A Poem At The Approach Of Spring
It's spring. I suppose I ought to be impressed
By snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest -
Quite frankly I detest
The whole goddamn scene,
I'm sick of every platitude
That betrays some soppy poetic attitude -
I'm feeling quite depressed!
The world is young again and green
But, what the hell,
I feel about a hundred years old!
Yes, I detest
The way the poets are so obsessed
With snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest!
I suppose you've guessed
I've lost my poet's interest
In life and growing things,
The way the blackbird sings
And builds its nest,
I am a man apart
And nothing will ever comfort my empty heart.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Related quotes
Something so ordinary can be poetic
Something like
NO PARKING
Is poetic to me
You are a soul
Lost to this
Town of indifference
And you have
Been roaming
Around in your
Old car of a
Soul and you
Want to rest
And think
And what they
Say is
NO PARKING
That is actually
Poetic
Or shall we say
THIS WAY TO THE RESTROOM
Oh that is really
Poetic signifying
Relief that in this country
There still exists A WAY TO
A way a path a footpath
for someone lost
someone wanting to empty
Himself like a heavy cloud
Wanting to empty
Its accumulating heaviness
Like your urinary bladder
Looking for a restroom and
Oh heavens
This is the way to the rest room
This is the way to the heavens
Where I can just
Have the freedom of pursuing my happiness
Of a simple poetic pee
So this way to the rest room
Is a feeling of relief
It is a feeling of relief and poetry is just like that
You look for a way to unburden yourself
A way to this and that of relieving your
Urinary bladder your poetic urinary bladder
Discharging a discomfort
A heaviness of unwanted liquids
Which you have accumulated
In time
And you hold your thing in the manner that you
Want it held and in the process that you want it done
Without anybody looking
Without anybody saying you this is the proper way to pee
And no other else that can make your pee wholesome
To prescribed rules
And you point it to the big basin of a bowl
You pee
You have just discharged a discomfort
With all the images of
THIS WAY PLEASE TO THE COMFORT ROOM
To your comfort zone
Because you have been in such a discomforting fit
In complete release
You feel relief
And that to me is very poetic
THIS WAY TO THE COMFORT ROOM PLEASE
when all you want in life is to pee
On that instance
that moment is the best poetry
To the lines and verses of a person
simply peeing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Suppose We Should Feel Happy
Suppose we should feel happy for to live another day
When one more wealthy person by the reaper called away
Into the life hereafter if there be such a thing
Who can say of this paradise where happy angels sing.
Suppose we should feel happy though circumstance we curse
We may not have much money though things could be far worse
And we ought to count our blessings for our good gift of health
Though it would seem a bonus to add to that some wealth.
Suppose we should feel happy and we ought not complain
If we can't afford the roof repairs though it always leaks in rain
This is the Christian principle 'be happy with your lot'
But how can you feel happy if money you haven't got? .
Suppose you should feel happy though the rent is overdue
And the landlord for his payment is pressurizing you
And your fridge is almost empty and not much food left to eat
And you and your wife and two young children might soon be on the street.
Suppose we should feel happy though we are in the red
And we can't sleep for worrying we toss and turn in bed
And the refrigerator is empty and the child cry to be fed
And suppose we should feel happy 'those words are easily said'.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Wetness
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
Denying heat wont make it go away.
Saying something different,
Is in conflict with your mission.
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
Lie about it!
Try to hide those naked wishes in your mind.
Deny and fight it.
But you know fresh meat is what you want to find.
To bump and grind as you're sighing.
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
You despair for nakedness and wetness.
You want it there,
Some sex and wetness.
Keeping you uptight at night,
And restless.
Ooooohhhyeah...
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
mmmmm...
That sex and wetness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Irreverent Poem about Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils -
I was feeling rather pleased with myself
And my poetic skills,
When suddenly I got a fright -
I'd forgotten to take my pills!
The pills enable me to write
And rhyme and scan as well,
Some people say it is just sh*te
Exclaiming 'Go to hell! '
I write about flowers and beggars and sheep
And lots of soppy things,
Young women read my verse and weep
While angels flap their wings.
My name is Wordsworth (call me Bill)
And modern students find me a bore,
But I'll go on bleating forever until
They boot me out and lock the door! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Snow or Snowdrops?
Is it snow or snowdrops' shimmer
Whitens thus the bladed grass,
With a faint aërial glimmer,--
Spring or winter, which did pass?
For the sky is dim and tender
With an evanescent light,
And the fading fields are white,
White with snow or snowdrops, under
The fair firstling stars of night.
Little robin, softly, cheerly
Piping on yon wintry bough,
Why have all the fields that pearly
Iridescence, knowest thou?
Did old Winter, grim and hoary,
Aim a parting dart at Spring
As she fled on azure wing,
Or did she with rainbow glory
In his face her snowdrops fling?
