An Elegy on the Death of Kenneth Patchen
A poet is born
A poet dies
And all that lies between
is us
and the world
And the world lies about it
making as if it had got his message
even though it is poetry
but most of the world wishing
it could just forget about him
and his awful strange prophecies
Along with all the other strange things
he said about the world
which were all too true
and which made them fear him
more than they loved him
though he spoke much of love
Along with all the alarms he sounded
which turned out to be false
if only for the moment
all of which made them fear his tongue
more than they loved him
Though he spoke much of love
and never lived by ‘silence exile & cunning’
and was a loud conscientious objector to
the deaths we daily give each other
though we speak much of love
And when such a one dies
even the agents of Death should take note
and shake the shit from their wings
in Air Force One
But they do not
And the shit still flies
And the poet now is disconnected
and won’t call back
though he spoke much of love
And still we hear him say
‘Do I not deal with angels
when her lips I touch’
And still we hear him say
‘0 my darling troubles heaven
with her loveliness’
And still we hear him say
‘As we are so wonderfully done with each other
We can walk into our separate ‘sleep
On floors of music where the milkwhite cloak
of childhood lies’
And still we hear him saying
‘Therefore the constant powers do not lessen
Nor is the property of the spirit scattered
on the cold hills of these events’
And still we hear him asking
‘Do the dead know what time it is?’
He is gone under
He is scattered
undersea
and knows what time
but won’t be back to tell it
He would be too proud to call back anyway
And too full of strange laughter
to speak to us anymore anyway
And the weight of human experience
lies upon the world
like the chains of the ‘sea
in which he sings
And he swings in the tides of the sea
And his ashes are washed
in the ides of the sea
And ‘an astonished eye looks out of the air’
to see the poet singing there
And dusk falls down a coast somewhere
where a white horse without a rider
turns its head
to the sea
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Love You Out Loud
I sit in my living room thinking of you
And the feelings I fear are coming true
And everything about you is wrong I know it
But I still taste you on my tongue
And I still breathe you in my lungs
And I wish I could stop breaking down
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else
Don't make a sound
Don't tell a soul
It's 7:00am and I just want to call you
And tell you I'm falling in love
But, there's someone else inside these four walls
If she smells you on my skin
I can't let her know where I've been
I wish I could be with you now
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else
Wish I could love you out loud
Because I'm under your spell
Wish I could tell the whole world
But I'll just keep it to myself
Don't make a sound
Don't tell a soul
Don't tell them anything
And I won't let you go
Don't say a word
Don't tell a soul
And I shiver at the thought of you
I can't believe that you love me too
And we quiver when we touch
I can't believe I love you so much
And I hate it when you walk away
I know we can't go on this way
But there's magic when we touch
I can't believe I love you so much
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could hear how it sounds
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could hear how it sounds
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else
Wish I could love you out loud
Because I'm under your spell
Wish I could tell the whole world
But I'll just keep it to myself
Don't make a sound
Don't tell a soul
Don't tell them anything
And I won't let you go
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else
Wish I could love you out loud
Because I'm under your spell
Wish I could tell the whole world
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could hear how it sounds
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could hear how it sounds
Wish I could love you out loud
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is It So Strange
(words & music by faron young)
Oh, if you tell a lie
You know that Ill forgive you
Though you say our love is just a game
And when you hear my name
Youll say Im from a strange world
But is it so strange to be in love with you
Is it so strange
That I love you more than all the world
Is it so strange
I have no eyes for any other girl
Oh wont you take me back
And say that you still love me
To waste a love like ours would be a sin
Let us kiss again
Let me hold you near
And take me from this strange world
That Im living in
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As a World Would Have It
ALCESTIS
Shall I never make him look at me again?
I look at him, I look my life at him,
I tell him all I know the way to tell,
But there he stays the same.
Shall I never make him speak one word to me?
Shall I never make him say enough to show
My heart if he be glad? Be glad? … ah! God,
Why did they bring me back?
I wonder, if I go to him again,
If I take him by those two cold hands again,
Shall I get one look of him at last, or feel
One sign—or anything?
Or will he still sit there in the same way,
Without an answer for me from his lips,
Or from his eyes,—or even with a touch
Of his hand on my hand?…
“Will you look down this once—look down at me?
Speak once—and if you never speak again,
Tell me enough—tell me enough to make
Me know that you are glad!
