The Makers
Who can remember back to the first poets,
The greatest ones, greater even than Orpheus?
No one has remembered that far back
Or now considers, among the artifacts,
And bones and cantilevered inference
The past is made of, those first and greatest poets,
So lofty and disdainful of renown
They left us not a name to know them by.
They were the ones that in whatever tongue
Worded the world, that were the first to say
Star, water, stone, that said the visible
And made it bring invisibles to view
In wind and time and change, and in the mind
Itself that minded the hitherto idiot world
And spoke the speechless world and sang the towers
Of the city into the astonished sky.
They were the first great listeners, attuned
To interval, relationship, and scale,
The first to say above, beneath, beyond,
Conjurors with love, death, sleep, with bread and wine,
Who having uttered vanished from the world
Leaving no memory but the marvelous
Magical elements, the breathing shapes
And stops of breath we build our Babels of.
poem by Howard Nemerov
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An Exhortation
Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame:
If in this wide world of care
Poets could but find the same
With as little toil as they,
Would they ever change their hue
As the light chameleons do,
Suiting it to every ray
Twenty times a day?
Poets are on this cold earth,
As chameleons might be,
Hidden from their early birth
In a cave beneath the sea;
Where light is, chameleons change:
Where love is not, poets do:
Fame is love disguised: if few
Find either, never think it strange
That poets range.
Yet dare not stain with wealth or power
A poet's free and heavenly mind:
If bright chameleons should devour
Any food but beams and wind,
They would grow as earthly soon
As their brother lizards are.
Children of a sunnier star,
Spirits from beyond the moon,
O, refuse the boon!
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Change The World
(hendrix, parrish, pilson)
If we could change the world
It wouldnt change their minds
We could turn back to good
But we cant turn back time
Weve got to show them all
A world thats filled with hate and greed
Wont last for very long
Its love that we all need
Weve got to change the world now
Before we run out of time
Weve got to change the world
But we mst learn to walk
Before we learn to fly
Weve been through this before
About a million times
You cant turn back to ice
There is no compromise
Weve got to change the world now
Before we run out of time
Weve got to change to the world
But we must learn to walk
Before we learn to fly
1991 marked the year of the end of the era of communism in the soviet union.
The voices of the people were heard
The berlin wall was brought down
The people made the change
We can change the world
Weve got to change the world now
Before we run out of time
Weve got to change the world
But we must learn to walk
Before we learn to fly
If we could change the world
If we could change the world
(repeat)
song performed by by War And Peace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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In a City
In an eastern city where I won’t return
there is a winged stone light and huge
lightning strikes this winged stone
I close my eyes to remember
in my city where I won’t return
there is heavy and nourishing water
the one who gives you a cup of this water
gives you the faith you will still return
in my faraway city that has gone
from all maps of the world there is bread that can nourish
throughout life black as the faith you will see again
stone bread water and the presence of towers at dawn
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Poetribute
Poets are few
But the pens are plenty Is like the world is running to his end
With no minute and hour paused to rest
Running as if to fulfil long-told revelation
Poets have all gone beneath the sand
The pregnant graveyards
Where they sleep with the hope to be born
To another world hereafter
Death be not proud
You can only claim the flesh
But not the soul
O the poets are few
And the pens are plenty
Hard are the words out.
To combat untruth in men
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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Who? From 'Ellam Ondre
To know the unity of all
is good for you and good for others.
Is there any better way to obtain the good?
Who can share the mental peace,
the mental freshness, of one who knows unity?
Thus, you become the good itself;
you become the God made visible.
Who are you? You are turiya:
beyond sleeping, dreaming, waking;
what is there more for you than that?
It is pure knowledge, that with which
you see the world in truth: this is
the greatest good you can gain from the world;
the greatest good you can give back to it.
Who is God? He has no name
but that we give to Him;
he has no form but that we give to Him;
but what’s the harm in that?
Unknown; yet He is known to us:
to believe that He exists
will bring you to that being, consciousness, and bliss
that cannot be separated in your nature,
in His nature; and by your efforts,
your master and your way will come to you;
then you will see nothing that is not God.
Then you will wake to peace;
you will have earned the right to act;
then you cannot help but serve the world;
the good for anyone will flow from you.
Guard the delicate flower of the mind;
its fragrance, freshness, colour:
your mind, more delicate even than a blossom;
peace will bless your mind;
with it, worship the God that is yourself;
be peace.
And in that peace, know every action to be God’s:
then you will shine forth as God yourself;
through you God’s purpose for His creation
will be fulfilled. The creation is as it should be;
all things are in order. Who can change this?