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Somebody
I want somebody to share
Share the rest of my life
Share my innermost thoughts
Know my intimate details
Someone wholl stand by my side
And give me support
And in return
Hell get my support
He will listen to me
When I want to speak
About the world we live in
And life in general
Though my views may be wrong
They may even be perverted
He will hear me out
And wont easily be converted
To my way of thinking
In fact hell often disagree
But at the end of it all
He will understand me
I want somebody who cares
For me passionately
With every thought and with every breath
Someone wholl help me see things
In a different light
All the things I detest
I will almost like
I dont want to be tied
To anyones strings
Im carefully trying to steer clear
Of those things
But when Im asleep
I want somebody
Who will put their arms around me
And kiss me tenderly
And things like this
Make me sick
In a case like this
Ill get away with it
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suppose
Suppose no rose would ever grow again
Suppose no brook would ever flow again
Suppose no star should ever glow again
Suppose you didn't love me
Suppose there were no bees or butterflies
Suppose no bird should ever cross the skies
Suppose the sun should never never rise
Suppose you didn't love me
It's impossible to imagine a world without a star
But imagining no you is more impossible, by far
Suppose the Springtime never should arrive
Suppose the tall green trees should not survive
Suppose I had no wish to be alive
Suppose you didn't love me
It's impossible to imagine a world without a star
But imagining no you is more impossible, by far
Suppose the Springtime never should arrive
Suppose the tall green trees should not survive
Suppose I had no wish to be alive
Suppose you didn't love me
Suppose you didn't love me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Purple Daffodils
Sorry purple daffodils,
I have got to go.
Across the pond of crocodiles,
All the way to the misty isles.
Of neon priests,
And rotting feasts,
And every thing for the beasts.
Sorry purple daffodils,
You are going to die.
There is nothing i can do,
And I'm to scared to lie.
So i sing good bye to you
And hope that you die fast.
The friendship with the drugs,
Just could not pass
Sorry purple daffodils,
But the world is pretty bad.
All the creatures and silverware give you there condolences
And the Ughetrillzad
Is coloring the ground crimson with tears
Shouting all our fears
Farewell purple daffodils
You had a nice run
While there are some things you lack
Go out in style
You are not coming back.
poem by Gabriel Crow
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Green Things Growing
O the green things growing, the green things growing,
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!
I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,
Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
O the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing!
How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;
In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight
Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.
I love, I love them so - my green things growing!
And I think that they love me, without false showing;
For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,
With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.
And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing
Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing:
Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be,
Many, many a summer of my green things growing!
But if I must be gathered for the angel's sowing,
Sleep out of sight awhile, like the green things growing,
Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn,
If I may change into green things growing.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Daffodils
Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street,
Poor drooping, dusty daffodils - but oh! so Summer sweet!
Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold
The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!
What price to you for daffodils? I'll give what price you please,
For light and love and memory lie leaf by leaf with these!
And if I bought all Sydney Town I could not hope to buy
The wealth you bring of everything that goes with open sky!
My money for your daffodils: why do you thank me so?
If I have paid a reckless price, take up my gift and go,
And from the golden garden beds where gold the sunbeams shine
Bring in more flowers to light the hours for lover-hearts like mine!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Spring Flowers ~ Daffodils & Jonquils
Brightest flowers of early spring
Daffodils and Jonquils
Shout seasonal joy aloud
These lovely flowers always bring
Sunshine that never will
Be dimmed by veil of cloud
With trumpets lifted to face the sun
And petals opened wide to drink
Those warming rays
Daffodils and Jonquils imply fun
Encouraging mankind to think
Of brighter days
Daffodils and Jonquils seek the sun
As it travels along
Days that are lengthening
Seeing them proves Spring has begun
And that before long
We will be summering
poem by Mary Havran
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Spring Delirium
Gold days give way to sudden rain,
But what, I ask, of that?
For I am my own man again,
And gloom comes sprawling flat.
Let grouchers grieve and nurse the hump
Because bleak winds still shout;
But I don't care a tupp'ny dump;
From zero - whoop! - my spirits jump:
The daffodils are out.
Hail bloom of golden promise! Hail!
These trumpets sing of hope.
To mock grim Winter's weakening flail
And shame the misanthrope.
All hail! And hail again, for luck.
Hence, cold and clammy doubt!
Come, Spring! Come, honey-bee and suck;
Into this heady nector tuck!
The daffodils are out!
Spring for the young? Ah, foolish claim.
Spring burgeons for the old,
To touch old hearts again with flame
And oust the creeping cold.
So, as each golden cup now spills
Its gladness all about,
I, freed again of age's ills,
Grow dilly with the daffodils.
The daffodils are out!
Yet, am I old? Who said I'm old?
Ah, Spring's sweet alchemy!
Gaze now upon me and behold
A recharged battery.
I waggle my rheumatic knees
And, as the years I flout,
Hot blood incontinently flees
Along my hardening arteries
The daffodils are out!
Birds call; the buds grow fat; I sing
A daft, delicious lay.
Prim primulas are carpeting
My somewhat wobbly way.
Oh, vernal verve! September's spree!
I laugh! I sing! I shout!
With dragonfly and drunken bee
I go right off my rocker. Gee!