“You are my King, and once my King would speak:
You were Admetus once, you loved me once:
Life was a dream of heaven for us once—
And has the dream gone by?
“Do I cling to shadows when I call you Life?
Do you love me still, or are the shadows all?
Or is it I that love you in the grave,
And you that mourn for me?
“If it be that, then do not mourn for me;
Be glad that I have loved you, and be King.
But if it be not that—if it be true …
Tell me if it be true!”
Then with a choking answer the King spoke;
But never touched his hand on hers, or fixed
His eyes on hers, or on the face of her:
“Yes, it is true,” he said.
“You are alive, and you are with me now;
And you are reaching up to me that I—
That I may take you—I that am a King—
I that was once a man."
So then she knew. She might have known before;
Truly, she thought, she must have known it long
Before: she must have known it when she came
From that great sleep of hers.
She knew the truth, but not yet all of it:
He loved her, but he would not let his eyes
Prove that he loved her; and he would not hold
His wife there in his arms.
So, like a slave, she waited at his knees,
And waited. She was not unhappy now.
She quivered, but she knew that he would speak
Again—and he did speak.
And while she felt the tremor of his words,
He told her all there was for him to tell;
And then he turned his face to meet her face,
That she might look at him.
She looked; and all her trust was in that look,
And all her faith was in it, and her love;
And when his answer to that look came back,
It flashed back through his tears.
So then she put her arms around his neck,
And kissed him on his forehead and his lips;
And there she clung, fast in his arms again,
Triumphant, with closed eyes.
At last, half whispering, she spoke once more:
“Why was it that you suffered for so long?
Why could you not believe me—trust in me?
Was I so strange as that?
“We suffer when we do not understand;
And you have suffered—you that love me now—
Because you are a man.… There is one thing
No man can understand.
“I would have given everything?—gone down
To Tartarus—to silence? Was it that?
I would have died? I would have let you live?—
And was it very strange?”
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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A Message Here For All You Poets
The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.
The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.
The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.
A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poet as a Feeler of Pain
What makes a poet?
Many have tried to guess.
Is it a voice
like a conduit,
a plainspokenness to grief,
the hairs of the head
dancing on end,
the blood swarming
with the voices
of all those who have died,
will die,
& will also be born?
Is it a catch
in the throat
that awakens the eyes,
is it in the eyes themselves
or is it something
in the heart?
I think it is pain-
an openness to pain,
so that the least leaf
cuts the hand
& the smallest tear
cuts the cheek
like jagged crystal,
so that the world
is a sick infant
& the poet its mother,
praying, crooning, promising
to be good
if only the cure
takes.
There is, of course,
no cure.
Poetry does not cure
the poet
& the poet
does not cure the world.
Usually he catches
the world's diseases
& dies
even before his time.
But against all odds
& all indifference,
another one is born.
The world must have
someone to feel its pain
& speak of it.
The poet is that mouth.
poem by Erica Jong
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Lines written in the Belief that the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead was called Ambarvalia
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
And all the world's a song;
'She's far,' it sings me, 'but fair,' it rings me,
'Quiet,' it laughs, 'and strong!'
Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
With laughter in my heart.
So above the little folk that know not,
Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
And watch the day go down.
Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
With the first fear of night;
Till mystery down the soundless valley
Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
And the night is full of fear,
And I know, one night, on some far height,
In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
From them that were friends of you.
They'll call the news from hill to hill,
Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
Shall know that you are dead.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
Their duty by the dead.
Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
Like flies on the cold flesh.
They will put pence on your grey eyes,
Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
Because they were your kin.
They will praise all the bad about you,
And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
And then they'll go away.
But quieter than one sleeping,
And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
You will not mind the cold;
But through the night the lips will laugh not,
The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
About the quiet face.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
The lordliest lass of earth.
The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
Heart that they never knew.
I shall not hear your trentals,
Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
To the unanswering dead.
With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
Back home. And you will rot.
But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
Your Ambarvalia.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Whisper
As my heart was full of worries
And my soul was full of revenge
Everywhere I looked I saw lies and hatred
And from that road, I could see no end.
My life and happiness was vanishing
As all I cared about was hate and fear,
I knew not any other course to take
But then suddenly, GOD whispered into my ear.
He said vengeance is mine so said the Lord
And forgiveness was mine to give
I was told to enjoy the life I was living,
And let others see the life that I do live.
