More in Sorrow than in Anger
Past promise starred in white on black
now, coward, bows to stark attack,
as Miss amiss, remiss of bliss
no gift transmits, no parting kiss,
no passing flow may tide love back,
just unjust torture, stretched on rack.
Yet Gift in German cannot lack
ironic understanding - fact
plague vision curse calls as abyss
replaces metamorphosis
which, stifled now, has got the sack,
past glory's presents must repack.
Hope, once held high, down vortex crack
has fallen low, nor trace, nor track,
will leave - one day proclaimed 'Exist! '
next, angels laid to rest, 'Desist! '
cried, while bloom memories most stack
mind mirage prove, lost dreams, alack!
Crimson confession sin intact
stunts bloom, busts boom, turns fancy fact
doomed, fall too steep to handle - this
is gloom tomb room antithesis
of love's dreams, to autodidact
contradicts: fair thought, false act.
O brave new world's new dawn, alack,
it seems consistency has lacked,
'acceptance' as hypothesis
is wanting found, ground zero, this
can't stay unmoved, guilt weighs, frame tack
round aura gilt gleams inexact.
From heart in heat to cold urn plaque,
to grave from rave one step, one smack,
to void from telekinesis,
from wishful thinking reminisce,
from common ground can truth back-track
to grounded flight, light dowsed, wretch wracked.
[c] Jonathan Robin written 2 August 2008
EERHT NOITPO OPTION THREE also anagram for O POINT THERE and PIN THERE TOO
plus Word Bank
Angels
Crimson
Glory
BloomConfession
Curse
Plague
Laid To Rest
Vision
“Equo ne credite, Teucri! Quidquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes”,
Do not trust the horse, Trojans! Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks even if bearing gifts”.
Virgil Aenid II 49
http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeo_Danaos_et_dona_fere ntes
Contemporary multi-lingual transliteration 'and in-house joke'
Chevauchez les rêves tu cries
“Don't believe in (dream) horses! ' you cry, 'I fear geeks, even if they bring gifts”.
Gift in German: Poison
rack: an instrument of torture to stretch, disjoint or mutilate victims
wrack: smash or break forcefully
If 'the answer to the universe is 42' then the void must sing a tune un_42_nate
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Kiss Met Kismet - After Austin Dobson A Kiss and James Leigh Hunt Jenny Kissed Me
In seduction I lack
not one whit in the sack,
making pass I attack
Jenny's tongue tied and, thwack!
she kissed me right back
like that, without sorrow,
and a pat on the back
seemed to show on right track
was my rapid clic-clac.
Yet at dawn on the morrow
she hastened to pack
and the taxi fare borrow
though I'd thought myself crack
minglling tongue tastes, alack...
tingling young hastes allegro!
revised 11 March 2012 after Austin Dobson A Kiss and James Leigh Hunt Jenny Kissed Me for previous versions see below
In seduction I lack
not one whit in the sack,
in the ‘Ars' I've a knack
while admiring her rack
with my strong chimney stack.
That she kissed me right back
no remonstrance, no sorrow,
with a pat on the back,
neither heartbreak nor flack,
nor regret for some lack,
seemed to show on right track
was strategic attack -
as the French say ‘crack crack! '
But before dawn the morrow
she'd so rapidly pack -
what is white, what is black? -
and eclipsed herself solo
proving victory hollow
with a law-suit to follow.
3 August 1991 revised 12 October 2008 revised 25 January 2009
Kiss Met Kismet
In seduction I lack
not one whit in the sack,
she kissed me right back
like that, without sorrow,
and a pat on the back
seemed to show on right track
was my rapid attack.
Yet at dawn on the morrow
she hastened to pack
and the taxi fare borrow!
3 August 1991 revised 12 October 2008 for previous version see below
A Kiss - The Reply
I kissed Rose right back
like that, without sorrow,
and a pat on the back
showing on the right track
was my rapid attack
I received on the morrow: -
so why would she pack
and the taxi fare borrow?
(3 August 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Verses To John Tupper
DEAR Jack
Alack!