The wotsernames are out!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The First Spring Day
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Lucy In The Subway
Lucy sells her flowers for a quarter apiece
She wound up on the streets
She could not pay her lease
She used to want to save the world
But nothing to her matters now
She lays bout the subway station
Clad in dirty tatters now
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
She lost all her diamonds
And she sold all her pills
Shes been around the block
But shes had too many thrills
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
Lucy holds a dixie cup
Of sixty cents in change
And if she looks you in the eye
You see that shes deranged
She flew too near the sun
And fried her fragile wings
But to her faithful whisky bottle she clings
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
She lost all her diamonds
And she sold all her pills
Shes been around the block
But shes had too many thrills
Lucys in the subway with daffodils
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truth, Goodness And Integrity
THE BEARER OF TRUTH COURTS TROUBLE IN THE WORLD OF LIARS,
THE BEARER OF LIES COURTS TROUBLE IN THE WORLD OF THE TRUTHFULL,
WHY DOST MY WORLD DETEST TRUTH?
WHY DOST MY LAND DETEST GOODNESS?
YES, EVEN MINE HOUSE DETESTS INTEGRITY,
THUS I AM BECOME UNWELCOME IN MINE WORLD,
LO AND BEHOLD, I AM NOW BECOME AN ABOMINATION IN MY LAND,
YES, I AM NOW BECOME DETESTED IN MY OWN HOUSE,
YES, I AM BECOME THAT WHICH THEY DETEST,
I AM BECOME TRUTHFULL,
I AM BECOME GOOD,
YES, I NOW GLOW WITH INTEGRITY,
YES INDEED, I AM TRUELY BECOME THAT WHICH THEY DETEST,
GOODNESS, TRUTHFULL, AND FILLED OF INTEGRITY!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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I Am A Poet
Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me
poem by Metin Sahin
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The Silver Lily
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
Of early spring, and quiet again. Will
Speech disturb you? We're
Alone now; we have no reason for silence.
Can you see, over the garden-the full moon rises.
I won't see the next full moon.
In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
Time was endless. Snowdrops
Opened and closed, the clustered
Seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
Leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
Soft greenish-silver.
We have come too far together toward the end now
To fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means. And you, who've been
With a man--
After the first cries,
Doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?
poem by Louise Gluck
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Who You Are
Someone's drinking all alone
Someone's left the TV on
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
Someone's sleeping in my bed
Someone's let the genie in
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
You know who you are
Who you are, who you are today
Baby's gone and died again
Taken by the tide again
And it's no surprise
She hates goodbyes
Someone's folding paper planes
Someone's on the line again
Someone's crying at the sonnet
Someone's hiding from someone
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
You know who you are
Who you are, who you are today
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's Just Suppose
Let’s just suppose
That over four thousand young men
Got jobs and got married
Became normal Americans and then
Let’s just suppose
These same young men of our new generation
Stayed home and avoided
Nightmares and mutilation
Let’s just suppose
Over four thousand lives were sadly expended
In a hostile land, so far away
In a war built on lies, and is yet open-ended
Let’s just suppose
That many untold billions in funds
Had over four thousand of those young men
Building our country, in lieu of bearing guns
Let’s just suppose
That instead, billions were spent on education
On infrastructure, medical research and homeland defense
Lives better spent, to build a better, stronger nation
Let’s just suppose
That the mad minds in our administration
Had Instead, kept those heroic young boys
safe at home, while still defending our nation
Let’s just wonder
amidst all the war-wager’s noise
Was this one man…Saddam Housein
Worth more than four thousand of our young boys?
Let’s just suppose
This madness we could suspend
All stand together and say “enough is enough.”
We’re not the world’s policemen
This madness must end!
Let’s just propose….
To bring our young men
Back home.
poem by David Whalen
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0082 The New Grave
You brought your watercolour kit.
For it’s so picturesque – the smallish church
in the centre of the village
like a mother hen at drowsy midday
surrounded by her chicks;
the red-white flag of Saint George
the only sign of life, fluttering like
an aerial footnote to history
(or for some, a corner of a foreign football field…)
but there’s a new detail in the picture
since last you sketched here:
the newest arrival is the oldest: death;
the oldest signifier is the fresh-turned earth.
The uninvited thought squirms across the mind
like the exposed worms of that rich soil,
how reassuring to be buried in this ideal
picture-book of continuity amidst the change,
a country churchyard. A cemetery
has no geography and thus no history
save in the hearts of families;
here, all is reassuring
except to broken hearts which time will heal
all bar the scar.
Already, the bunch of daffodils
in the empty honey jar
have bowed to that same death;
reminding us that graves are spun around
a hundred and forty years of family history:
she’ll remember how she loved her Nan
who died at seventy-something
for all her own seventyish future years.
Rest in peace means something here.
Meanwhile, the daffodils thrive, dotted
among the graves, as unconcerned
as the soft rubber tyres of the hearse
now catching at the Spring’s reaching foliage
as it approaches at a perfectly-judged pace
down Church Lane, returning peace to peace.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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