Now I Understand Marco Polo
You have no idea how difficult it is.
To awaken.
Determined to seek,
Fresh inventive ways...
To sustain controversy.
And to resist,
Mainstream acceptance.
Oh, the agony endured.
Updating those used insults.
The ones that manifested some attention,
With ease and applied intention.
Today...
There seems to be an obsession,
To be as disgusting as possible.
And I remember those times,
When being respectable was encouraged.
I know I 'date' myself with those fading visions.
I kept my sights upon new adventures!
Or so I thought!
I grow distraught as I think about it!
Yet keeping up to date,
Seems a task rapidly unachievable.
Especially when I have made it known...
I had been one of the those to market obnoxiousness,
Years ago.
And not one celebration for my efforts have taken place.
You have no idea how this upsets me.
Now I understand Marco Polo too well!
He is all but forgotten.
I am the Marco Polo of my time.
It ain't my fault I wasn't born in Venice.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Without stones there is no arch.
quote by Marco Polo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I have not told half of what I saw.
quote by Marco Polo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Brought From Beyond
The magpie and the bowerbird, its odd
predilection unheard of by Marco Polo
when he came upon, high in Badakhshan,
that blue stone’s
embedded glint of pyrites, like the dance
of light on water, or of angels
(the surface tension of the Absolute)
on nothing,
turned, by processes already ancient,
into pigment: ultramarine, brought from
beyond the water it’s the seeming
color of,
and of the berries, blooms and pebbles
finickingly garnishing an avian
shrine or bower with the rarest hue
in nature,
whatever nature is: the magpie’s eye for
glitter from the clenched fist of
the Mesozoic folding: the creek sands,
the mine shaft,
the siftings and burnishings, the ingot,
the pagan artifact: to propagate
the faith, to find the metal, unearth it,
hoard it up,
to, by the gilding of basilicas,
transmute it: O magpie, O bowerbird,
O Marco Polo and Coronado, where do
these things, these
fabrications, come from—the holy places,
ark and altarpiece, the aureoles,
the seraphim—and underneath it all
the howling?
poem by Amy Clampitt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Famous People - 1
Enrico Caruso
Carrying a stiletto
Wearing a sombrero
Sang “On To Mexico”.
Enrico Caruso
Never played polo.
Often sang solo
With Marco Polo.
John Paul Jones
Moaned and groaned
At home all alone
With his fighting sea bones.
Bob Hope
No dope
Hitched a ride with that crooner
Sailing to Bali on a schooner.
Bing Crosby
Made a fuss
Climbed a tree
And sang White Christmas
Bob Hope from London Townes
Sang all kinds of sounds
The best of all were with Lamour
Going all the way to Singapore.
(Bob Hope's real name is Leslie Townes Hope. He was born in London.)
Published online by PoetsofMars
Go to www.poetsofmars.com/index_copy(26) .html
Also published in the book, 'Oh, What A Tangled Web'
poem by Ben Gieske
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Measured Feathers
As vibrant, vivid...
And as tremendous as they appear.
Your strut that is peacocked...
Seem to be with measured feathers,
And not as natural as you wish us to believe.
'And...
You dared me to mention this.
And...
Naturally I paid no attention,
To the attention given.
However...
Since your curiosity,
Has obvious Murdered your cat!
I will say this to 'that'.
It is in the strutting done!
And I've learned that for a fact.
Although I will admit,
To using a bit of dye with stencil applied.
Adding to the appeal of my appearance.'
Your arrogance is quite disgusting!
'I wish I could share with you,
The hours I spent...
Hoping to get that re-action!
Thank you so much for vocalizing it.
The others just whisper.
And you have no idea how nerve wracking that can be.
I am here to flaunt and earn controversy.'
Well...
That's obvious!
'Again...
I thank you! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Kiss my idea
What is a kiss?
But a present full of bliss
Always in your life
From a mother’s smacker
To your girlfriend’s cracker
To the one that caused you strife
A kiss when you were born
And a kiss, when
From this world you’re torn
A kiss can signal the beginning of the end
Always wandering on without pretend
Don’t take them for granted
Don’t give them away as if in a market
Hold them dear
Keep them near
No more leer
Let us cheer
Now I’m clear
Have no fear
Kiss my idea
poem by Marco Driver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Never has the political class or the mainstream media that covers them been more out of touch with the American people than they are today.