As the thief suffers as he steals,
you gain the fruits of knowledge as you act;
the law is, all is one.
Know all evils in the world as from ego;
But, oh ego! Your enemy is greater:
you are perishable; He is not -
and in truth, He is your greatest friend:
he knows, ego, how to make you
worthy of true greatness and all blessings;
he asks nothing of you but - surrender;
and at the moment of surrender – joy.
‘I am Brahman’ – were these simply words to you?
Know this, all enemies become your friend;
magnanimous, you will arise;
all names, all forms, all good, all love;
they then are none but you.’
*
[These six verses are a crude summary of the six chapters of
‘Ellam Ondre’ by Vijai Subramaniyam (19th century Tamil)
which Ramana Maharshi recommended, as guide above all, to his
closest disciples. Download at www.realization.org]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Hear Within Myself The Greater Lines Of Others
I HEAR WITHIN MYSELF THE GREATER LINES OF OTHERS
I hear within myself the greater lines of others-
I began to write ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’
I thought ‘Continuous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the Milky Way’
I felt ‘When you are old and grey and full of sleep’
I thought again ‘Doth God exact day – labor light denied? ”
I felt in my soul ‘Ah love let us be true to one another For the world which lies before us like a land of dreams ‘
Inside me I heard ‘The world is filled with the grandeur of God’
Time after time I repeated ‘O cursed spite that ever I was born to set it right’-
All in me is poetry more than my own
‘Oh to be in England, now that April’s here’
'Oh wild west wind thou breath of autumn's being'
I do not know how to stop the lines -
More in me than myself is the Poetry of others
And where I begin must end a greater Beauty not my own-
Oh Poem Oh Poetry Oh Poets of the Past
Oh Light of the world greater than my own small light-
Oh singing in the wilderness a song not my own
Oh much more than I can ever be
Others’ Poetry.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Could Have Been
Today at work I overheard a name
I knew it wasnt yours but it touched me just the same
It felt so good to have you in my mind
I guess Im the sentimental kind
I wonder who you became
Did you change the world
Or play the game
We came so close to love back then
We could have been
You were so brave when I was shy
I made you laugh when something made you cry
And I dont think we ever said goodbye
Now Ill always wonder why
I wonder who you became
Did you change the world
Or play the game
We came so close to love back then
We could have been
A time or two
I thought about calling
But something always gets in the way
Maybe Im afraid youd really answer
What would I say to you
I wonder who you became
Did you change the world
Or play the game
We came so close to love back then
We could have been
We could have been
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Elegy on the Death of Kenneth Patchen
A poet is born
A poet dies
And all that lies between
is us
and the world
And the world lies about it
making as if it had got his message
even though it is poetry
but most of the world wishing
it could just forget about him
and his awful strange prophecies
Along with all the other strange things
he said about the world
which were all too true
and which made them fear him
more than they loved him
though he spoke much of love
Along with all the alarms he sounded
which turned out to be false
if only for the moment
all of which made them fear his tongue
more than they loved him
Though he spoke much of love
and never lived by ‘silence exile & cunning’
and was a loud conscientious objector to
the deaths we daily give each other
though we speak much of love
And when such a one dies
even the agents of Death should take note
and shake the shit from their wings
in Air Force One
But they do not
And the shit still flies
And the poet now is disconnected
and won’t call back
though he spoke much of love
And still we hear him say
‘Do I not deal with angels
when her lips I touch’
And still we hear him say
‘0 my darling troubles heaven
with her loveliness’
And still we hear him say
‘As we are so wonderfully done with each other
We can walk into our separate ‘sleep
On floors of music where the milkwhite cloak
of childhood lies’
And still we hear him saying
‘Therefore the constant powers do not lessen
Nor is the property of the spirit scattered
on the cold hills of these events’
And still we hear him asking
‘Do the dead know what time it is?’
He is gone under
He is scattered
undersea
and knows what time
but won’t be back to tell it
He would be too proud to call back anyway
And too full of strange laughter
to speak to us anymore anyway
And the weight of human experience
lies upon the world
like the chains of the ‘sea
in which he sings
And he swings in the tides of the sea
And his ashes are washed
in the ides of the sea
And ‘an astonished eye looks out of the air’
to see the poet singing there
And dusk falls down a coast somewhere
where a white horse without a rider
turns its head
to the sea
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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The Holy Virgin
The Holy Virgin
The time has…has come the time of death,
The death of my life, death of my breath,
Death of all but one…death of one but all,
Yet into the void for death I shall call.
