Memories
let me be that poem
that witnesses your
secret yearning as
your glance falls
into that well of
heaven of his
a tightly guarded
glance that lifts
the veil of longings
to let a fruitful
imagination warm
up your nights
let me be that poem
that witnesses you
open yourself up wholly
to your loved one
without the fear of
losing, brushing his hair
counting each strand
as a blessing you have won
let me be the poem
that witnesses the tears
you let loose the years
years of care and love
expressed with deeds
denied in words
each word of
those years of sacrifice
is now a roll of tears
down a floodgate
greeted by his
heartaching silence
each dropp of tears that runs
thicker than the years
swifter than memory
purifying the window of love
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Years of Tears
Years of tears for no ears to hear, lonely for years am I
Years of tears for no ears to hear in silence they dropp and die
Years of tears, hidden deep, I cannot weep, nor cry.
Years of tears, for many fears of dying alone, I sigh.
Years of tears which no one hears as many years go by.
Years of tears in the lonely sky, my tears grow wings and fly.
Years of tears, my smile shines, through its little lines, I lie.
Years of tears, my somber peers through my melancholy eye
Tears of tears, Years of Years, in my soul, I tie.
Years of tears for no ears to hear my tears weep goodbye….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
This is a poem....
This isn't a poem of one direction,
This is a poem about perfection.
This isn't a poem about who won the election,
This is a poem about correction.
This isn't a poem of getting it right,
This is a poem of standing up to fight.
This isn't a poem of being lost like a kite,
This is a poem about trying to find the light.
This isn't a poem of running tears,
This is a poem about chasing your fears.
This isn't a poem of love and hate,
This is a poem of destiny and fate.
This isn't a poem of the end,
This is a poem of a heart unable to mend.
This isn't a poem of cruilty and pain,
This is a poem of a thng i need to gain.
This isn't a poem of shame,
This is a poem of fame.
Thsi isn't a poem of the life i let loose,
THIS IS A POEM OF THE TRUTH.
poem by Tammie LilAimo
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Needs Years To Make A Poem
i am not surprised with what she just said
to make a poem of her life
she needs years and years
perhaps a hundred years
if need be to make the best poem
of her life
her words are days and days
her stanzas her dwelling place
her commas and punctuations
her naps and long hours of sleep
her poem is her life
she lives inside it
she breathes every word every letter
and when she reads it when it is finished
she speaks her last, hounding silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Someday I will write a poem of tears for you
Our love story was a little bit tragic
Starting with youthful laughter & joys
Some quarrels and disappointments
For a while
On love that never knew whether it ended
When and where
You ask me if I also shed some tears
I did not answer I was gone for good
I have only tears since then
In my eyes
You had tears for a while but then
You have learned to laugh again
Somewhere
Someday I will write you a poem
Where all the words will all be tears
Where the poet has not known
Laughter, or joy ever again.
Because In truth
My years are counted by drops of tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Most Famous I Am Poem
The most famous I Am poem was penned by John Clare
When he was in Northampton mental asylum and burdened by care
A poem from all others that set him apart
For life's poor and forsaken a cry from the heart,
A poem by an aged poet lost in the lost years
The most famous I Am poem move many to tears
A poem written by one who knew about despair
That poem his reality such poems are rare
The most famous I Am poem tells of an Earthly Hell
Known by the fringe dwellers the mentally unwell
The song of an old poet forsaken and gray
The truth in his words is still living today
And though the renowned old wordsmith to the reaper long gone
His famous I Am poem it is living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Leaving And Glad
You've been here many years.
You've seen and made many shed tears.
But with patience and pray we've muddle through.
Now we can all just say so long, and goodbye to you.
I know you won't be sad if you don't hear.
One and all giving that great big cheer.
Your words and actions cut like a knife.
To you we were tools for you to strife.
Retirement for you certainly won't be much fun.
You will have so few with which you can shun.
You didn't worry when you show you didn't care.
Working for and with you was really quite a dare.
With your leaving no poem I must write.
Because you would treat it as trite.
But now I too can be bold and brash.
Some day my words will bring me cash.
For years I was named a trouble maker.
