Up-Wellsprings Poetry From The Coldest; Deserts Hearts
'Up-wellsprings poetry from the coldest; deserts hearts'.
Where; blooms the most exotic flowers of all…
'They're dunes, they're zephyrs, and they're petals caul,
Wrap-around each sunset—sunrise subverts'.
'Yet, they're as real as any pollen-laden bee.
In the art of subtlety, such, interactions…
Deceiving as the moon, undercurrents the sea:
But, these ruses are finite, attractions'.
'They call for intricacy, a little mystery!
And of course they all question what if, anything'.
'Poems are about: Do, they have integrity
Who'll balm just one soul, Lord Where to begin?
Each word, a sphere orbiting—another!
Let's not be over analytical… my lover'.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Related quotes
Sincerity Prayer
Hours rush by
But the day no end
Darkness swift in
But nights not goin'
Remember this call of sincerity
Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road
Chariots of bloody fame
Behind the silhouettes
Of merciless vampires
Rush past.
Remember this cry of sincerity
Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road
Swords dripping with red
Hot blood held
Behind the name of Holly
In white garments in no shame
Remember this beg of sincerity
Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road
Wondering in wilderness
Shivering in the night deserts
Stranded in wavy beaches
But no place to take the cry?
Remember this prayer of sincerity
Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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Sunrise & Sunset
When the sun rises, we call it sunrise
when the sun sets, we call it sunset
Our sunrise can be someone else's sunset
someone else's sunrise can be our sunset
It is relative but one thing is certain
when you really live
a sunrise is a thought
a sunset is a memory
It is not relative
it holds every day, forever and always
poem by Sana Eddami
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Wild Daisies
They are Nature's natural survivors though they seem so dainty and small
And they bloom in all Seasons and weather In Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
With yellow hearts and snow white petals the wildflowers everybody does know
Even on the coldest days of Winter they bloom in the shade by hedgerow
Wild daisies distinct from all others the flowers everyone recognize
They close their petals to the night air and open their hearts to the sunrise
Even in the coldest days of Winter the wildflowers one often does see
So dainty looking yet so hardy they always do look disease free
When I was young in depths of Winter they bloomed in the fields far away
The very same species of wild daisies I see in the town park today
They must have been around forever the hardiest of little wildflowers
They even bloom in the coldest of weather in the sleety and wintery showers
They are Nature's natural survivors the poets their praises do sing
They bloom in all Seasons and weather Summer, Autumn and Winter and Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Rare Flower Blooms Only Once In a Blue Moon!
Just as Nature is an inspiration to spirit
Poetry is an inspiration to the heart ever!
Musical poems full of meaning delight all
Like the freshly blossomed flowers do to all!
Poems delight heart, inspire mind and
Elevate spirit to higher level ever in bliss!
Poems mean inspiration and delight to heart
That remain in mind ever to inspire soul ever!
Nature and poetry are reality and reflection
As Shakespeare did with his art of poems
Reflecting human life in all its totality ever
As rare flowers alive for all to enjoy ever!
Poems of such kind are flowers of rare variety
Such flowers bloom only once in a blue moon!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Coldest Day
No I never heard through the grapevine
How you left long before your time
But in france on the radio
I could not understand a word
But I felt you go
We waited all night for the midnight lovers calling
It was the coldest day of the year
And Im still thawing
I didnt sleep a wink
But while radio played
I was day dreaming
Of what might have been
While the cold night air was freezing
The coldest night
The coldest day of the year
What is happening mother father please
Who will save us from the autumn breeze
Shivering to a halt no one wants to speak too soon
Although we all knew under the pale blue moon
The pale moon
The pale blue moon
What happens then when the sun goes down
Tell me whats the word johannesburg
When the rent goes up and the lights go down
On the coldest day outside the coldest town
We waited all night and Im still falling
I didnt sleep a wink
But while radio played
I was day dreaming
Of what might have been
While the cold night air was freezing
The coldest night
The coldest day of the year
The coldest night
The coldest day of the year
The coldest night, day, year.
