Modern Poesy
Appealing like the charming teen-ager
Lovingly in love loved by the same 'ager
Sometimes metering doddered lika a toddler
Prosodial lingua travailing like a prattler..
By all means
Poesy but says 'I don't bother'
But I say'o.k, you're too a stylish mother'
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
When you come to Christ as a real young person, I think when you become a teen-ager either you rebel or you search, doubt, and wonder.
quote by Jerry B. Jenkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Movie Memories
Holding hands at the movies
waiting for the lights to dim.
Anticipating the characters on the screen
but thinking of only him.
The one beside you, not on the screen.
His arm now on your shoulder.
You feel the length of his arm.
He becomes a little bit bolder.
You see the characters on the screen.
All are playing their part.
You forget the name of the movie
but not what's happening to your heart.
The lights come on all too soon
but not before he kisses you.
Great to be a teen-ager.
Sorry, the movie is through.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ms Shay
Thirty-one years old...
Wow how time has passed.
With looks of a teen-ager!
'Now Shayla...
You and I know that ain't gon' last! '
But you have a timeless beauty,
And what's greater is your heart that's pure.
You have Kamara and Kevin...
Two wonderful children you raise.
They reflect your terrificness,
And you deserve the praise.
I wont mention your cooking...
Because someone else might be reading this,
And looking!
But I will say this...
I've heard you cook a mean pot of grits!
You know Uncle Larry likes to tease...
Especially you, my beautiful niece!
And when all is said and done...
I want the world to know,
How magnificent you have become!
I am so proud of you, 'Ms Shay'
And I am wishing you a glorious,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Dedicated to My Niece:
Ms Shayla Louise Dixon
On her birthday
August 21st 2007
'Love you, My precious one! '
Uncle Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh Mother
ho mother your the best my life
look upon to you real mother
you not like who kill their baby
your love is forever between me
and you, you loved so much oh
i think if you die way from me
my life will reach to the end of world
Many hugs
Only luv never anger
Teaching me
Helping me
Every smile when I was sad
Raising me to be strong
It spells Mother. Thanks for being u.
Happy Mother's Day
means more than flowers and gifts
It means saying thank you
It means I love you
You are my mother, my friend
Today is your day
love you mother ikeruth
poem by Ahmed Kakembo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night In Iowa
Nimbus clouds erasing stars above Lamoni.
Jaundiced lights. Silos. Loose dogs. Cows
whose stench infuses the handful of homes,
whose sad voices storm the plains with longing.
poem by Deborah Ager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Being A Mother Means
Being a mother means when you pray for your children God will hear
Being a mother means that you can give a hug when they are near
Being a mother means endless chores
But always with love and it should be something we adore
Being a mother means unconditional love
Even though they do aweful things
Being a mother means we remember the day they were born
Being a mother means they are a gift to cherish, one that we should Not ignore
poem by Zelda Gerkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If I Didnt Care
Jack lawrence / milton ager
If your hearts in doubt, my love
Worried about my love
Then all your fear
Is only foolish fancy, dear
If I didnt care more than words can say
If I didnt care would I feel this way?
If this isnt love
Then maybe Im wrong
But why do I lie awake all night
And dream all day long?
If I didnt care would it be the same?
Would every prayer begin and end with just your name?
And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare?
Would all this be true
If I didnt care for you?
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Morning
We are what we repeatedly do.
—Aristotle
You know how it is waking
from a dream certain you can fly
and that someone, long gone, returned
and you are filled with longing,
for a brief moment, to drive off
the road and feel nothing
or to see the loved one and feel
everything. Perhaps one morning,
taking brush to hair you'll wonder
how much of your life you've spent
at this task or signing your name
or rising in fog in near darkness
to ready for work. Day begins
with other people's needs first
and your thoughts disperse like breath.
In the in-between hour, the solitary hour,
before day begins all the world
gradually reappears car by car.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Deborah Ager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alone
Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.
A beer bottle sweats in your hand,
and sea lavender clogs the air
with perfume. Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do
after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether
butter will last the week, how much
longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.
poem by Deborah Ager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Santa Fe In Winter
The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim
infrequent streetlight bending at the neck
like a weighted stem. Years have built
the city in layers: balustrades filled in
with brick, adobe reinforced with steel,
and the rounded arches smoothed
with white cement. Neighborhoods
have changed the burro trails
to streets, bare at night—
no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs.
With daylight, the houses turned galleries
and stores turned restaurants open—
the Navajos wrapped in wool
crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza
to sell their handmade blankets,
silver rings, and necklaces
to travelers who will buy jewelry
as they buy everything—
another charming history for themselves.
poem by Deborah Ager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Book Of Suleika - Suleika 04
WITH what inward joy, sweet lay,
I thy meaning have descried!
Lovingly thou seem'st to say
That I'm ever by his side;
That he ever thinks of me,
That he to the absent gives
All his love's sweet ecstasy,
While for him alone she lives.
Yes, the mirror which reveals
Thee, my loved one, is my breast;
This the bosom, where thy seals
Endless kisses have impress'd.
