Oh you gatherer
Oh you gatherer
of the fine ash of poetry
ash of the too-white flame
of poetry
Consider those who have burned before you
in the so-white fire
Crucible of Keats and Campana
Bruno and Sappho
Rimbaud and Poe and Corso
And Shelley burning on the beach
at Viarreggio
And now in the night
in the general conflagration
the white light
still consuming us
small clowns
with our little tapers
held to the flame
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Pain
Pain. Pain in the body.
Pain in the mind.
Pain. Feel the pain.
Go to the centre of it.
In the centre, a flame.
A cool, warm, steady, white, white flame
so white, that
it is more light than white.
Cool as detachment.
Warm as love.
Bright as enlightenment;
burning the unnecessary.
The flame of healing,
as old as the world.
As old as olive trees and oil and sacred lamps,
as old as wisdom.
In the flame, an angel.
That is what the angel said.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The General Public
"Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?" -- Browning.
"Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then,"
The old man said. A dry smile creased his face
With many wrinkles. "That's a great poem, now!
That one of Browning's! Shelley? Shelley plain?
The time that I remember best is this --
A thin mire crept along the rutted ways,
And all the trees were harried by cold rain
That drove a moment fiercely and then ceased,
Falling so slow it hung like a grey mist
Over the school. The walks were like blurred glass.
The buildings reeked with vapor, black and harsh
Against the deepening darkness of the sky;
And each lamp was a hazy yellow moon,
Filling the space about with golden motes,
And making all things larger than they were.
One yellow halo hung above a door,
That gave on a black passage. Round about
Struggled a howling crowd of boys, pell-mell,
Pushing and jostling like a stormy sea,
With shouting faces, turned a pasty white
By the strange light, for foam. They all had clods,
Or slimy balls of mud. A few gripped stones.
And there, his back against the battered door,
His pile of books scattered about his feet,
Stood Shelley while two others held him fast,
And the clods beat upon him. `Shelley! Shelley!'
The high shouts rang through all the corridors,
`Shelley! Mad Shelley! Come along and help!'
And all the crowd dug madly at the earth,
Scratching and clawing at the streaming mud,
And fouled each other and themselves. And still
Shelley stood up. His eyes were like a flame
Set in some white, still room; for all his face
Was white, a whiteness like no human color,
But white and dreadful as consuming fire.
His hands shook now and then, like slender cords
Which bear too heavy weights. He did not speak.
So I saw Shelley plain."
"And you?" I said.
"I? I threw straighter than the most of them,
And had firm clods. I hit him -- well, at least
Thrice in the face. He made good sport that night."
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Candle of Love
He was the fire...the fire to my burning candle
When I first recieved him he lit up my life
His flame burned vibrantly, it burned with care, and
it burned forever
Now that fire that once burned for me won't even
spark for me
Maybe its old, maybe I'm not lighting it right..or
maybe his flame is tired of my candle
poem by Octavia Tisdale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Flame
I find myself remembering things I thought I'd forgot
I thought I'd gotten over you but I can see I've not
And seeing you has made me realize how wrong I've been
And the torch I've carried for so long is burning bright again
The flame is burning bright again it just took my seeing you to know
That the flame had not burned out it just had flickered low
Yes I still love you just as much as I ever did before
The flame is burning bright again and I can't fight it anymore
Could it be your seeing me has set your heart on fire
Could it be old memories has filled you with desire
Oh if after all this time you find that you still feel the same
Then come and take my hand and walk with me into the flame
The flame is burning bright again...
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry Undefined
Poetry is a great many things
to each poet you see,
Poetry even has various meanings
as to what it is to me
Overall,
Poetry is the means
By which my heart communicates,
My mind finds the words
For these feelings and translates
Sometimes,
Poetry is my lover
My fantasies he fulfills
Beckoning me to crisp, white sheets
where my blacks and blues I spill
Or,
Poetry comes as a mysterious moon
appearing softly in the night,
age old secrets of the universe
he reveals to me with his light
See,
Poetry is my spirit
the connection to the Divine,
It lets me see what I am to be,
let’s me soar when I feel confined
So,
Don’t try too hard to define
What poetry really is
Just know that what you get from a poem
Is all a poet had to give
11.25.02
poem by Tamika Stubblefield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To a Child
When I was a child I saw
a burning bird in a tree.
I see became I am,
I am became I see.
In winter dawns of frost
the lamp swung in my hand.
