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One Lucky Gal

(poetry in progress)

such a great number of years
she has collected, one lucky gal
ninety three of them to be exact,
showering her smile with such
a maze of enthusiastic signatures
so frenziedly delineated through her
face contours one wonders the days
clocked onto her with their hands each day

and her walk, it is so heavy with memories
sweetness, bitterness, joy and sorrow
lthey are weighing down on her muscles

she walks with her face to the ground
her greatest companion till this day
always keeping her supported,
never giving way

her ears, they are a thousand miles away
what a blessing, she thinks, for she longs
more for the days she had lived

and soon her eyes will be too glad to
bide farewell too and choose nights as friends,
everything will be quiet, peaceful and
serene, just what she has been
pining for to close her years

the ninety odd years will weigh away
light as autumn leaves over the fields
in so many shades and in so many dance
sequences to give her one exciting last
farewell from the stage of the world
and on every loved one's heart, a real life
story for each leaf that has flown to lighten
up her years

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Ninety-seven is my lucky number.

quote by Antonia Fraser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy New Year 2011

Let it not be another new year
With the same usual celebrations
With the same usual great wishes
With the same usual demonstrations
Of happiness and gay

Instead of the New Year showering you joy
You shower it
With a vouch to

Keep yourself happy
Keep yourself healthy
Keep yourself enthusiastic
Keep yourself at peace
Keep yourself cheerful
Keep yourself loveable
Keep yourself simple and least complicated
Keep yourself non-complaining
Keep yourself ever in a ‘growth’ path

And
Keep yourself all that
Which will pave way
For a really lived-life
For years and decades ahead
With you at the centre
And the entire universe around you
Watching with wonder and
Cheering you
At each of your earnest effort

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Friday The 13th

To many the number thirteen
is a number to avoid and beware of,
add Friday in front of the number,
and you have a very scary day.

To me the number thirteen,
has always been always been a lucky one,
and Friday the thirteenth,
even luckier still

Then again, if you are superstitious
any number can be unlucky.
If you want to think it so,
it just depends on how positive you are.

Now if you think negative,
you will be that way to,
so in your thinking,
just be like me.

Positive is lucky, negative is unlucky,
so train you mind,
to think positive
all the time.

13 July 2007

poem by David Harris
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Poetry Is

Poetry is when she wakes up with a smile on her angel face and says thank you for watching over my breathe all night, its when I hold her and she says I miss missing you even when I’m right there next to her.

Her EYES are the mother of poetry, one of a kind, her SMILE is the goddess of poetry, rare and beautiful, her VOICE is the heaven of poetry, so sweet and gentle.

When she loves me she does so with all the poetry she has inside her, , , everything about her is poetry, her poetry speaks to me without saying anything, it touches me without holding me, it makes me feel even without her near me
SHE IS POETRY IN MY SOUL, IN MY MIND, IN MY HEART.

poem by Tendai Maturure
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Top Ten Reasons I Would Make a Lousy Poetry Critic

(Letterman style countdown)

Number Ten: Because I probably lack the skill to determine where another’s failings lie
Number Nine: Because I doubt that anyone else really has such infallible skill
Number Eight: Because I lack the desire to render negative opinions of another’s work
Number Seven: Because I question the true motives of any one who readily renders scathing critiques
Number Six: Because I believe in positive reinforcement rather than accentuating negatives
Number Five: Because I don’t wish to have any hand in discouraging or killing the dreams of other poets
Number Four: Because I believe that what people write is far more important than the skill they show in doing it.
Number Three: Because the majority of poetry derives from a warm heart and most criticism originates from cold indifferent intellect
Number Two: Because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of the equation

And the Number One reason I would make a lousy poetry critic:

Because, poetically speaking, I live in a glass house.

poem by Mary Havran
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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Please smile when you read these words

Please smile, when you read these words
So nobody will know, that I love you;
And don't be afraid, for it's only this,
That I love you, and then please smile,
As if it were only the daily news.

But not the same smile that you use
With her; for smiles are more
Than mere muscular signatures,
For they enclose a private world;
So smile, smile; this is meant for you
And only you;

Smile as if it were only a sweet surprise
Between us two;
Please smile again, as you read my words,
So nobody will know, this love is for you
(And then afterwards, don't forget
to smile for her too)

poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Differences With Poetry

You balance yourself on these lines as the sentence is clear,
It differed from all the worldly possessions to the eye
As each eye was indoctrinated, each eye blinked to the sight
Of the sentences that were temporary, always exact and narrow
As well as sounding a whole quiet exception.
The power of poetry is great, as I have seen you with my perception
As perceiving is all I do in the face of danger, the dangerous words
Are an enemy to my own poetry. Your poetry is not my poetry.
Rather it is an inclination to sour beliefs and irresolute structures,
I am for one cynical, and I am also afraid lest a man decide to act on my word
With difference, and betrayal.
So off with your poet-hood, and me my own route,
The guess of talking thoughts is upon us from the rear
And I am in doubt as to the position I am in.
I have no more argument. Enough.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Sexual Attraction

At the hospital where he works.
Speaking he can convey,
with the ninety two year old corpse.
Mirrors every where warm trees cold bushes.
92 leaves speaking she shakes it only for him.
Bony old woman no ham.
After finding the light corpse
he checks the cotton on the rigid smile if it was.
Ninety two years old where you are detained.
You can hear the limbs cracking as the corpse gives.
Turned over on it's belly I seem like observer.
There is no sound commonly appreciated with sucking noises.
It was the very first time,
I had ever seen a shoe horn used on the moon.
Except for the golf swing by Shepard.
Brutal crimes on the dead better I think than on the living, still.
The family has a long history of patients and of those.
Emphatic and it has resonated a cord completely.
Watching him talk as if and it is somber fearfully.
You read to late it written before he came a dying declaration.

poem by Is It Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Potential Poetry!

