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Yet, sweet, take heed

Yet, sweet, take heed, all sweets are hard to get;
Sting not her soft lips, Oh beware of that:
For if one flaming dart come from her eye,
Was never dart so sharp, ah, then you die!

poem by John Wilbye
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Sweet honey-sucking bees

Sweet honey-sucking bees, why do you still
surfeit on roses, pinks and violets,
as if the choicest nectar lay in them
wherewith you store your curious cabinets?

Ah, make your flight to Melisuavia's lips.
There may you revel in ambrosian cheer,
where smiling roses and sweet lilies sit,
Keeping their springtide graces all the year.

[Part 2:
Yet, sweet, take heed, all sweets are hard to get:
Sting not her soft lips, O, beware of that,
for if one flaming dart come from her eye,
was never dart so sharp, ah, then you die.
]

poem by John Wilbye
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End Matters

We strive to end all matters at the start,
Like the arrow that finishes and exerts,
Must the final scene be of the dart?

I see wonders and forests of trees apart,
They struggle and inhabit the comforts,
We strive to end all matters at the start.

Likely outcomes reside in the cart,
Rolling into the street that reasserts,
Must the final scene be of the dart?

My living is called a sentence to depart,
Mine is the life that is of introverts,
We strive to end all matters at the start.

I catch the idiots of the hour in a flowchart,
Forgetting the tree of animals with efforts,
Must the final scene be of the dart?

I gather storms and saucers in what heart?
The real question lies in megahertz;
We strive to end all matters at the start,
Must the final scene be of the dart?

poem by Naveed Akram
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5 (From, Picture Poems 8)

Passion comes
to the lover's heart

quick sting of dart
that is feelings deep

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Long Sable Torch

I hold a long sable torch,
Currently dead to energy,
And put a stare into the mirror
Concavely doming the bulb;
A photonic dart in waiting to misanthropist quietus.

I tilt it up, then down,
Watching many mes extend into view
And gathering in centre to
Slip; battling each other fall
Back out of existence.

I repeat.

The third time I lay my distorted mutations
Circled around the dart.
He is subdued, he cannot shoot.
But yet it

Shot, expanded
And leaked through the glass,
Paining my eyes blinder,
And my faces, supposed intaglios,
Fall away;
The dart's galimatias on their throne

poem by Mark Challenger
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The Art Of Scribbling

this is art.
this is not really just a game or a habit.
it is not a barrier not a bar
or dart.
this is the art of concealment but which hungers for an opinion.
this is the player at the backstage putting a mask, or a thick layer of make up
winks, and practices the movement of eyeballs.

this is the art of conveying emotions
a little bit exaggerated to get you direct to the point
nothing about pegs on square holes.

this is the art of dressing up for the proper occasion.
you pay attention to particular details expecting that he can also
understand the protest of your
color and insignias.

this is what you read and analyze and say perhaps this is it.
that this is what i am and this is all about what happened to me in the past
or that the future is already well drawn and
with your conclusions, then i am what you think i am.

but this is not what i am.
precisely because this is art.

just art.Not a dart.

that is the circle where you throw the dart
you did not hit the red zone.

you see, why should you blame me for just being happy
for just living a certain moment?

this is art and this is not what i am.

this is the world, this is what we actually are.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Roses are Red

Roses so red
Roses be said
To the soul and to the heart
May you always bleed from thy dart
Wiolets so blue
Violets be new
To the mind and to the eyes
Shall you always see the blue of the skys
Sugar so sweet
Surgar be beat
To the body and to the thought
May love always be sought
Roses so red
Roses be said
To the soul and to the heart
May you always bleed from my dart.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Lonely And Me

Hold yourself tighly through the night
And await the rescue of sweet daylight.
Tears that your soul have cried
Wait in the corridor of suicide.
On your window sill lie remnants of a thrill
Fallen from a moon that smiled
On our love
- Vagrant wind lent to ocean child.
A brief licence to be free.
Born on lost promise in the wild,
Dying in captivity.
Caged - the lonely and me.
On a balcony
Your hand in the night
Reached out for me.
And our dreams ascended a moonlit sea
- To call like a harp on the breeze.
To fall, on sword sharp to my knees.
But not expire in fever for she.
Left in eternity-abandoned
The lonely and me.
Through the music of memory
I taste escaping kiss
- One butterfly the net did miss.
Soft touch that was meant for me
Stolen in the fire of a flaming heart.
Lost in the choir when I felt the dart
That dropped me at her feet.
A tragedy complete.
Humming an unfinished symphony
Strumming the chords of infinity
Alone
By a phone
The lonely and me.

poem by Kevin East
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I Need A Sure Thing

You are a razor blade
You are precision-cut
You are a stare sharp as the tack in my eye?
At rest in my veins
[Your pulse in my neck?]
As sharp-edged as questions the time I have left
And so you are on my mind.
I need a burning stake
I need a piercing dart
I need something as hot as it is sharp
And I need to bleed
I need to burn
I need a sure thing
I need a sure thing
And you are a mystery to me
You are a paper bird
Folded and folded and creased
And bent and shaped from a five dollar bill
It's priceless to me
And never spent
It hangs from a ceiling fan over my bed
And so you are on my mind

song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Your Soft Lips

With your soft lips on my cheek
I am caught in moments that draw out,
I am melting in every beautiful gaze,
with eyes flaming and touching
you let my time linger in moments

and near to each other in trust
you voice sounds like birdsong
and we are both affectionate;
with your soft lips.