quote by Marco Rubio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Hate Eating Alone In Public
I sat alone to eat at a restaurant today
For the first time in public today
I gotta say I hate eating alone
I used to ask total strangers to eat with me
And I would tell them that I would pay
So they would eat with me
This one guy must of thought I liked him
And that wasn't the case
I just wanted someone to eat with me
He gave me compliments
We had a great conversation
It was fun eating with him
Than I realized
He thought we were on a date
When he said
I never had a girl ask me out
But I didn't have the heart to tell him
I only asked him out to eat
Because I didn't want to eat alone in public
He asked for my number
So I gave him my number
But I never called him back
And if that had been a date
I would of called him back
But it wasn't a date
Now I'm sitting in a restaurant eating alone
And having all these people stare at me
And it make it worse they're all here with a date
And I'm eating here alone
Fantasy Has Been Like Rolling Dice
Fantasy hastens its wings over long hours of play,
Whenever you roll dice probably spells disaster.
Fantasy occupies the soul from a new position;
A solid hope has spun a discord, a funny spell,
One of thatched houses inside which are witches
Only sold as themselves by the well-adventurers
Who delve into the Marco Polo exploration of a life-time.
I want them to win, and Dungeon Masters speak ill of those who are higher.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The rate of progress is so rapid that what one learns at school or university is always a bit out of date. Only a few people can keep up with the rapidly advancing frontier of knowledge, and they have to devote their whole time to it and specialize in a small area. The rest of the population has little idea of the advances that are being made or the excitement they are generating.
quote by Stephen Hawking
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
An Idea
An Idea can change the world, how many
things can be done from an idea, every piece
of object was an idea, sense the beginning of
time idea was the first thought created in the
mind, an idea is what surround’s every being.
But an idea is still only an idea and it can't be
felt, you cannot touch an idea or kiss it, or hold it,
ideas do not bleed or feel pain or love, an idea
cannot be seen or heard, its created in our thoughts,
but then again an idea can become real. An idea
can be what ever you which it to be, an idea can
be destructive, an idea can be brilliant, I've seen
people get killed in the name of ideas, ideas,
we walk around with a little
light bulb blinking in our thoughts, ideas.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Running Away
I ran away from my home.
To the place where I was never born.
Never seen the place.
Never been there.
I put my first step there.
Initially, I was scared.
But later on I was able to overcome my fear.
I don't know whether I am right or wrong.
It does not matter now.It's all gone.
I don't know what I was thinking
But right now my time is wasting.
I should have thought not to go away.
But right now I am far away.
I thought running away was good idea.
Now, it's bad idea.
poem by Yash Pradhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Said Before To Say It Again
On my mind are these times.
And I do find these times on my mind,
Hard to define.
With a keeping of those,
Feeling these times have them boxed in.
And on my mind,
There is a reason to seek rhythm and rhyme.
With my visions set,
On what it would take...
To increase my happiness.
I've said this before to say it again.
I'm not looking for stoppers,
To block as obstacles to hop over.
Or the welcoming arms of acceptance.
With a hope that they will open,
The gates to a fence to feel I've been approved.
On my mind are these times.
And I do find these times on my mind,
Hard to define.
With a keeping of those,
Feeling these times have them boxed in.
Acceptance or not,
I'm not looking to get out of a box.
Too many have found themselves there,
To argue over space,
With little of it that to share.
I've said this before to say it again.
Those feeling trapped,
Like it exactly like that.
Fresh is the air,
One dares to breathe alone.
Revitalized is an atmosphere,
When the clearing of a sky,
Becomes recognized to the one who looks...
To discover the vastness of it to become known.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Last Frontier
How a cohesiveness,
Can pull them together
From indeciveness...
Is a test.
He is above the rest.
And,
Too good for them.
He has promise,
To heal.
And they are accustomed,
To honoring their traitors.
Baiting hatred,
While ushering decline.
They are out of their minds.
And too good for them he is.
And they have no idea...
How close they are
To being the last frontier,
This pioneer...
Will try to attempt to save!
With concepts that are fresh,
Daring and brave.
They have been enslaved,
By their thoughts of a fading greatness.
Rapidly becoming nonexistent.
And this twistedness,
Has brought them to the edge of doom.
He fights to bring them clarity.
He hopes to awaken them soon.
He is too good for them.
And those who are aware...
Wishes his reign,
Does not come to late.
To avoid their agony, further shame...
And more pain.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We have just arrived
We have just arrived
at the old big house
near to the cemetery
on the grounds of the private school.
The neighbours two houses down
have peacocks that spread their tail feathers
during the day and look pretty
and at night they scream oo-ha! Oo-ha!