A few days back
I bound myself by oath to smack
My lips o'er sloshy tea, and attack
White, brown, or black
Bread, and vile jokes to crack,
This night with brutes whose knack
Would squeeze a pun in Syriac.
And for to—morrow, alack!
I have a model on my track,
So that I may not pack.
Of course I writhe upon the rack:
Though as to NATURE, Jack,
(Poor dear old hack!)
Touching sky, sun, stone, stick, and stack,
I guess I'm half a quack;
For whom ten lines of Browning whack
The whole of the Zodiac.
Nevertheless, alack!
Seeing this time I must send back
To Prince and Baron, Stephens and Jack
(Spec—cadav Rex, hic hæc hoc hac),
And to the Maniac,
The sack.
This much from D.G.R. (in black,
I.e., with coal—ash cloth—of—sack.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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I thought it was a gift.
They told me it was a gift;
they told me and I was so glad.
I put my heart and soul into it all,
cried tears and sweat so many beads of my own metallic crimson blood.
I gave it all; I thought it was a gift.
I worked longer than anyone I knew.
I worked harder.
I gave up so much more, I did so many things, all at the same time;
just so I could please them. I put their needs and wants over mine.
I gave it all; I thought it was a gift.
I thought that this was what they called fate,
I thought that this was what they called destiny.
I thought that I'd been given a gift for good.
I thought that gifts were supposed to bring joy, and happiness, and peace.
I gave it all, all because I thought it was a gift.
You never told me,
that one day I'd be sitting here,
questioning myself -
about how and why a God given gift, had suddenly turned
into a curse.
The Gift You Are
This song appears on four albums, and was first released on the flower that shattered the stone album, and has also been released on the stonehaven sunrise, the gift you are and the john denver
Ction - annies song albums.
Imagine a month of sundays
Each one a cloudy day
Imagine the moment the sun came shining through
Imagine that ray of sunshine as you
Remember your darkest hour
With dawn still far away
Remember the way that you longed for mornings light
And think of yourself as a candle in the night
Make believe this is the first day
Everything all brand new
Make believe that the sun is your own lucky star
And then understand the kind of gift you are
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of spring
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true
The gift you are
The gift of you
You are the promise of all the ages
You are the prodigal son
You are the vision of prophets and sages
You are the only one
Dream of a bright tomorrow
Know that your dream will come true
Carry your dream in a sparkling crystal jar
Then you will know the kind of gift you are
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of spring
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true
The gift you are
The gift of you
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of springtime
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true - yes they do
The gift you are
The gift of you
The gift you are
The gift of you
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Priest Laocoön: Do not trust the horse, Trojans! Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks, even though they bring gifts.
line from Aeneid by Virgil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Only Gift That I Need
You'll be leaving for the winter, but I won't see that it's true
It's the right thing for you, but it's tough to be moved
With the holiday spirt, when to tell you the truth
I had big plans for Christmas, and high hopes for you.
Chorus:
I want you here by my side!
Cold nights
and fires
and white wine
And dreams of holidays have come, but I'll wait for spring to bring you to me
Only gift that I need.
I'll be living off your phone calls and your letters and your post cards
Every single word is like a secret wish come true
Who cares if were apart for the big days
since the small ones made me fall in love with you (fall in love with you).
Chorus:
I want you here by my side!
Cold nights
and fires
and white wine
And dreams of holidays have come, but I'll wait for spring to bring you to me
Only gift that I need.
Only gift that I need.
Only gift that I need.
Only gift that I need.
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Acceptance Dance
She stands on river's brink to think
of future fair ahead,
holds hands with wonder's link to ink
all hope her heart has said.
She dreams beyond the veil this tale
to share where all mundane
may shed away, hope's gleam won't fail
to soothe away past pain.
She sways below the mountain high
to rhythms heart may start
to startle into starlit sky
from hibernation, chart
the way to interplay which may
anticipations meet,
where each day's reach may break away
from cares, and, sharing, greet
dreams blessed as fears fade, laid to rest,
metamorphosis wished -
renewed is zest, heart's treasure chest
unlocked, unblocked, relished.
