i must promise myself that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seasoned
[e-40]
Uh, you in a new school whip custom painted candy apricot butter
Im in an antique oldschool four door muffler draggin beat up duster
Wit scrapes and scratches, nicks and scars
Yall git to drink out of wine glasses, we gotta drink out of jelly jars
Down and out like four flat tires no washing machine nor dryer
Just ah pillow sack
And ah bunch of clothes wrapped in a sheet on our way to the laundrymat
Will I ever get paid, can I make a dollar out of fifteen cent
Yallz got it made, we broke and starvin barely payin the rent
Sleepless nights, alligator tears
Mommy arguin wit my daddy, daddy drunk too many beers
911 mr.po, po dey aint happy wit day marriage
Pops tryna beat her down and make her have a miscarriage
My cousin shoots the needle, she be gone for days
She on that da ah diesel, she gone end up wit aids
I told her I love her but you know what she said to me
Everybody got a gay or atleast one dope fiend in they family
You aint the only one wit a reject in yo family
Thats real
The reasoned the reasoned that we are seasoned
Seasoned that we fill our paper want disappear
Ohe, hey its been a long time in the bay
With God on our side we have somethin to say
And the and through the hard times we survive the game
Survive the game
If yall smell onions dats my arms potent
The reason Im musty is caus ewe aint got no mo deordorant
The laughing stock patna, we aint got no cash
Feet stinking through my shoes in p.e. class
Im thriznew wit biznieng brizoke
Im about to hiznit the griznind and if I git popped it aint half no more
Its eighty percent of my time
But thats ah cha ah chance that Im a have to ah take
Today my son birthday and I cant even buy a cake
Im so damn through ah through I had a j.o.b
You want me to cut my perm, oh yall gone ave to fire me
My fellow just got out da joint, that he might be o.k.
But my fellow got out and got stabbed twenty-six times that same damn day
Who wanted to git dunked on in the the flatlands
It aint never too late patna
All we need is a piece of plywood and a milk carton crate
What about dat shopping basket, you know Im smart
We can gone take the wheels off that and ma ah make a go cart
Yo peoples blessed you, I started from a quarter ounce
You came in the dope game wit a silver spoon up in yo mouth
Why we gotta gamble maine
We hurtin, you got all the bucks
In the ghetto we play dominoes for push ups
The reasoned the reasoned that we are seasoned
Seasoned that we fill our paper wont disappear
Ohe, its been a long time in the bay
With God on our side we have somethin to say
And the and through the hard times we survive the game
Survive the game
song performed by by E-40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rhythm (feat. Ice-T, Donald D & Diva)
The rythm is both the songs manicle and it's demonic charge charge
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
I'm Everlast born to be a caucassion but it makes no difference what persuasion you are
As long as you know how to get up on the floor and start workin' a sweat
To a musical measure that makes you move as soon as the needle drops into the groove
So get up and dance to the gift I'm giving, forget about your troubles get into the rhythm
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Talking 'bout the rhythm (all we need is rhythm)
Yo, yo, you know what the world needs...we need peace, rhythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
The rythm
You linger for the rap singer, when Donald D brings the party to the deal my presence is felt world wide
You don't dance to this it's suicide
Put your hands into the air on, the M.C. cop, the girlies are pipen' hot
Natorious Lama is how I'm livin' don't step to me step to the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
You make me feel so good
Like I said before the world needs a lot more rhythm
Talking 'bout the rhythm
Talking 'bout the rhythm
Talking 'bout the rhythm
Talking 'bout the rhythm
Talking 'bout the rhythm
Listen to the tracks that rolls, watch the mic as it glows
The lethal weapon got you trapped in this dance mode
Ice-T's throwin' words at you like dodge ball y'all
You gotta move get hit, if you get hit, you fall, no jokin', no boastin' and no bragging
Grip the mic like a .44 magnum, dust you off if you suck 'cause I ain't
You want me to write soft rhyme's, sorry, I write the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
(Talking 'bout) the rhythm
We need rhythm for the world to have peace and unity, we must first have rhythm
song performed by by Everlast
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is it really like fishing?
They say there is many fish in the sea to choose from.
But have you ever gone fishing?
They say do not worry they are like fish you lose one then get a fresh one.
But have you actually gone fishing?
They say you can be picky when fishing your fish.
But have you been in the sea and fished?
They even say some actually smell like fish.
But have you really smelled a fish?
They say there is plenty of fish in the sea.
But have you actually gone and counted the fish in the sea?
They say once you catch that perfect fish, you are bound for a good life.
But have you caught that perfect fish they all speak of?
They say some fish can be beautiful.
But have you seen any beautiful fish?
How can one compare a fish?
They are not alike.
How can one say it is as easy as finding a fish?
It is not a simple task.
How can they say there are so many fish in the sea?
When there are so many fishers who have yet to catch.
Can you really compare life and love to a fish?
The answer is of course not.
You can’t.
Impossible.
Unreal.
Not imaginable.
Unbelievable.
Unrealistic.
A fairy tale.
poem by ReubenJames Rodriguez
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They Say
to be a better poet
they say, i must take a cat for a pet
as though the cat
has rhyme and rhythm
just like a beautiful poem
i took the advice of course
and i agree
that with a cat for a pet
i have written about ten poems
with the necessary elements
of rhyme and rhythm
it was smooth and good
until you brought your munchkin in the house
& since then
the war poem started to be composed
there was chaos
& nothing pious.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I remember the fish
When I remember the fish,
The river longed me to go,
Wriggling and meandering, slippery in this
Imaginary waters of my world,
I become a fish.
When eye sea them eat the fish;
They cast their nets for a random catch, they
Drop their hooks for a strangling pull, then,
I become a fish no more.
When them fail to catch the fish;
As the fish wriggles an escape,
Then eye long to be like one as eye
Wonder whether or not am a fish.
©1998
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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I Am... (Window Bare)
i am...
words spoken with dark skinned hunger,
battles fought in the realm of the heart.
right and wrong that convicts the motive.
the smell and the feel of all that is common.
the question asked in the silent church.
the blood spillt on the courthouse steps.
the language of factories, mills, and shifts.
the cast iron skillet well seasoned.
the field plowed, the seeds planted.
the man standing against the angry mob.
the body hanging from the gnarled old oak.
the prison cell, the stink of fear.
the lovers lost inside each other,
the old woman staring at dishes just washed.
the haunting whisper of buildings vacant.
the old man's body found three days later.
the fury of the neon streets,
the deal made, the blade withdrawn.
the soldier come home to homelessness.
the farm foreclosed by the unseen bank.
death and life, and faded jeans,
the lone rose wilting in the window bare!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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