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fly Me To The Sun
Like the bird flying high in the sunrise
I just want to fly to you
I just want to fly to your soul
Into the sunset, high in the sunrise,
Through the links in the chain I see it's to be
It all seems to fit, it just fits, thats it
Like a sunset within a sunrise, a night outside a day
As we spin in our souls and look at the sky... It's our sky
And I fly through the sunrise that takes me to you
We can glide, we can fly, we can be... we must be
We fly though the sunset that is always you.
Like the bird flying high in the sunrise
I just want to fly to your soul
Like the bird flying high in the sunset
I know the sun rises and sets within you.
poem by Mark Hopwood
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Poetry Is Sexy
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
Poetry is sexy
Engaging in its tease
Poetry is sexy
It radiates with verb
Poetry is sexy
Every idyllic word
Poetry is sexy
Refined for purity
Poetry is sexy
Stripped of subtlety
Poetry is sexy
When read between the lines
Poetry is sexy
Laced with frilly rhymes
Poetry is sexy
Both singular and plural
Poetry is sexy
Every exclamatory swirl
Poetry is sexy
Grammatically raw
Poetry is sexy
Even typos and all
Poetry is sexy
Consummated publicly
Poetry is sexy
When performed properly
Poetry is sexy
Irrespective of its font
Poetry is sexy
Fashioned any way you want
poem by Brian Dorn
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There's A Dot
to begin the line
and there's the line to begin the movement
infinity is but imagined finite
and somewhere in this finite
it builds the sphere
geometry has nothing
nothing to do with either Gaia or meters
unless Gaia is Gaia hyper vision
and I believe it is
and meters are a handy sky rendered
to suit the senses
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The commandments of poetry
I shall love poetry
For it is the conversation of God
Over my world
This is not a godless art
Though I name no God
I am bearing witness
To Him creating these
Poems
I do not write poetry
To excite myself
I write them
To sustain
My soul
I shall never use poetry
As a pretext
For fame and glory
It is my spiritual
Devotion
Poetry is pure
Virginal
It is not found
In conformity
I shall bring forth my poems
As a mother brings forth
Her children
Out of my own flesh
And blood
This poem shall not be
An analgesic to kill the pain
But it shall be the wine
That puts me to action
Each poem created
Shall leave me humble
It can never equal my dreams
And always inferior
To God’s marvelous
Creations
Always second
To Nature.
Poetry rises from my heart
In these words
And they have no purpose
But to purify
This poetry shall grow
The flowers of compassion
To console
The hearts of the lonely
And those who are lost
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Climber -MAREA JOHNSON
i ran across a poet who has a style just like me.
her first five poems that you read
will show you what i mean.
she has a talent which will touch everyones
mind and soul.
she is the one, that in my dreams i was told.
she has a unique talent, and a flair all her own
she puts words together that will touch the coldest soul.
she will write stories that will be beyond compare
that is when- her poems she will share.
keep your eyes open and listen to what
she has to say.
for her poetry will definitly blow you away.
poem by Louis Rams
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It Is A Habit
writing poems
when you really write poems
everyday and every moment of your life
even when you're in the middle of your
bread and butter eating thing
or even when you are defecating
writing poems becomes a habit
even when you sleep even when you dream
writing poems becomes a part of your system
you eat poetry you vomit poetry
you digest poetry you poo poetry
you breathe poetry you sweat poetry
you love poetry and you live with your poetry
and at the end you die with poetry
and your epitaph says: here lies the poet,
choked with poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Faith Flights To Flower Heavens
heart muscles surrounded in a reservoir of blood
pollen call is rainbow pot of gold to El Dorado
vessels of golden one flower air in fertilization
flights seed flowers in colours shapes miraculous
heavens ablaze with colour shape smell lure scent
heaven promise nectar pollen rewards await joy flight
heaven wing tips away thick bee hair pile insulation
heaven journey flights thick pile warm in cold weather
bumble bees fly flight build up electrostatic charge
flowers well grounded pollen lured electrostatically
attracted compelled to bumble bees pile when lands
pollen covered bee enter flower heaven charge pollen
pollen charged priority preferentially attracted to stigma
stigma better grounded than other parts of visit flower
wealth amassed pollen all mother load easy pick treasure
bumble bee pollination gifts life to seed crops wildflowers
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also the poems ‘Flights Of Impossibility’ and ‘Pollen Call Is Rainbow Pot Of Gold To El Dorado’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Poetic Unity In Soliloquy
In unison our hearts sing
Like poems on a poetic ring
Beauties lineage, passed to we
Through colossal love
and sonorous glee!