She leans into the breeze and sees
fresh opportunities
where Love love frees to please, to tease,
to seize beyond the seas
Joy where she understands all lands
by rainbow bridge are spanned,
as mountain lies at peace with skies
where providence joins hands
with laughter, light, by day, by night,
by insight spurred to fly
on wings of white to true delight -
acceptance seeks no 'Why? '...
3 September 2007
robi03_1678_robi03_0000 XXX_LXX
Acceptance Dance poem © Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Christmas (Acrostic)
C is for Christ, a God-given gift to mankind
H is for hope of the world that is dark and cold
R is for reason of this great celebration
I is for ideals to make this world safer to live in
S is for the song of the angels, asking us not to fear
T is for time, sharing gifts with strangers and loved ones
M is merriment on the birth of Jesus
A is acceptance of the gift in our hearts
S is salvation to all who receive him.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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The Greatest Gift
When Christmas shopping is done,
wrapped gifts lie ‘neith a tree
sparkling bright with tinsel and light
for everyone to see.
Each gift has been selected
with thoughtfulness and care.
Toys and such will mean so much
like all the gifts we bear.
But let us keep within our heart
the much greater gift than these.
One from above, with God's great love
should bring us to our knees.
A gift of birth to all on Earth.
A gift that's far from small.
To everyone, He gave His Son…
The greatest gift of all.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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A Vision Of Doom
I stood upon a hill. The setting sun
Was crimson with a curse and a portent,
And scarce his angry ray lit up the land
That lay below, whose lurid gloom appeared
Freaked with a moving mist, which, reeking up
From dim tarns hateful with some horrid ban,
Took shapes forbidden and without a name.
Gigantic night-birds, rising from the reeds
With cries discordant, startled all the air,
And bodiless voices babbled in the gloom-
The ghosts of blasphemies long ages stilled,
And shrieks of women, and men's curses. All
These visible shapes, and sounds no mortal ear
Had ever heard, some spiritual sense
Interpreted, though brokenly; for I
Was haunted by a consciousness of crime,
Some giant guilt, but whose I knew not. All
These things malign, by sight and sound revealed,
Were sin-begotten; that I knew-no more
And that but dimly, as in dreadful dreams
The sleepy senses babble to the brain
Imperfect witness. As I stood a voice,
But whence it came I knew not, cried aloud
Some words to me in a forgotten tongue,
Yet straight I knew me for a ghost forlorn,
Returned from the illimited inane.
Again, but in a language that I knew,
As in reply to something which in me
Had shaped itself a thought, but found no words,
It spake from the dread mystery about:
'Immortal shadow of a mortal soul
That perished with eternity, attend.
What thou beholdest is as void as thou:
The shadow of a poet's dream-himself
As thou, his soul as thine, long dead,
But not like thine outlasted by its shade.
His dreams alone survive eternity
As pictures in the unsubstantial void.
Excepting thee and me (and we because
The poet wove us in his thought) remains
Of nature and the universe no part
Or vestige but the poet's dreams. This dread,
Unspeakable land about thy feet, with all
Its desolation and its terrors-lo!
'T is but a phantom world. So long ago
That God and all the angels since have died
That poet lived-yourself long dead-his mind
Filled with the light of a prophetic fire,
And standing by the Western sea, above
The youngest, fairest city in the world,
Named in another tongue than his for one
Ensainted, saw its populous domain
Plague-smitten with a nameless shame. For there
Red-handed murder rioted; and there
The people gathered gold, nor cared to loose
The assassin's fingers from the victim's throat,
But said, each in his vile pursuit engrossed:
'Am I my brother's keeper? Let the Law
Look to the matter.' But the Law did not.
And there, O pitiful! the babe was slain
Within its mother's breast and the same grave
Held babe and mother; and the people smiled,
Still gathering gold, and said: 'The Law, the Law,'
Then the great poet, touched upon the lips
With a live coal from Truth's high altar, raised
His arms to heaven and sang a song of doom
Sang of the time to be, when God should lean
Indignant from the Throne and lift his hand,
And that foul city be no more!-a tale,
A dream, a desolation and a curse!