It is near but death itself is nearer,
For all those who shall not be cheerer,
Death was the love I called upon into the world,
It was love that trembled as my death built a new world.
A new world with one less,
A new world with a greater mess,
For death of one is death of all,
Still into the void, My love for death I shall call.
‘Cause there is none like death
And none like death can take my breath.
For I was me and me alone,
And I was mine and mine own.
‘Cause there is none like me-
None as different…and not one so free.
Death was all I had ever known,
From when I as a seed into the earth was sown,
To the skies I reached out yet grew not,
Higher than all I was yet was so merely short.
I knew not what I wanted,
But I knew that what I was gifted,
But I knew not what I had to do,
But I knew very well what to do.
Behind bars I had threw mine soul and heart,
But not my mind which was my delicate art,
‘Cause that was all I had,
It was merry yet sad,
‘Cause I was far from all, I severed myself,
Yet my love was not for myself,
Unfathomable was my love for love,
Yet I hid it all up in a cove.
But I did what I did,
For I was me and not some other silly did.
I told them not when they told I was wrong;
When they told I was bad I told I was wrong,
For I knew my action,
Yet lost was the proper reaction.
Sins were mine, sins to all,
Sins were mine but mine sins not all.
Robbed by death I was of all but one,
One was my mind- the special one.
For my mind was mine and mine alone,
Amidst all it sparkled and shone,
For death touched it not as what it was it knew not,
Yet of that it never forgot,
For it was the only that was beleft,
When death made love to earth and none was left,
Because when all was gone,
Left was the different one,
When gone was the origin,
Left behind was my mind – The Holy Virgin.
JamesGreen…
poem by James Green
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The Poets Of The Tomb
The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead,
'Tis time the people passed a law to knock 'em on the head,
For 'twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave --
Those bards of `tears' and `vanished hopes', those poets of the grave.
They say that life's an awful thing, and full of care and gloom,
They talk of peace and restfulness connected with the tomb.
They say that man is made of dirt, and die, of course, he must;
But, all the same, a man is made of pretty solid dust.
There is a thing that they forget, so let it here be writ,
That some are made of common mud, and some are made of GRIT;
Some try to help the world along while others fret and fume
And wish that they were slumbering in the silence of the tomb.
'Twixt mother's arms and coffin-gear a man has work to do!
And if he does his very best he mostly worries through,
And while there is a wrong to right, and while the world goes round,
An honest man alive is worth a million underground.
And yet, as long as sheoaks sigh and wattle-blossoms bloom,
The world shall hear the drivel of the poets of the tomb.
And though the graveyard poets long to vanish from the scene,
I notice that they mostly wish their resting-place kept green.
Now, were I rotting underground, I do not think I'd care
If wombats rooted on the mound or if the cows camped there;
And should I have some feelings left when I have gone before,
I think a ton of solid stone would hurt my feelings more.
Such wormy songs of mouldy joys can give me no delight;
I'll take my chances with the world, I'd rather live and fight.
Though Fortune laughs along my track, or wears her blackest frown,
I'll try to do the world some good before I tumble down.
Let's fight for things that ought to be, and try to make 'em boom;
We cannot help mankind when we are ashes in the tomb.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Francis Webb is easily our greatest poet and one of the greatest poets in the world but he's hardly ever mentioned.
quote by Robert Adamson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leave Me In The Wind
You leave me in the wind and drive away
I look at you, cold coloring my face
I must've known as you went your separate way
That you were leaving a world that would've vanished anyway
You left me in the cold, I'm casting blame
On you and your ever-hateful ways
And I'm not claiming anymore that I knew I had to stay
But I had to live without you past that day
Now I look down and sigh from day to day
Wondering if you hadn't left me, what would change
But I'm dreaming of a future where I claim
A world of enjoying life without you today
I can't say I'm impressed now
And I know, I know I'm judging you
But it's not like you don't deserve it
I can't say I'm sleeping peaceful now
But I know, I know I made the right choice
Living without you all that time
I can't say I'm happy now
And I know, I know you're somewhere out there with some other girl
Begging the same thing
that you begged of me
Oh, but I'm here today
And I thank you at least for that
Cause if you stayed I probably would've left
But if I left you wouldn't have stayed anyway
So I lay down my burden
At his side tonight
Hoping that you look down
from far away
And you see it playing in my head again…
You left me in the wind and drove away
I watched you, the cold coloring my face
I must've known as you went your separate way
That we would have vanished anyway
Poets & Slaves
Here comes the mechanical sun
working on the bones in the dry old creek bed
mist on the old river bend yellow box hangs like it's dead
the emerald silo is rusting from the inside.