Numbers sweet, unsullied truth,
Chain me down in sympathy!
Love's embodied radiant youth,
In the garb of poesy!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Death means Love means
Death means freedom
Love means pain
Which would you choose?
Death means rest peacefully
Love means restless motion
Which would be comfortable?
Death means life
love means death to the heart
Which one would you want?
Death means everlasting happiness
Love means confusion
Which would be more rich?
Death means rejoice with loved ones
Love means losing someone
Which would be better?
Death means peaceful dreams for forever
Love means fear of nightmares
Which would you perfer?
poem by Desserray Whitcomb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A mother and a toddler
Screeching tires
Halting onlookers
Camaraderie
Is dubious
What’s beneath
Limbs were strewn apart
Flesh of a mother and a toddler
Government officials
Broke down to their knees
The beggar they’re chasing
Was gone in a split seconds
Surreal
Now they have deceased
A tragic ending
Was it a life’s lesson?
Who could bear?
To look at the scene
Paradigm?
I swear
It’s not supposed to be seen
A toddler
In tact
In his mother’s cuddle
Albeit mother’s strewn
All over
A bundle
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Woman Who Loves Poesy
She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.
She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.
Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight
To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What a mother should be
A mother is the one who loves you
A mother puts no drug above you
A mother will never make you cry
A mother will never make you want to die
A mother will help you fight your fears
A mother will help you stop your tears
A mother will keep you safe and sound
A mother will never let you down
A mother will daily say I love you
A mother won’t say I hate you
A mother won’t wish you were dead
A mother won’t forget what you said
A mother won’t close the door
A mother won’t let you be poor
Now I ask you, do you have a mother?
Cause’ I don’t, so don’t bother.
poem by Carlisa Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother's Love
mother's love is
unconditional
whatever that means
it is in the face
that only your mother
can love,
it is like a clean loan
from the bank
without terms and
conditions
no time frame when
to be paid
no interests and penalties
you need not even
pay it
that is why
mothers always feel
bankrupt
but mind you
they do not bother.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tortoise In Keystone Heights
When I knew, it was raining.
Winter in decline. I was tired.
You in your soaked shirt diffused
into the western sky bulging with clouds,
speeding cars a few feet away—
why would they not slow down?
Though afternoon, a slip of moon
busied itself with rising,
and it had to mean something.
If only the moon were not out.
You shoveled the crushed tortoise
and her eggs off the highway into the dirt.
Those soft, white eggs.
This is how I love you:
drenched with Florida rain
and looking like hell,
Florida itself a hell,
the moonlit rain a rain of fire.
poem by Deborah Ager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Die Lika Pig
Muir-Siegel-Trujillo-
Every puto has a day and yours is coming!
Ain't no feelin' sorry 'bout the things I'm gonna do to you!
I get prepare, then I roll off to battle
Behind the wheel of a six deuce I saddle
Round you up like a cowboy does cattle
Pull the triger and the Uzi just rattle
Throw on the dickies, winos, rag and I'm ready
There's always time to get some lovin' from a betty
I sight you out and then I hold my hand steady
3 hollow points in your chest and damn you're bloody!
No mess'n with the shape I'm in! Die lika pig, you pig!
No mess'n with the shape I'm in! Die lika pig, you pig!
No time to waste on elegant conversation
Lock in a plan, procede without hesitation
Start a new chapter in a violent presentation
Cover my tracks so there won't be no complications
This ain't no "whouf." I'm gonna raise the stake up
Pressures on, thought starts to break up
I'm like a nightmare from which you can't wake up
I'll treat you like a ho and with a ho I don't make up
No mess'n with the shape I'm in! Die lika pig, you pig!
No mess'n with the shape I'm in! Die lika pig, you pig
song performed by by Infectious Grooves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lion & Honeycomb
He didn't want to do it with skill,
He'd had enough of skill. If he never saw
Another villanelle, it would be too soon;
And the same went for sonnets. If it had been
Hard work learning to rime, it would be much
Harder learning not to. The time came
He had to ask himself, what did he want?
What did he want when he began
That idiot fiddling with the sounds of things.
He asked himself, poor moron, because he had
Nobody else to ask. The others went right on
Talking about form, talking about myth
And the (so help us) need for a modern idiom;
The verseballs among them kept counting syllables.
So there he was, this forty-year-old teen-ager
Dreaming preposterous mergers and divisions
Of vowels like water, consonants like rock
(While everybody kept discussing values
And the need for values), for words that would
Enter the silence and be there as a light.
So much coffee and so many cigarettes
Gone down the drain, gone up in smoke,
Just for the sake of getting something right
Once in a while, something that could stand
On its own flat feet to keep out windy time
And the worm, something that might simply be,
Not as the monument in the smoky rain
Grimly endures, but that would be
Only a moment's inviolable presence,
The moment before disaster, before the storm,
In its peculiar silence, an integer
Fixed in the middle of the fall of things,
Perfected and casual as to a child's eye
Soap bubbles are, and skipping stones.
poem by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!