No vestige of its glory should survive
In fact or memory: its people dead,
Its site forgotten, and its very name
Disputed.'
'Was the prophecy fulfilled?'
The sullen disc of the declining sun
Was crimson with a curse and a portent,
And scarce his angry ray lit up the land
That lay below, whose lurid gloom appeared
Freaked with a moving mist, which, reeking up
From dim tarns hateful with a horrid ban,
Took shapes forbidden and without a name.
Gigantic night-birds, rising from the reeds
With cries discordant, startled all the air,
And bodiless voices babbled in the gloom.
But not to me came any voice again;
And, covering my face with thin, dead hands,
I wept, and woke, and cried aloud to God!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Love and Reason
When panting sighs the bosom fill,
And hands by chance united thrill
At once with one delicious pain
The pulses and the nerves of twain;
When eyes that erst could meet with ease,
Do seek, yet, seeking, shyly shun
Extatic conscious unison,
The sure beginnings, say, be these
Prelusive to the strain of love
Which angels sing in heaven above?
Or is it but the vulgar tune,
Which all that breathe beneath the moon
So accurately learn so soon?
With variations duly blent;
Yet that same song to all intent,
Set for the finer instrument;
It is; and it would sound the same
In beasts, were not the bestial frame,
Less subtly organised, to blame;
And but that soul and spirit add
To pleasures, even base and bad,
A zest the soulless never had.
It may be well indeed I deem;
But what if sympathy, it seem,
And, admiration and esteem,
Commingling therewithal, do make
The passion prized for Reason’s sake?
Yet, when my heart would fain rejoice,
A small expostulating voice
Falls in; Of this thou wilt not take
Thy one irrevocable choice?
In accent tremulous and thin
I hear high Prudence deep within,
Pleading the bitter, bitter sting,
Should slow-maturing seasons bring,
Too late, the veritable thing.
For if (the Poet’s tale of bliss)
A love, wherewith commeasured this
Is weak and beggarly, and none,
Exist a treasure to be won,
And if the vision, though it stay,
Be yet for an appointed day,
This choice, if made, this deed, if done,
The memory of this present past,
With vague foreboding might o’ercast
The heart, or madden it at last.
Let Reason first her office ply;
Esteem, and admiration high,
And mental, moral sympathy,
Exist they first, nor be they brought,
By self-deceiving afterthought,
What if an halo interfuse
With these again its opal hues,
That all o’erspreading and o’erlying,
Transmuting, mingling, glorifying,
About the beauteous various whole,
With beaming smile do dance and quiver;
Yet, is that halo of the soul?
Or is it, as may sure be said,
Phosphoric exhalation bred
Of vapour, steaming from the bed
Of Fancy’s brook, or Passion’s river?
So when, as will be by-and-by,
The stream is waterless and dry,
This halo and its hues will die;
And though the soul contented rest
With those substantial blessings blest,
Will not a longing, half confest,
Betray that this is not the love,
The gift for which all gifts above
Him praise we, Who is Love, the Giver?
I cannot say the things are good
Bread is it, if not angels’ food;
But Love? Alas! I cannot say;
A glory on the vision lay;
A light of more than mortal day
About it played, upon it rested;
It did not, faltering and weak,
Beg Reason on its side to speak
Itself was Reason, or, if not,
Such substitute as is, I wot,
Of seraph-kind the loftier lot;
Itself was of itself attested;
To processes that, hard and dry,
Elaborate truth from fallacy,
With modes intuitive succeeding,
Including those and superseding;
Reason sublimed and Love most high
It was, a life that cannot die,
A dream of glory most exceeding.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lost is Found
Think! Colour reels night’s shrouds from morning sky.
Metamorphosis opens chrysalid
to imagOnation’s vibration hid
by darkness which itself at last must die.
