En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My Gems Are Not Here For That

Do what you wish and with who or whom.
But you are not here to dose on my composed prose.

If you need to read something that aids your sleep...
Don't you dare nod,
On any of my precious stanzas.
Or blink an eye on my rhymes.
I did not take my time,
To attract your snores.

My gems are not here for that.
You can take your naps next door!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Time

Where dose time really go once it has past
Time is time
Is there such a thing as bad timing
Why dose it fly when were having fun
And slow down when we want it to fly
Can you answer me
Can you tell me why
Dose time stand still
Time waits for no one
Travel in time machine
Dose time ever take time out
Time rules the world
From the time we raise to the time we sleep
We are paid for our
WE pay to use someone else's time
So time is money really
Time we spend together
A life time
We use time reading the times or time magazine
Can you tell me the time please
How many times would that have been said
Lunch time dinner time
My time your time
Your wasting time your wasting my time
Killing time i don't think so
We are running out of time
Race against time
loosing time
Making up for lost time
A bit of overtime
Time to go

poem by GJC boyle
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Poem Versus Prose

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Enough with your predicates
And your subjects
In this poem you will find
No commas and semicolons

This poem
Is armed with rhythms
Stanzas and shifts
This poem has no end
There are no colons
In this poem

Your prose is replete with nuances
This poem echoes
The plight of the oppressed
And dispossessed

In your prose I find parentheses
This poem speaks of life
Your prose can be edited
Cut this poem and it bleeds

You do not like this poem
And I do not like your prose
Prose has pauses and hyphens
Prose comes to a stop
This poem plugs images
Even in your head

Prose deals with fiction
And nonfiction
This poem can be heard
It can be felt
It speaks of hunger
Of hopelessness
Homelessness
It speaks of a bitter reality

You do not like this poem

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Bones ache, sleep evades…
Oh, grandfather clock strikes twelve;
Someone snores next door.
Its same time, but different strokes
One rich but the other broke.

tanka by Mamta Agarwal
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Bad Dreams (Children)

In my dream, I heard a tiger
so I hid behind a tree.
I was frightened he would eat me up
'cause he roared and roared at me.

I woke up scared and sweaty,
thought I'd sleep with Mom and Dad,
but when I went in their room,
Dad was snoring really bad.

I climbed between them anyway
with the blanket pulled up tight.
I closed my eyes and wished real hard.
No more tigers, not tonight!

I remembered what my daddy said,
that your bed is like a book.
If the page on the right is scary,
turn left and take a look.

I turned to my left and fell asleep.
The tiger wasn't there...
but in its place, and growling L O U D
was a big old grizzly bear!

This time, I woke up shaking!
That really scared me bad!
I had turned both left and right
and they were the only turns I had!

Daddy's snoring like a buzz saw.
How will I go to sleep?
I'm not too good at counting yet
or I'd count myself some sheep.

I thought about his snores some more...
hmmm, Daddy sounds just like a bear.
On second thought, a tiger, too,
so I got out of there.

I closed their door behind me,
then I tiptoed quietly,
and shut the door to MY room, too.
No more roaring snores for me!

poem by C.J. Heck
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Precious Sleep

sleep is like a majical time
sleep is were any think is true
sleep is a time were only you have a say
sleep is a precious time to dream

but sleep is not so precious to me
sleep is my time were nothing happens to me
COZ I CANNOT DREAM
but sleep is still my time so do not desterve it
or be damed if i can hold back

poem by Beau Williams
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Forgotten Prose

I belong to a book discussion group at our local library. There are about a dozen of us
that meet once a month and discuss a book that we all agreed (voted) to read. At each
meeting, I am usually the oldest participant and I have noticed that our individual tastes
for prose varies exceedingly.
Myself, I prefer the Classics. The others prefer the modernists’ works of prose.
Consequently, due to our democratic process, my choices rarely are voted for.
Anyway, the situation inspired me to compose a sonnet for all the great forgotten prose of
yesteryear.