The battered moon on the slope
lay like a dune of sand;
and in the trap at my feet
the rabbit leapt and prayed,
weeping blood, and crouched
when the light shone on the blade.
The sudden sun lit up
the webs from wire to wire;
the white webs, the white dew,
blazed with a holy fire.
Flame of light in the dew,
flame of blood on the bush
answered the whirling sun
and the voice of the early thrush.
I think of this for you.
I would not have you believe
the world is empty of truth
or that men must grieve,
but hear the song of the martyrs
out of a bush of fire-
'All is consumed with love;
all is renewed with desire.'
poem by Judith Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ash and Dust
gone gone like smoke
misty white, then nothingness
the woods now mere ashes,
light and white, taken by the wind
my passion for poetry is the fire
when it is consumed
there is nowhere to go
but to merge with heaven
the light, fair white ashes
perhaps a lesson not to take
life too seriously
nothing would be left
except ash and dust
that trail the wind
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fan The Fire
Maurice white, donald whitehead & wade flemons
**ohh its a shame
Its a shame its a shame
The flame of love is about to die
Somebody fan the fire
The flame of love is about to die
Somebody fan the fire
Love is dyin today
Somebody fan the fire
The flame of love is dyin I say
We gonna fan the fire, come on along
Little children starving in a foreign land,
Talk about it brother
Man afraid to shake his brothers hand
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
Woman in trouble callin but nobody cares
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
People denied the rights that are truly
Theirs
(its a shame)
*i believe I believe
(I believe I believe)
I believe I believe
(I believe I believe)
I believe the flame of love is about to die
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
I believe the flame of love is about to die
The flame of love is about to die
Somebody fan the fire
Flame of love is about to die
Were gonna fan the fire, come on along.
Violence striking down great men of peace
Poverty in the homes and crime in the streets
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
Kind-hearted people turnin to hate
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
Mans about to destroy the human race
(its a shame)
(*repeat)
(its a shame)
(* * repeat)
I believe the flame of love is about to die
(repeat)
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry acts
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Immortal Lovers
Paltry wind like thyme heroes
Irish poetry lights a fire
Plain stone epithet with a cross
Yeats sleeps with an ire smile
Limestone is working class
Marble for the Greek legends
Poets spin golden words
Mortal yarn rises like smoke
Ancient pyres outside the village
Battles of freedom in the human duel
Spring sires love in Pushkins bosom
Shelley and Keats lay very close
Wordsworth makes us walk green fields
Milton like a statue in a great square
Khalil Gibran a jewel of wise gentleness
Shakespeare is a fire unquenchable
Rimbaud and Verlaine bring an edge
You have your muse and I mine
The ravens of Poe fly the centuries
Warm me with your poetry my dear
The Brownings have such sweet words
Emily makes us all feel our loneliness
E. E. Cummings a bright warm flame
Pablo Neruda can make me cry
Every poet is an immortal lover
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!
Poetry! Yes!
P. The Purple
P. The Pink
Poetry! Be a mix of emotions,
Poetry! The different kinds of expressions,
Poetry! The different kinds of experiments
Poetry! The Corners of exploration
Yes! Yes! Yes!
The Vague Of Emphasise.
Though be the same thoughts and emotions, he solves the different vexed questions of equations
Poetry! My blue sky!
Poetry! My brown skin
Poetry! My White clown
Poetry! My green grass
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Expressed and impressed,
applied and implied
thrown and blown
pen with a book,
a vein of a blood
Poetry! the visions of missions,
build in all kinds of potions,
Poetry! the zeal of joy,
it being in zone
I Learn!
I Observe
I Like
But! I Love!
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fire Ferocious
Fire! Fire! Ferocious fire!
You restless wall of flame.
Fire! Fire! Roaring higher!
Your fury to never tame.
You show no mercy – no regard:
A writhing army uncontrolled.
At least you don’t discriminate,
Selecting to exterminate:
All dealt with equal pain untold.
Fire! Fire! Ferocious fire!
You restless wall of flame.
Fire! Fire! Roaring higher!
Your fury to never tame.
In time of drought you run amok –
An open chimney of the land.
Prefer to scorch than suffocate:
In blinding zeal, incinerate
To blackened vista now unmanned.
Fire! Fire! Ferocious fire!
You restless wall of flame.
Fire! Fire! Roaring higher!
Your fury to never tame.
Destruction be your only goal
For you to vent your jealous wrath
On gentle life with caring soul
And human victims to console:
As you are none, but psychopath.