Love has no fear whatsoever in the world;
Poet does all by his love of all matters here;
Poetry is inspiring words of poet for all!

What's not possible by poetry is nothing!
Impossible is expressed in possible words
Making unknown known by poetry only!

Forms and style are poets own creations;
Poetry is ever new in expression of ideas
Inspiring all to be enthusiastic, enlightened!

Love of Nature, life, beauty and love poetry
Explores always deep to express truth new!
Poets are gods of Earth to men to new realm!

Poetry briefly converges all in a nutshell
As powerful as atomic energy in control!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Lucky (In My Life)

Music:lobina/randone, lyrics: lobina/gabutti
Mixed by:angelica villella
Ive been lucky in my life
Ive been lucky
Ive been lucky in my life I know
Ive been lucky in my life
Ive been lucky and I thank you for this light
Oh good lord
Got my family
And Ive got all my friends
Ive been lucky in my life
And I got no money but
Theres no need to give up
Ive been lucky in my life
As I live my life
With a smile on my face
Will I be lucky in my life?
Even when Im feeling down
Its ok cause I know
I could be lucky in my life
Oh good lord

song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lucky

song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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99 Lbs

Written by: d. bryant
Twenty-five pounds of pure cane sugar
Shes got in each and every kiss
You wouldnt know what Im talking bout
If you never had a love like this
Well, I dont mean to be frank with you all
Its a natural fact
Good things come wrapped up in small, small packages now
Well you cant argue with that
Oh, oh, yeah
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul, oh, oh
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Twenty-five pounds of tenderness
She got in each and every touch
Twenty-five pounds of understanding my woman
cause I was the one running round town worrying too much
Twenty-four pounds of sunday
That I cant see, yeah
And it all adds up to ninety-nine big pounds
Oh, Im talking about a feline friend
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul

song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dying Race

My friend Kessa’ and I
Always loved writing
Poetry was our favorite
Everyday on the old yellow school bus
Number 6 or 149
She and I would read to each other
What we had come up with
The night before

I was always a little
Green with envy
Because her writing seemed much
More mature than mine

But one day we realized
That poetry was dying
Even though so many people
Write it all over the world
Poetry has lost it’s fame

Kessa had started a poetry club
But no one showed except me
We wondered why that was
For poetry was a wonderful
Thing
A great outlet
When things went wrong
Which they always did

To me it has become the dying race
Hanging on a thin thread
Of life
What miracle will happen to keep it float
Who will make difference
To relight poetry
In everyone’s mind?

poem by Sydne Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem about Poetry - Poetry Is Not

poetry is not the rain
poetry is how the rain
beats down on your path
poetry is not in the man
poetry is how you open
his heart with your smile
poetry is not in the flowers
poetry is how you can use them
to help your friends bloom
yesterday, today, tomorrow
poetry is not the sea
poetry is how you spread your
laughter over its surging water
and count your blessing with
every shell you pick up

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry is Everywhere

To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.

Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.

Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.

Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.

Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!

09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm

poem by Gita Ashok
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Maze of Life

Onward through the maze of life
Each day forward we trek
Choosing which turn to take
Choices made, through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of life
Enduring our life in pleasures we seek
Engulfed in our own, private world
Slicing a way through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of life
Choices made, yet with little thought
The impact on others, without inclination
No compassion, through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of life
Grasping for all we can gather
Clawing to enhance our fortunes
Monetary wealth, through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of life
Each soul, a world of one
Each world, a kingdom of its own
Wasted soul, through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of life
No thoughts for the future,
Enjoying life, only for today,
, Future ignored, through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of life
Picking the apples, devouring the fruit
Filling our bellies today
Living for today, through the maze of life

Onward through the maze of death
A choice not chosen, a choice not ours
To late for changes, no more choices
Souls in default, through the maze of death!

poem by B.J. Ayers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poetry Of Confession

THE POETRY OF CONFESSION

The poetry of confession -
The poetry of self- indulgence-
The poetry of the ‘wretch con-centered all in self’-
The poetry of moods and feelings-
Of all ideas only as they relate to the poet himself-
The poetry of desperation-
The poetry of need-
The poetry of urgency -
And serving the poet first-

Not enough of the world
Not enough of others- of other perspectives
Not formal and disciplined enough-

The poetry which is not crafted and polished
The poetry in which the need of the poet
Is more central than the quality of the poetry –

The poetry which may be too selfish to be good-
Whose moral failure makes more prominent its aesthetic flaws-

The poetry which is not so good
And not great
But quite banal and commonplace –

A poet can give his life to his poetry
And that still be nothing at all-

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Write Poetry!

i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...

no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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