My words thy read
With loves piety
And in sync we feed
Poems of flamboyancy
How is it
that exotic hymns
Turn my heart
to virtue
from mortal sins?
Is it that
we listen to loves reed
That our sins absorb
what they need...
So organic like
our sins
our poems
sing in unity…
what is it
that draws me
from you and
you from me?
Is it poetry?
Is it love?
Is it thee?
Can lovers really fight
In the same poems they write?
One of you,
one of me
On one hand
of hearts harmony,
can we fight for
the love of you
and the love of me?
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Playing Golf at Midnight
Playing golf in the moonlight,
at midnight, at night, when light
cannot be trusted, when sight
deceives, it can’t be right.
He drives the sphere with the craters
like the moon, white like the moon,
orbiting like the moon; soon
it will collide with grass or sand, and
the black night will swallow the white
moon and the driving sphere
and no one will know where
went the white and where went the black
and why.
And after the ball has divorced its tee
and after the moon laughs
and retires behind the roofs
of the neighborhood houses,
the silence of the green
and the heartbreaking loveliness
of the green emerge and converge
and here in the suburban
wilderness, the only home he has,
he sees for the first time
how clouds absorb
and disperse
the light of the moon.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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Another Day
What seems like such a winter's tale
Lightening runs through the fallen flames
By kneeling down we're here to pray
At that point forsaken unafraid
I only wanna feel you being strong
I only wanna feel you being strong
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
Feel my breath go cold and calm
My pride is last and I sin again
And all the seasons change their scent
A year of hell they come against my head once more
I only wanna feel you being strong
I only wanna feel you being strong
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
INSTRUMENTAL
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Day
What seems like such a winter's tale
Lightening runs through the fallen flames
By kneeling down we're here to pray
At that point forsaken unafraid
I only wanna feel you being strong
I only wanna feel you being strong
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
Feel my breath go cold and calm
My pride is last and I sin again
And all the seasons change their scent
A year of hell they come against my head once more
I only wanna feel you being strong
I only wanna feel you being strong
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
INSTRUMENTAL
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
Another day
Call me up and let's begin
Call me up and let's begin
You done that to me
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Sunrise to Sunset
Sunrise,
She was born on the 3rd of June 1985;
Sunset,
And she died on the 10th of July 2011;
Yes, from sunrise to sunset! !
But the thoughts that appeared in me was like the muse of love,
And like flowers dancing among the beauty of peace!
But she was gone too soon.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Fickle Mistress
Poetry...
She lures us in,
As if with her beguiling grin
She captures hearts inclined to sin
Poetry...
That lady fair
Displays a most defiant glare
When we attempt to leave her lair
Poetry...
Makes us drunk with glee
But, she will never set us free
From that which we desire, but can never be
Poetry...
Entices all
With her soul she does call
To those that she may soon enthral
Poetry...
That fickle mistress
Causes hearts and souls distress
Because she fills that need...that humans do possess
poem by Dee Daffodil
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Bud, Bud
A bud sighs a question into the air
The question
Diffuses
Layer by layer
Into another sphere
The bud
Blooms
Into flower
Waiting sadly
It wishes to wither faster
To trace the question
Gone away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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