The troubles I have, they were all man made
GOD said that to me as He spoke
And a peaceful mind, is a peaceful soul
And in Heaven someday, I will be known.
Then to me GOD, He spoke no more
Then to the Heavens I prayed and I smiled
What GOD told me I truly needed then
I was happy, as I was a new born child.
Now when I hear the lies or see the anger
I’ll remember the time my soul almost disappeared
When I gave up love, as it had given up on me
But then GOD; He whispered into my ear.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Freedom Lies
Freedom, theres more to your life so now[? ]
Old laws, man has made only blind.
Oh, give us freedom, a call to the brave and the strong,
To stand in the face of all wrong and show the way.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
Freedom to live out the dream in a song,
Give hope to the hearts of the young.
Oh, give us freedom to act out of love and not fear,
So all that is true will be clear.
Hear tomorrow, calling hold me, show me.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
Freedom lies, freedom lies, freedom lies.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear Nothing
I HEAR NOTHING
I hear nothing
There is no poem
No poetry
Dull stale flat unprofitable
Oh the uses of this world.
Silence
Fear
Oh the darkness the darkness
Deep deep deep
I hear nothing
I wait
A thousand great lines of others
And not one of mine
No poetry no poem no poet
The world is going on and by
And poetry is in it
But I am on the side mumbling in silence
A silence unheard and only alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Still Falls The Rain
the rain against the windshield endlessly
for many years i cruised around the world
i've finally disembarked my ship of fools
a hero then, a stranger to return
i'd trade my goldrush 'gainst your silvernets
to know what happened after all this time
and in your arms i'm lost forevermore
i wonder how you ever felt in mine
isn't it strange, i still can hear your call
isn't it strange, i'm not a ghost at all
isn't it strange or is it just insane
isn't it strange, the glory and the fame
still falls the rain..
do you remember how we used to play
and how we waved our banners in the sun
do you remember how we gave ourselves away
for some strange kind of fun
and how we smiled as if we'd understood the writings on the walls
and cooked our spice on silver spoons
and if we wouldn't see the light
we overdosed the foll'wing night
isn't it strange...
i've got burnholes in my fingers that could not ease your pain
or was it me who killed the blue inside your eyes?
when silence grew behind our shadows on the wall
but if all was silent, could we hear a bit more?
i wonder can you hear me now? - isn't it strange
ohhh...
isn't it strange, i still can hear your call
isn't it strange, i'm not a ghost at all
isn't it strange or is it just insane
isn't it strange, the glory and the fame
still falls the rain..
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chains Of Misery
Theres a madman in the corner of your eye
He likes to pry - into the sunlight
He wants to burst into the streets with you and i
A world of shadows and of rain
Hes seen what love is...
He wants to pay back with guilt...
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
Theres a prophet in the gutter in the street
He say youre damned and you believe him...
Hes got a vision but it shines out through your eyes
A world of hatred and fear...
Hes felt what love means...
He wants to pay you back with pain...
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
Its only love that holds the key to our hearts
Its only love...
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At A Funeral
I loved her too, this woman who is dead.
Look in my face. I have a right to go
And see the place where you have made her bed
Among the snow.
I loved her too whom you are burying.
I have a right to stand beside her bier,
And to my handful of the dust I fling,
That she may hear.
I loved her; and it was not for the eyes
Which you have shut, nor for her yellow hair,
Nor for the face which in your bosom lies.
Let it lie there!
Nor for the wild--birds' music of her voice,
Which we shall hear in dreams till we too sleep;
Nor for the rest, which made the world rejoice,
The angels weep.
It was not for the payment of sweet love,
Though love is often straitened for a kiss,
Nor for the hope of other joys above,
But only this,
That she had laid her hand upon my heart
Once in the summer time when we were young,
And that her finger--tips had left a smart,
And that my tongue
Had spoken words which might not be unspoken
Lest they should make a by--word of love's truth,
And I had sworn that love should be the token
Of my youth.
And so I gave her all, and long ago
The treasure of my youth was put in pawn;
And she was little richer that I know
When that was gone.
But I have lived a beggar since that day
And hide my face it may be from men's eyes;
For often I have seen them shrink away,
As in surprise
That such a loathsome cripple should be found
To walk abroad in daylight with the rest,
And scarce a rag to cover up the wound
Upon his breast.
Yet no man stopped to ask how this might be,
Or I had scared them, and let loose my tongue,
How I had bought myself this misery
When I was young.