You want to run like the wind you'll never come here again
you want a world you can save so c'mon you poets and slaves.
Circus olympia pulls into town
the dwarf and the fat man head out for beer
there is no lion that roars to one can stand on the horse
tomorrow is a no show the fortune teller cries.
You want to go down in flames you're gonna crash like the waves
you can't remember your name so come on you poets and slaves.
We got everything we need sugar and beef
we got some good ideas
we got the steering wheels and rolling stock too
clouds came down low on the corn
meat ants are gathering like storms
somewhere in the quiet wild darkness a crocodile cries.
You gotta you gotta you gotta
c'mon you poets and slaves.
You got to arrest the decay you're sinking down in the bay
you can't remember your name c'mon you poets and slaves.
You've got to count what you've made
you're gonna pass like the days
stop time and head for the stage.
And c'mon you poets and slaves
c'mon you poets and slaves.
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brave New World
Dying swans twisted wings, beauty not needed here
Lost my love, lost my life, in this garden of fear
I have seen many things, in a lifetime alone
Mother love is no more, bring this savage back home
Wilderness house of pain, makes no sense of it all
Close this mind dull this brain, messiah before his fall
What you see is not real, those who know will not tell
All is lost sold your souls to this brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
Dragon kings dying queens, where is salvation now
Lost my life lost my dreams, rip the bones from my flesh
Silent screams laughing here, dying to tell you the truth
You are planned and you are damned in this brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
A brave new world, in a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
In a brave new world, a brave new world
Dying swans twisted wings, bring this savage back home
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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About love
I
You were my darling, the relief in the desert,
your smile shone in darkness over my life
and you brought me refreshment
out of the fountain of love in your heart.
II
In your arms at times there were rest,
I was constantly aware of your love
while stormy winds were crying on the outside
and with you I were warm and comfortable.
III
As if it were an interval in a inaccessible world
your body brought new meaning to my life
while you were clinging to me in yearning
we formed a magical bond.
IV
I know that our days here are measured out,
that a time will come where I will no longer know
about how deep and intense your love is
and I pray that in the hereafter I do not forget.
V
When at times your were not with me
I knew how deeply a person could miss someone,
I knew how much your love meant to me,
that it was the greatest blessing in the darkness of this world
VI
I do not know what I did love more
you clinging to me in passion
or you looking with love over a table at me,
comprehending the emotion in your look.
VII
In this world each one of us is only an actor
who does not really know what will happen in the next one
and as destiny determines
the earth opens for some.
VIII
Still it is with love that you are resting,
maybe totally unaware of my current existence,
what had been between us stays great
and with the circumstances I have got to take acquiesce.
IX
Maybe someday in the coming world
I will be astonished by the new form that you exist in
and we will still adore each other,
in a place where everything is perfect.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Intervals
The interval of a minute
Can change the whole world-
At least, all of mine
Whether you take someone’s hand
And leave it sitting there,
Or take that someone’s hand
And toss it in the air
Jumbling their thoughts so much,
Giving them a different opinion
That they invite you to come inside
The interval of a second
Can change the whole world-
At least, all of theirs
And more
When you give them a different point of view,
They remember your way, and pass it on to others
Which opens up mountain passes between us
In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem about poetry - The poet's life is a poem
the conceited wrote only
one or two decent or
even great poems
and branded themselves
greater poets than the others
the greatest poets are those
whose life is itself a delicate poem
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Machines
It's a Machine's world
Don't tell me I ain't got no soul
When the machines take over
It ain't no place for you and me.
They tell me I don't care
But deep inside I'm just a man
They freeze me they burn me
They squeeze me they stress me
With smoke-blackened pistons of steel they compress me
But no-one, but no-one, but no-one can wrest me away
Back to Humans.
We have no disease, no troubles of mind
No thank you please, no regard for the time
We never cry, we never retreat
We have no conception of love or defeat.
What's that Machine noise
It's bytes and megachips for tea
It's that Machine, boys
With Random Access Memory
Never worry, never mind
Not for money, not for gold.
It's software it's hardware
It's heartbeat is time-share
It's midwife's a disk drive
It's sex-life is quantised
It's self-perpetuating a parahumanoidarianised.
Back to Humans
Back to Humans.
Back to Machines.
Living in a new world
Thinking in the past
Living in a new world
How you gonna last
Machine world...
It's a Machine's world...
Change.
Back to Humans.
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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