Fire! Fire! Ferocious fire!
You restless wall of flame.
Fire! Fire! Roaring higher!
Your fury to never tame.
So there it is – you are but flame:
Reacting gases to adorn –
With orange flicks of flailing arms,
You’re flaunting your demonic charms!
Now leave us for bereaved to mourn.
Fire! Fire! Ferocious fire!
You restless wall of flame.
Fire! Fire! Roaring higher!
Your fury to never tame.
So many lives to claim.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
Fire fire burning fire fire fire burning fire
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry Societies
Poetry Societies
cherish their chosen
poet with such passionate
fervour ardent intensity
promote them safeguard them
maintain religiously preserve
their sacred recordings writings
like interactive shrine museums
white gloves sealed immaculate
pristine white when handling
sacred artifacts from centuries past
holy relics encased in icon niche
keepers of sacred
poetic fire
protectors of
treasured Holy Grails
documents deemed
culturally significant
immensely revered in
mausoleum pilgrimage
keeping the eternal
flame burning
sacrament safeguarded
held in perpetual
trust for future generations
devotees destined to recognize
hallowed intrinsic wisdom
reverence read upon every page
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dirty White Boy
Hey, baby, if youre feelin down
I know whats good for you all day
Are you worried what your friends see
Will it ruin your reputation lovin me
cause Im a dirty white boy
Yeah a dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Dont drive no big black car
Dont like no hollywood movie star
You want me to be true to you
You dont give a damn what I do to you
Im just a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Well, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Ive been in trouble since I dont know when
Im in trouble now and I now somehow Ill find trouble again
Im a loner, but Im never alone
Every night I get one step closer to the danger zone
cause Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Cmon, cmon boy
Dirty white boy, white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Hey, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy, yeah
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry Unlimited
Poetry is looking,
at a flower and,
seeing the beauty
hidden within.
Poetry is bringing
out love, deep in
your heart, telling
your love one how you feel.
Poetry is feeling
a cool breeze
as you lie in an open
field, so deep in thought.
Poetry is seeing
the beauty of soft
fluffy white clouds
as no one else does.
Poetry is hearing
sounds of nature
soaking it all in
to mind and soul.
Poetry is watching and
standing by river's edge
seeing rippling water
flowing to places unknown.
Poetry is gazing at
rolling hills stretching
as far, as the eye
can see.
Poetry is digging
deep into inter feelings
bringing it out
and exposing it.
Poetry is love
Poetry is feelings
Poetry is seeing
Poetry is what you are.
Where I was alone
Where I was alone
~
Where I was alone
Amid the screams of night
Afraid love would pass me by
Where my faith lay tested
And hope but a dying flame
Where I wrote to escape this world
Imprisoned by my own fears
My thoughts ran irrational
In bittersweet poetry
It was you who came
To bring nurture to my heart
Company to my soul
Where I was alone
You found me there
Rejuvenated my faith
Brought fuel to hope
Now poetry sings aloud
Full of beauty and life
Lit by this burning flame
To love and to your name
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A life on the edge of stainless steel
The white burning in the threshold
Spinning a circle for a circus lion cross
Being whispered into his ear
A harlequin tear the edge of his smile and a path
The door became a mastering light
To disappear among the words of opening
Too many for an entrance and only one for a step real
Come into those eyes stretching across the faces
To learn the edges of a sight
Is not too hard provided that you don't even want to
The eyes are those of a parent
Will do the things for you
Give food shelter protection perhaps
Feed you on the mind that speaks of fire
Or you'll be raised a child of chill
Its breath frozen held in a flame
Forever burning in the treetops
Dressed in your hair ties by the lips
Let loose of a necklace around a white neck
Belted around the waist vest cherished
Of a life on the edge of a stainless steel
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black men, White men
should i be led to believe
that the white men's heart
is soft as cotton? and when
touched, is torched, bursts into flame
to settle comfortably in black,
a trail of humble lesson for the soul
should i be led to believe
that a black man's heart is
full of courage? charging like a bull
through America black or white
settling for nothing in between?
should i be led to believe that
black and white work the
theory of ying and yang
ever balancing to rev up the world?
rice would even grow in bush
black hair turns eventually into
a crown of white wisdom
and blackboards light up
knowledge in white chalk
white shines at its best in black
and where else but a piece of white
where black could make its clearest stamp
of its stand - left or right, right or wrong
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!