On dusty shelves the books of dated time
Have stood for years. Abandoned, slighted lore
Those years before were favorite pastime
Discussion topics, literati lords
Adored. Among the seasoned aging tomes,
A rather large imposing book secured
It’s stately charm amongst the few unknowns.
The title slightly injured and obscured.
Author and faithful readers long ago
Deceased, along with fragmentary bits
Of time. Until uncovered, read to know
About its past distinction, this poet
Aroused, composed a special poem for it.
It’s often called: Shakespearean sonnet.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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I've already written 300 space poems. But I look upon my ultimate form as being a poetic prose. When you read it, it appears to be prose, but within the prose you have embedded the techniques of poetry.

quote by Story Musgrave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Isn't Traditional

Is it poetry?
Is it a narrative.
Is it part haiku,
With a dose of prose?
Who knows?

Is it what it should be?
And is it possible what should be,
Isn't and has never been.
And those wishing to see it,
Expressed properly as intended...
Have not a clue,
What those initial intentions meant.
Was it created to communicate,
Between elitists who prefered eating cake?
As they delighted in making fun,
Of the ones too socially powerful...
To know what behind their backs was being done?
Who knows?

Or...
Why is it today,
Anyone can say...
To decide to justify,
What etiquette abides?
When one chooses a method,
Using limited words to mention...
What from their own minds,
They describe and 'they' themselves wish to define.

And it is...
Poetry.
And it is...
A narrative.
And it is...
A dose of prose.
With a touch of haiku.
With a doing done as one would choose.

'But it isn't traditional.'

And what are those traditions,
You can say today...
Remains as an influence.
And 'still' exists?
Name just one!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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She Needs Years To Make A Poem

i am not surprised with what she just said
to make a poem of her life
she needs years and years
perhaps a hundred years
if need be to make the best poem
of her life

her words are days and days
her stanzas her dwelling place
her commas and punctuations
her naps and long hours of sleep
her poem is her life

she lives inside it
she breathes every word every letter
and when she reads it when it is finished
she speaks her last, hounding silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not averse to poetry..

Do you see life
through prose-coloured spectacles?

or has the squid of poetry
inked you into its tentacles?

There’s much more rubbish writ in prose –
though soppy verse
can be much worse;

or tepid epics
with vapid topics;

or stanzas dull
and fanciful;

or limericks
with silly tricks; or

couplets mock-heroic,
like empty crocks echoic;

lines that would be better for
their not being stuffed with metaphor;

unkempt attempts at simile
that register but dimmily;

and ‘moanalogues’ from broken hearts;
sad mishap crap; linguistic farts;
slam-dunk bawls, that mean **** all;

rhymes that over backwards bend
to cap a couplet at their end;

elegies, whose energies
not rapt, but sapped; and seldom apt;

dust-dry stuff that vaunts ‘tradition’;
limp Latinate, like micturition;

or classic odes
with massive loads
of sheer incomprehension..

My final word, in fine old words:
say what you mean… why be absurd?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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We Are Envied

How dare you say what's on your mind.
How dare you expose the inequities you find.
How dare you do that to attract more wrongs.
How dare you bring them out into the open?
When we have been accustomed to them sitting,
In a pretense to remain where they belong...
Totally camouflaged in a mirage,
That has convinced with our decadent mentalities...
We are envied.
And this makes us great.
With a faking that keeps us strong!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Insomnia (Life Poem)

Darkness envelopes me like a thin grey blanket
Listen to sleeping body snores warm beside me
Imaginary ghosts emerge out of the shadows
Tomorrow’s plans become tonight’s mental list.

Twist and turn, heart beats fast, should sleep
Can’t sleep, get up, drink tea, read email, yawn
Email replies at three clears the decks, wide awake
Online yesterday’s Irish Times becomes today’s.

Skype “Hi” to friends on PST and office in Asia
In bed, read Robinson Crusoe, always meant to
Watch watch, almost five, two hours to breakfast
Sleep heavy eyes, day bright,7am news, yawn.

poem by Ian Beckett
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Don't Tar Me

Don't you dare tar me
With that same brush
I am nothing like her
Can't you see? ?

Don't you know me by now
I thought you knew me so well
Maybe i'm wrong
Am i that hard to read? ?