Like some others we were in a big shaker.
You blamed others when things went wrong.
Thats why your poem is so very strong.
They say prayer can move mountains this I believe.
Since now you've been told retire and leave.
You voiced don't dare write a poem for you.
Yet deep in my heart I felt a poem you were due.
poem by Lois M. Crockett
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The Poem Of The Sea Is For Me in Tel Aviv Today
THE POEM OF THE SEA IS FOR ME IN TEL AVIV TODAY
BET CHOL HAMOED PESACH 5762
The poem of the sea is for me today
The poem of longing and beauty
It is the poem of light
Of distance
It is the poem of waves unceasing
And colors dreaming their changes faster than they can be named-
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of return and happiness
A poem of being with my family-
It is too a poem of memories
How thirty- five years ago just beginning
I came to the same sea alone
And wondered how
If I would ever have a family of my own
Then young in love
And later losing love
And then returning alone
And now again here
With a daughter her husband and my granddaughter
The poem of the sea is for me
On this day
A poem of Love and Gratitude to God
Of longing and beauty of light of distance
And happiness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
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The Poem -Written On The Small Pad
THE POEM / WRITTEN ON THE SMALL PAD
The poem/
Written on the small pad
In the almond tree park
Intersection Disraeli- Alkalai
The poem of the past days
The poem of the light – rain beginning,
Another Jerusalem poem-
Four- thousand years of Jerusalem poems
I from Troy, New York
Thirty- five years in Israel
Nearly sixty- eight years of age
Write.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Naked Poem
i unbutton your blouse
with a naked poem...
the same poem that lit the fire
on a snowfall morning....
brought you breakfast in bed.
the same poem that held the baby,
and wiped the tears from your face...
that wrapped around you
when we buried your daddy....
that kept the lone candle
burning all that night....
that helped you pack to go,
and opened the door
to let you back in....
that stood in front of you
when the storms came...
that walked by your side
through the darkest nights....
the poem that unlocked
your heart thirty years ago....
the poem lying beside you,
listening to two hearts racing....
that plunges into you
till all else is lost!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Full fat voluptuous silence
Silence
Except for the poem
The poem is reading in my head
I can make it stop, for a while
Then it starts again
I can jump onto the words
And for a time I ride the line
Then dropping off I stand and watch
as the poem goes rolling by
The poem has broken colours
Bits of sound and not much shape
And suddenly I am in tears
I have to look away and wait
Finally there is silence
Full fat voluptuous silence
Except
Except for the poem
poem by Sean Joyce
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The poem is reading in my head
Silence, except for the poem
The poem is reading in my head
I can make it stop, for a while
Then it starts again
I can jump onto the words
And for a time I ride the line
Then dropping off I stand and watch
as the poem goes rolling by
The poem has broken colours
Bits of sound and not much shape
And suddenly I am in tears
I have to look away and wait
Finally there is silence
Full fat voluptuous silence
Except, except for the poem
poem by Sean Joyce
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Your Poems About Love Revisited
the first poem that you really find it hard to write
is to write an image which must tell her
that you love her truly from the bottom of your heart, and then
the most beautiful poem comes from her when she admits that she
also loves you with all her heart and soul and mind,
and then the saddest poem
was not written.
it was when everything ended.
the years passed.
and you do not even know
where she is.
it is always the saddest poem,
when you do not know where to find love
anymore.
All corners of the world are looking for it.
They seem not to find it,
and all these corners will only stop writing
and talking and speaking
when love is found
when their hearts are
filled,
when their mouths
cannot utter a word,
because of so much abundance,
bliss, joy, happiness, these shall make
us mute for another hundred years.
for in making love,
words do not have use,
except to call its name again
on the intensity of feeling....love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem
THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM
There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -
There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-
There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-
And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -
The page suffers many methods and modes
But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Happy Poem (2)
a baby poem grows into
a lady poem
and one day at the port
she disembarks
sees her old mother poem
and they hug so tight
and kiss and
cry
all the tears of joy
on their first meeting
after
a separation
something they cannot
explain why
all those years
fate and prose
did not meet them
until the metaphor-ships
find them in
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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