Yet I have loved her. This must be my pay,
The pension I have earned me with these tears;
The right to kneel beside her grave to--day,
Despite these years,
With all her kisses burning on my cheek,
As when I left her and our love was dead,
And our lips trembled though they did not speak,
The night I fled;
The right to bid you stand aside, nor be
A witness of our meeting. Did you love
In joy as I have loved in misery?
You did not prove
Your love was stronger than the strength of death,
Or she had never died upon your hand.
I would have fed her breathing with my breath;
I would have fanned
A living wind of Heaven to her lips;
I would have stolen life from Paradise.
And she is dead, and you have seen eclipse
Within those eyes.
If I could know that you had loved her well;
If I could hold it for a certainty
That you had sold your life as I did sell;
If I could see
The blackness of your soul, and with my tongue
Taste the full bitterness of tears unshed;
If I should find your very heart was wrung
And maimed and dead;
If I should feel your hand's grasp crumble mine,
And hug the pain when I should grasp in turn;
If I could dip my fingers in the brine
Of eyes that burn;
If I could hear your voice call back the dead
With such a mighty cry of agony
That she should turn and listen in the bed
Where she doth lie,
And all the heavens should together roll,
Thinking they heard the angel's trumpet tone,
I could forget it that you bought a soul
Which was my own;
I could forget that she forgot her vows,
That aught was bartered for the wealth of love;
I could untell the story of my woes,
Till God above
Should hold her guiltless and condone the wrong
Done to His justice; I could take your hand
And call you brother, as we went along
To take our stand
Before His judgment--seat with her again
Where we are hurrying,--for we could not keep
Our place unchallenged in the ranks of men
Who do not weep.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cremation Of A Bad Poet
The poet first fantasises himself
As a feather floating across the land,
And he fantasises next himself
As a cloud that rains over the parched land.
He sometimes transforms himself into a larva
That soon opens the cocoon and flies out unto the sky.
He often times listens to the musings of the skylarks or the flora
And he listens to the sweet nothings of the cosmic cry.
The poet turns sceptical about his fellow men in plight
And frowns at their swollen hearts apart.
He laughs at the miseries of a world punished by Him in fright
And then he longs to be with Him as an escort.
The poet then pleads others to kill him
Then he crawls unto a graveyard or climbs up a pile of timber.
Now he falls into a ditch dead or lies on the pyre in flames
And he wants now to smile from the above!
O poet, don`t cremate yourself like this ever
For none will ever give you that salvation!
O poet, may sense prevail upon you for sometime here
Till the world turns devoid of your good brethren!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bible in Poetry: 1 John 4
Do not believe in all spirits;
Find out if they have come from God;
False prophets have come to the world;
But how can you ascertain them?
A spirit that acknowledges
That Jesus came in flesh from God,
Is from God, Almighty Father;
And that which says that Christ isn’t Lord,
Is spirit of the antichrist,
Which you have heard is coming now,
And has already entered world.
You are from God too, dear children;
You’ve overcome the bad spirits;
The one in you is greater than
The one found in the world by man;
They’re from the world and speak like-wise;
The world listens as they entice;
Whoev’r knows God, listens to us,
As we are also from same God;
Whoever isn’t from God does not,
Then listen to us anytime.
This is the way to recognize,
The true spirit from that, that’s false!
God’s Love and Ours:
Dear friends, lets love one another,
As love comes from God the Father;
The ones who love are born of God,
For God is love and love knows God.
God showed His love for all of us,
By sending His one Son Jesus,
Into the world, die for our sins,
Like Lamb of God for sacrifice;
So that, we may then live through Him.
God’s love is not because we loved
Him, but He loved man as beloved;
We ought to love one another,
As God loved us like our Father;
No one has ev’r seen God as yet,
But if we love one another,
God will reside in us forev’r!
We live in Him and He in us,
As He has given His spirit;
We testify we’ve seen the Son,
Whom Father sent as world’s Savior;
If you acknowledge Son Of God,
God lives in him and he in God;
Therefore we know God’s love for us.
As God is love, whoever loves,
Then lives in God and God in Him;
Thus, love is made wholesome in us;
We’ll stand in confidence ‘fore God,
On Judgment-Day as we’re like Him.
There is no need for fear in love,
For, perfect love drives out all fear;
Fear comes when we await God’s rod;
Imperfect is the love with fear.