Sometimes you look scared,
as if I am going grab or catch you
and at other times you understand,
when we kiss each other pleasantly
without getting our feelings in restraint;
with your soft lips.

poem by Gert Strydom
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My Star

All that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue;
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!

Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Ballad of Dreamland

I hid my heart in a nest of roses,
Out of the sun's way, hidden apart;
In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is,
Under the roses I hid my heart.
Why would it sleep not? why should it start,
When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred?
What made sleep flutter his wings and part?
Only the song of a secret bird.

Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes,
And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart;
Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes,
And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art.
Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart?
Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred?
What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart?
Only the song of a secret bird.

The green land's name that a charm encloses,
It never was writ in the traveller's chart,
And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is,
It never was sold in the merchant's mart.
The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart,
And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard;
No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart,
Only the song of a secret bird.

ENVOI

In the world of dreams I have chosen my part,
To sleep for a season and hear no word
Of true love's truth or of light love's art,
Only the song of a secret bird.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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She's

She’s cunning
She’s smart
She’s beautiful
Like art
She carries her virtues in a kart
She’s sharp as a dart
Whether the
Weather
She’ll still be clever
If she chooses whatever
She will tether
It tightly
She doesn’t take life lightly
She’s inglorious
But famous
She’s never perplexed
She’s always ready for what’s coming next.

poem by David Linton
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A Red Flower

Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.

Your lips betray the secret of your soul,
The dark delicious essence that is you,
A mystery of life, the flaming goal
I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.

Your lips are the red symbol of a dream,
What visions of warm lilies they impart,
That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,
With butterflies and bees close to each heart!

Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,
That softly fall upon the langourous breeze,
Wafting them gently on the quiet air
Among untended avenues of trees.

O were I hovering, a bee, to probe
Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,
Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,
Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!

poem by Claude McKay
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As If It Was A Crime

Your mother had given you
a few coins to buy sweets

and on the way you met Fay
and you said

do you want to come
and buy some sweets?

and she said
I haven't any money

and you said
you can share mine

if you tell me what you like
but she said

my father wouldn't like it
if I had sweets he says

they rot your teeth
but she walked to the shop with you

thinking silently to herself
and outside the shop

you said
are you sure?

she nodded and stood outside
while you went in

and bought sweets
when you came out

she was waiting there
her eyes gazing at you

her tongue running over
her lips

you showed her
what you'd bought

and her eyes widened
here take one

you said
your dad won't know

if you don't tell him
she hesitated

her fingers lingering
over the bag of sweets

but what if he sees me
or smells them

on my breath?
she said fear entering her eyes

her hands falling at her sides
you put out a hand

and touched hers
it's only a sweet

it's not as if
you're having a drag of a smoke

or sipping beer
she nodded and smiled a little

best not
she said

if he finds out
he'll get angry with me

for eating sweets and lying
and you remembered

the bruises you'd seen
on her arms and thighs

that time
and you sighed thinking

as if eating sweets
was a big deal or a crime.

poem by Terry Collett
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Beware of the Butterflies

Beware of the butterflies
for they may sting
They may appear beautiful
but have poison-tipped wings

Beware of the butterfly
sitting quietly on the deck
it may appear at peace
but hasn't found it's target yet

Beware of the butterflies
so tantalyzing and free
They seem to mean no harm
but their frivolity harms me

Beware of the butterfly
because beauty can be misleading
it can ensnare the senses
till all my senses vanish completely

Beware of the butterfly
before it's too late to hear my cry
for I was once a child
now I long to fly away to the sky
just like a beautiful butterfly

poem by Caroline Guedes
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Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart. How hard thy yoke, how cruel thy dart. Those escape your anger who refuse your sway, and those are punished most, who most obey.

quote by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beware Of Darkness

Watch out now, take care
Beware of falling swingers
Dropping all around you
The pain that often mingles
In your fingertips
Beware of darkness
Watch out now, take care
Beware of the thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night
Beware of sadness
It can hit you
It can hurt you
Make you sore and what is more
That is not what you are here for
Watch out now, take care
Beware of soft shoe shufflers
Dancing down the sidewalks
As each unconscious sufferer
Wanders aimlessly
Beware of maya
Watch out now, take care
Beware of greedy leaders
They take you where you should not go
While weeping atlas cedars
They just want to grow, grow and grow
Beware of darkness (beware of darkness)

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Risk Writing Politics Religion

if you would write about politics
religion the world in graphic highlights
beware power perturbed consequences
writing about sly world religion politics
with truth perception has cutting edges
sharp edges cut all falling within range blades
truth makes enemies of those hiding in shadows
truth pisses off lazy blind ignorant excuses

truth generates hate mail stalker consequences
truth often sharp someone somewhere offends
stalkers enemies means relevant observations
as long as it offends truth responsibilities demands
beware sight truth crusaders passion writers
ask them of truth at peril of sting accuracy words

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Beware! (From The German)

I know a maiden fair to see,
Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!

She has two eyes, so soft and brown,
Take care!
She gives a side-glance and looks down,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!

And she has hair of a golden hue,
Take care!
And what she says, it is not true,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!

She has a bosom as white as snow,
Take care!
She knows how much it is best to show,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!

She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care!
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Dog of Art

That dog with daisies for eyes
who flashes forth
flame of his very self at every bark
is the Dog of Art.
Worked in wool, his blind eyes
look inward to caverns and jewels
which they see perfectly,
and his voice
measures forth the treasure
in music sharp and loud,
sharp and bright,
bright flaming barks,
and growling smoky soft, the Dog
of Art turns to the world
the quietness of his eyes.

poem by Denise Levertov
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