I would give you the world
Ten times over
I would steal you the stars
From the sky

I would die
For our endless devotion
Die for you
In the blink of an eye

So don't you dare tar me
With that same brush
She never gave you a second thought
Don't you see? ?

I'd give you it all
My body and soul
An i'd stumble and fall
You are everything
Everything to me! ! !

poem by Lucy Vernezze
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Affirming That...

Attract good health,
To me and my home.
Attract wealth of understanding,
And an abundance condoned...
To me and my home.
Attract goodwill and love,
To me and my home.
Attract a forgiveness shared,
To me and my home.
Attract an increased love of God,
To me and my home.
Attract those of faith and encouragement,
To me and my home.
Attract a giving that receives graciously,
To me and my home.
Attract a growth that knows its worth,
To me and my home.
Attract a success
That leaves a mind at peace and rest.
With friends and family,
All feeling a 'givingness'.

And let it be known...
That in my home dwells a heart,
Affirming that which it needs...
To deliver what God expects!
As I journey upon this path,
He enlightens...
Whenever I come to pray to Him and ask,
For guidance to assist me
With all He gives and my tasks...
With Him I know I will pass!

And in the doing,
I am hopeful...
To attract to my life the best God has,
For me and those affirming that!
Affirming 'that' to ourselves at last!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What if Human Nature was Blind?

What if the gems found
Deep down underground
Had feelings about what humans do
Had feelings about me and you?
What if these precious stones cry
What if they scream out, asking why?
As they are taken and studied
For human want, not the need?
What if the humans could hear
And feel each and every tear
These gems let loose as they are pried
From the comfort of the Earth dried?
What if the humans choose to look away
Causing the gems to feel the dismay
As they are left to feel the pain
Of the humans weather, mostly the rain.
Well, the gems will break and be no more
The humans will have nothing left, to put in their store.

poem by Thamer Mager
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Time...

Time slips swiftly through each and every memory,
Our story of life stumbles toward an inevitible end,
It steals from us the ones we love and care for,
And we are reminded, our time on this journey has it's limits,
For in the blink of an eye we may be consigned to history,
And when time calls our name, our story shall cease to be,
So live each precious moment of every single day,
Embrace each rising of the sun with a childlike exuberance,
For life is brief and gone in but the blink of an eye,
And time it's self, shall stand still for no man...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Pink, Our Shrink, and Love, I Think

The only things I can think
(Besides think)
That rhyme with pink
Are stink
And wink
And blink
And sometimes I think I need this shrink
Because I hate pink
As the things it rhymes with stink
Like facial functions and thoughts I think
Then write down here in maroon ink
And as said by our shrink
The problem with pink
Is that it can't express the love that I think
And wink
To you as I blink
And now dare to write in maroon ink
As between you and me, it's a link
We both hate the color, I think
Because this poem makes us tickled pink
As we wait in the office of our shrink
Who we hate as much as the color pink

poem by Phoenix Rory
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For You To Invite Me To Read You

i agree with what
the other guy on the other side
of the world
once wrote, that for you
to invite me
into your mind to read
what you have
been thinking and
writing all along
is an insult to your capacity
to attract people that if
(by God's will)
you die even your rotten
ass
cannot even attract
a female fly.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Like A Dinosaur

He snores like a lion and,
She snores like a dinosaur! !
But, they cannot meet each other because,
They are being divided by the walls of love;
And, what is now left down by the goat is being eaten up by the dog.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fixed Within It and Will Not Leave

The thought of it is easy to read.
That is the intent.
As if it had been concieved.
And for you meant,
To exist and breathe.

Had it not been composed...
None of it you would believe.
And that is why each word of this...
Has been selected,
For you to digest.
Think about it and re-read!

And while you are doing that...
Think of it as something you thought easy,
To read.
Then think of it as something nonexisting.
You can't can you.
Because this was given life to breathe.

And each time it is read...
It is in your head!
Fixed within it and will not leave!
And your thought of it at first was easy.
Why should that be?
When I took my time to insure you'd be pleased.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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