God loved us first and then we love;
The one who says, ‘I love God but
Hate my brother is a liar! ’
He who does not love his brother,
Although he has seen him so well,
Cannot love God, the unseen one;
God has given this commandment:
‘Whoev’r loves God, loves his brethren.’
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wish You Were Here
Footsteps, I can hear footsteps in the hall
I hear footsteps, seems like Ive been through this before
Some time has come now, some time has passed
But things still look the same
Is heaven all above, and paradise below
And the questions still remain
Ooh, can we see you?
Ooh, are we near you?
How could you disappear out of here?
I wish for something, I wish you were here
Footsteps, I can hear footsteps in the hall
I hear footsteps, it seems like Ive been through this before
Well we loved you then, I guess we always will
We love you still from here
Birds of a feather always stay together
And never separate, no fear
Ooh, can we see you?
Ooh, are we near you?
How could you disappear out of here?
I wish for something, I wish for something
I wish you were here, I wish you were here
I wish you well
Footsteps, I can hear footsteps in the hall
I hear footsteps, seems like Ive been through this before
If all the world was turning blue and gold
Like through your eyes so clear
The time has come to celebrate our past
And crystalize this sphere
Ooh, can we see you?
Ooh, are we near you?
How can you disappear out of here?
I wish for something
Ooh, can we see you?
Ooh, are we near you?
How can you disappear out of here?
I wish for something
I wish you were here, I wish you were here
I wish you well
There will come a day
Oh some day our day will come
Our day will come, our day will come
Words and music : simple minds (c) emi music (publ) ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Song
Once in the world’s first prime,
When nothing lived or stirred,
Nothing but new-born Time,
Nor was there even a bird –
The Silence spoke to a Star,
But do not dare repeat
What it said to its love afar:
It was too sweet, too sweet.
But there, in the fair world’s youth,
Ere sorrow had drawn breath,
When nothing was known but Truth,
Nor was there even death,
The Star to Silence wed,
And the Sun was priest that day,
And they made their bridal-bed
High in the Milky Way.
For the great white star had heard
Her silent lover’s speech;
It needed no passionate word
To pledge them each to each.
O lady fair and far,
Hear, oh, hear, and apply!
Thou the beautiful Star –
The voiceless silence, I.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Ever
Don't ever let me go,
Though I may fail you
And break you
And take you to places you don't want to go,
Take a moment to forget what love is
All the strange euphemisms
That one word takes
And the vows we never keep
And the dark places where love weeps
And let love speak
As if for the first time
When you were mine
For all of love
Is condensed into one heart one place
It is the soul at the bright centre
A world within a world
The human in the human race
yvette smith great poet of london town
april 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Writes Of Poems And Poets And Poetry
THE POET WRITES OF POEMS AND POETS AND POETRY
The poet writes of poems and poets and poetry,
And the world goes by
And nothing is done.
And the sky- the sky.
Is it still above?
And Love and Kindness
Are they still deep in us,
Words or not?
Without Poetry the world does not exist for the poet-
But for others,
Dreams have other names,
And Music plays on,
And singing and laughter
Go on as the Beauty of Light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry Of Love
Stand in the window
Close to the edge
As the neon signs surrender to the light of day
I sip a bitter cup of coffee
And I fade away oh I fade away
Theres a cross above my pillow
Curse words on the wall
What Id give to write the pages of my life again
No I cant believe this is the way
The story ends oh is this the end is this the end
I wanna run to the highest mountain
I wanna stand in the light of the sun
I wanna ask all this world to forgive the man that Ive become
And now I call on the angels above
Wont somebody hear wont somebody hear
My cry of love
Got a shoe box full of letters
Got a ring that I should pawn
Theres a picture on the table of the way we were
I wish to God I could forget
But I still think of her I think of her
Oh I think of her
I wanna run to the highest mountain
I wanna stand in the light of the sun
I wanna ask all this world to forgive the man that Ive become
And now I call on the angels above
Wont somebody hear wont somebody hear
My cry of love
Wont anybody listen to me
Can anybody hear my prayer
Wont anybody listen to my cry of love
Wont anybody listen to my cry of love
Wont anybody listen to my cry of love
I wanna ask all this world to forgive
The man that Ive become
And so I call on the angels above
Wont somebody hear wont somebody hear
My cry of love
Wont anybody listen to me
Can anybody hear my prayer
Wont anybody listen to me
Does anybody really care
My cry of love
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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