Soul slumber tuning to the light may fly,
discards discords, hard heeled angst well rid -
unneeded now, unheeded not forbid.
Inklings fountain free and answer “why”,
discover, covers closed, pressed sheets laid by.
Lost is found, as reader’s mind may bid
goodbye to weary fears and tears amid
inspiration freed, - once held back by sigh.
An ‘I’ finds gift of second sight to spread
fair wings which stretch clear spirit, steer ahead...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Song Of The Sandwich
We
met at night in the season's hight,
Mid revel and mirth and song.
I looked in your eye with a mute, mute cry,
As you elbowed your way through the throng.
Alone in that crowd of men who bowed,
And flattered, and flirted around,
Your quick thought guessed the woe in my breast,
And you sprang to my side with a bound.
In a whisper as faint as a south wind's plaint,
I murmured my need to you.
'A sandwich!' I wailed, then your strong eye quailed,
For oh! they were thin and few.
And about them hustled and pushed and tussled,
A score of desperate men.
But you drew your breath, and you hissed ''Sdeath!'
And then you turned back again.
'Ladye!' you cried with haughty pride,
While your dark eye flashed on me,
'If I risk my life in yon seething strife
What shall my guerdon be?'
'May I hope for a line that shall be all mine,
A song by the world unheard?
From rivals detested, shall the sandwich be wrested,
If thou wilt but say the word.'
'If you reach that goal, I vow by my soul,
(I spoke in a desperate tone)
And I live till that time, I will write you a rhyme,
A rhyme to be all your own.'
'Nay more, if you try, and in warfare die,
As sometimes befalls the brave,
In lines of glory I'll wreathe your story
And lay them upon your grave.'
Like a knight of old, with an air that was bold,
You turned from my side and went,
Past salad dish, past deviled fish,
Past cake and condiment.
With a step unswerving and a speed deserving
A better reward-alack!
You crossed the room 'neath the red globes' gloom,
Bent on the sandwich's track
My heart stood still in a nameless chill,
As I saw you stride away,
For fair girls' smiles, and punch bowl's wiles,
Both by your roadside lay.
With the fever fire of hunger dire,
I saw you pass them straight,
And I almost wept as your bold hand swept
To the waning sandwich plate.
Then back you came with your cheek aflame,
And the victor's glow in your eye;
Oh! it was grand to see you stand
With the sandwich held on high.
So here and now, I keep my vow;
(Tho' the sandwich is no more)
I would rise from my hearse and write that verse,
If it were not written before.
Envoi
Poet, we know that many men go,
Forth on that self-same track,
With purpose as high, to do or die,
But they bring no sandwich back.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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One Love
bring all to One, to be ONE in the place, where
all is at rest, a yester years and googolplex of
thousand light years of once the whom base of
everyone
as the eternity struggle in the angels back it shadow,
the heaven leaves and fire it wings in the earth they
fall for the angels in the abyss return the glory in thy
home reborn
tomorrow is thy hope that the spirit made is given the
freedom back be in thy name, in Jesus things all
are renew for the blood offered reveals the remission
of sin is death is given
remembrance recalls curve and revere in thy salvation
is shared in the soul it goes, the love that is one, in each
hearts the unison we sang
one lost is everybody's tie, in the kingdom, nobody win but
a shame to gain; hold on to the road way back home, there
all must stay, until death comes in its own way
one love leads us luck, in the soul our hearts find its back
the pain and loneliness show us the day, where the
day is tomorrow to stay and all have save the, whole gift
review in thy God's heaven everybody renew
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Empty Box
This I will not put into my normal rhyme and verse, for it is a story of
Faith and hope.
The empty box
I felt empty inside, as the greatest gift had been taken away.
Like an empty Christmas box with all the ribbons and bows
On the outside showing all its beauties, but no one
Knew that the box was empty inside.
What happened? Who took out that gift?
Was it supposed to be temporary
For it was something that I truly missed.
What is the purpose of a beautiful decorated box
If there is nothing inside, to show the depth
and meaning of its wrappings.
Had I taken out the gift? Or misplaced or given it away?