Sometimes dad drives to the school
with his black car with the fins,
sometimes he walks with the dirt road
that meanders red-brown past the hillocks
and in the afternoons he does correcting of papers,
read poems at times early in the evening
he tells about Marco Polo and his journey
and causes me to want to explore the wide world
and then one day every thing is different,
dad has got to leave for the hospital,
and never comes back home
we have to leave the house
and move away to another one.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Marco Polo
READING how Marco Polo came
By bridle-path to Kanbalu,
Forgotten fibres wake to flame,
And smoke old memories anew . . . .
For in a bygone life of mine
I watched the carven rampart shine,
Where Kublai's five-clawed dragons glowed
Like painted wyverns, line on line.
And past those plaster dragon-heads,
Those frescoes cut with curious flowers,
In verdigris and lilac-reds
Old tiles gleamed on the crusted towers,
While bridges cleft of serpent-stone
Bowed by their side, like branches blown
From some high granite Tree of Life
Whose roots were coiled round Kublai's throne.
O myrtles on the Jasper Mount,
O forest-towered elephants,
And fire-fish in the topaz fount
With red fins blown like water-plants,
And green cornelian tortoise-rows
Below the aqueduct, and those
Gold-feathered cranes, I saw them all,
How many ages gone, who knows?
I saw tall gilded Tartars pass
Behind their marble balustrades,
With maces made of beaten brass
And turquoise-hafted sabre-blades.
I heard the little golden bells
Blow faintly down the citadels,
And spied those ivory courts within
Through windows of transparent shells.
But past the fountain-pools I peered,
Beyond the birds, to that divan,
Where, fingering his tawny beard,
In silence dreamed the splendid Khan.
Green china bowls of wine were there,
And oranges and milk-of-mare,
While, stamping on his jewelled wrist,
A falcon climbed with eyes aflare.
He's gone; and with him, flowers and birds,
And old Venetians too, have died;
Yet burnt in Marco Polo's words,
Those unforgotten splendours hide . . .
And, tired of life's new-fashioned plan,
I long to be barbarian.
I'm sick of modern men, I wish
You were still living, Kublai-Khan!
poem by Kenneth Slessor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My rare pet dog
His name is 'Marco' a crossed german shepherd.
I have only two daughters and I loved this rare creature
as my obedient son.
Marco understands everything except talking.
When my daughters go to school
he goes with them to the bus stop
and wait there until a bus comes.
Then come back home and wags his tail
saying they are gone safely.
Oh! what a kind hearted son!
Before I leave the country
I found something like tears in his eyes
and skips his meals.
My wife writes me
when she put my old clothes into the kennel
then he sleeps quietly.
Oh! my dearest son
one day you left us
without saying good bye!
I am sure somebody must have poisoned you.
Who granted this inhuman a soul
instead of giving it to a dog?
(My dear Marco, my heart still laments for you)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I used to be a real prince charming if I went on a date with a girl. But then I'd get to where I was likely to have a stroke from the stress of keeping up my act. I've since learned the key to a good date is to pay attention on her.
quote by Matthew Perry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Today At My Age
Today at my age...
You may call me anything you choose.
And I will still regard that as a compliment.
At this stage of the game...
To be given any attention,
I find that to be remarkable.
Who knew I would feel this way?
When I was in my early twenties...
Everyday I thought I needed to seek praise.
And today...
At my age,
An insult heard that is spoken...
And is tossed my way?
I automatically know,
Someone has taken the time to do it.
And I thank them for their efforts made.
'What are you?
Some kind of a fool? '
Apparently not just any kind,
Or you would not have taken your time...
To notice.
'Huh?
What? '
You have made my day!
You are a breath of fresh motivation.
Thank you.
'And you are...
OH,
Nevermind! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Remorse Of Ignorance
A humble request from the deepness of thought.
It is not a desire for something that can be bought.
But the ability to speak straight from the heart.
Say what you mean and mean what you say with the best intentions applied.
But sometimes these ideas are not well meant and seem quite popurous to the human eye at least at the time when it matters most.
Why does it always feel like we're chasing our own ghost?
You know what hes was right.
To bad we've never had a chance to tell him.
The remorse of ignorance.
So instead we market the idea as our own.
Never giving him the credit due.
A luxury that has come and pasted.
A regret of not doing more to protect the idea of doing things for humanity's sake.
A humanitarian in need in a society based off greed.
A common place where it is do as you please as long as you have the green.
All a waste so it seems in a world of fultility.
A million ending to write, which one will be your reality?
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!