I did not know!
An empty box is like a universe without its stars
Or sun or moon. Void and dark.
I felt like a floating object in space with no
Beginning and no end.
I still had my mind active and working.
I decided to back track to the times before this
And what could have happened.
I had an untimely death of a family member
Then I was laid off from work.
I didn’t have enough money to make
My car or mortgage payments, and to top it off
I wound up with a severe cold.
That was when I turned angrily and blamed god
For all my misfortunes.
But by doing this - I became empty inside
With no emotions, I then realized that this
Is one of many misfortunes to come to test my faith.
I knelt down on my knees and prayed for forgiveness
For allowing myself to weaken.
I then recalled the poem - “ footprints in the sand”
And I felt my heart start to fill up again.
For I knew that in my weakest hours
God would carry me.
Now! That Christmas gift was replenished
And filled the emptiness with the most beautiful gift
This world could ever know.
FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE.
I knew things would work out for me
If I just gave god my problems to take care of.
So if you see an empty gift box!
It is not really empty, for it contains
GODS LOVE FOR ALL HIS CHILDREN.
poem by Louis Rams
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When i lost my track
when lights are not guiding
and the words unspoken and hiding
feeling stuck no forwards no back
that's when i lost my track
when meanings are not felt
and feelings not spelled
and spellings stay on rack
that's when i lost my track
when attraction is gone
can't find the caring one
and emotions are stacked
that's when i lost my track
when actions are fixative
feeling so much negative
and no one seem ready to hack
that's when i lost my track
when colors turn to black
can't find my way back
lonely heart with a little crack
that's when i lost my track
poem by Kareem Hany
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Visions of Serenity
Within the shadows of the night
Desire is ash as burned too bright,
Did the vision scorn my eyes?
What kingdom lay within the skies?
Beyond the kiss of inner light
Love is ash as burned too bright
Did the angel sing with her eyes?
To keep me from a kingdom sky?
Alone, alone so far from home
The night is as a kingdoms throne.
Angels sing as angels sigh
As laughing I lay down to die.
Kiss me quick, I’m melting fast
Fabric drips into the past,
All for what? To know the sigh
Of an angel from a kingdom sky
Below the void of tide and see
A vision of pure ecstasy
Calls to be the free in me
The soul of pure ecstasy.
Kiss me quick I’m melting slow
In a liquid love for all to know
And all they are that I can see
Visions of serenity.
We live we die
We crawl we fly
The future lies in me
Within you all
Is the love that calls
Upon you to be free.
poem by David Lacey
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When First I Met Thee
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go,
The heart, whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story,
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go --
Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee;
The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee.
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreath it;
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank cold hearts beneath it.
Go -- go -- though worlds were thine,
I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine
For all thy guilty splendour!
And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever!
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou'st lost for ever;
On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go -- go -- 'tis vain to curse,
'Tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reality of a dream
A light conversation,
With only the ones we trust
The vision of happiness
A settled place for ones heart
The reality of a dream
Some no not were to start
The door we may rather leave alone,
For we fear the pain of disappointment
A guessing game without the answer
The reality of a dream
Runs hand and hand with
the reality of fate
Except both or walk away
Hard work with all but success
And years laid to rest
Be a curse this idea
This dream with its fears
From deterioration to motivation
The dream can be delivered
For the reality of a dream
Is that...........
Without reality there is no dream
poem by Morgan Bodden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reminiscing Under A Tree
Under this shade where love once bloom
Lies part of me that's now been lost
And now, found in my thoughts of gloom
Where lonesome pain exacts its cost
The heart and arrow carved in bark
Bring back the days of sunlit bliss
When we would sing as one, like lark
Than be as thieves stealing a kiss
The leaves that fell meant time had passed
Since they'd been fresh before the clash
Leaves collected like dreams amassed
Down in the ground burnt down like trash
A sprout can find a twig whereto it cleaves
As love might bloom again this Spring
Which comes as soon as Winter leaves
When soon I'll find new songs to sing.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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