All Those Things Solely Defined
Concave convex prisms slips of mind
Easily forgotten shadowed slowly creeping
Sometimes in a tear sometimes in a smile
Prerequisite vague visage coloured
Sprinkling window panes
Of eyes both closed and open
Things navelled in the centre of the womb
Boiling in passion rendered into a word
The call themselves unwritten poems
Writing a lightening upon a palm
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Dance A Multi-Coloured Dance Of Rainbow
Words can fail like magnets not sticking to the fridge
and we all complain when the rent is due again.
Pay your bills and meet the obligations of
the world, never mind attending to the
payment of your soul.
The new voice is speaking, the new religion
has been announced. We are to celebrate
everything and tradition we are to renounce.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
We are to ignore the truth of the Gospel
for too many find that it offends. We must
not have complaining and so we must merge
into one blend. Let the fires burn so
brightly as we burn away the words
we do not like. Dance a multi-coloured
dance of rainbow prisms and
inter-faith delusions.
Men should not sleep with women, for
that is not the way the new voices want
it to be. Instead they should seek male
partners and live in illusions of
conformity. We must not call a spade
a spade for in doing so we ignore
the new mindset.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
No need to wave flags for we must
not cause nationalism to exist. Only
one nation is right and that is the
propaganda we must believe. So we
watch our televsions and rejoice
in the latest American war.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
The parade has begun, and the marchers
have lined up like soliders in a drill.
The banners are ready ot wave, the
sound of music will soon flood the
streets. We will march for equality
and conform ourselves to a plastic
sheeted state of being. Dance a
multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
And though the old ways will not die,
we will pretend they do not matter.
We will surrender ourselves to
immoral methods of existing. We
will speak only of politically correct
topics and we shall never disagree.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sufi life
Pen in hand, and pensive…
sitting by the open window,
the curtains moving gently in the breeze,
listening to the spontaneous liveliness
of the fountain whose joyful drops
the sunlight plays with as they fall;
catching the scent of a rose
which comes and goes to the nostrils
as if it has its own intentions;
watching the sunlight moving round
the courtyard garden;
remembering with an inward stirring,
it’s the earth which moves…
words passing through the mind;
in this golden stillness, all things
are a metaphor for all else;
it’s beyond the tender tying
into lines of poetry;
just a light touch, these words;
nothing to prove; no-one to convince;
more like a hand unfolded towards life,
an acknowledgement;
as when you join the dervishes in turning,
and as the mind-free centre grows more strong,
more established (for this centre holds) ,
the thoughts spin off…
the poem too, spins off:
one arm upward which remembers,
palm open to receive in wonder;
one arm outward, palm open, offering all to all;
take it, while it’s warm with life.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gratis Et Amore (2)
helen cannot sleep,
and she keeps on sneering at the moon
and writing it
with poems as though the moon is a man
and as though the poems are her
letters pleading
to be loved by its glimmer
and shimmer imagining
them to be the rough hands
of a lover and
throughout many nights
she had been waiting
to be loved
there were many things that she did
all for the moon not even for the stars
until one morning she was found
dead inside her room
her face towards the moon
her eyes closed
her window open
and the people who buried her
that same day
told about the shame
that she was naked
i know how it is to be like her
and it was all done in the name of love
gratis et amore.
and they said, all of them, after all the prayers were said
Amen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Of Smiles (and Dour Faces)
Lips pressed tight as layers of rock
Chin thrust forth like scarp of stone
Visage closed tight…as a lock
Semblance shone as of a crone
Face so spare of love and care
Gives show to heart, cold draped with snow
And from so compressed lips…never slips
A more kind word than "No! "
This will ne'er be, the way for me
For I cannot but to smile
I possess a simple mind that deigns to find
Good humour all the while
If one should find the time opportune to smile
Don't hesitate to take it
For If one goes round…dressed in a frown
One might just as well…go round naked!
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sense And Sensitivity
I try to keep an open mind
for things that cannot be defined.
Foreknowledge and telepathy,
anything extra sensory.
Clairvoyance and clairaudience,
which seem to use a different sense
from the five which we all use
It seems we aren’t allowed to choose
Levels of sensitivity.
are distributed randomly.
Although we try we can’t deny
that some unwritten rules apply
That these wild talents do exist
That’s why belief will long exist.
We can’t present proof positive.
All the evidence we can give
is anecdotal at the best
and fails all scientific test
Administered by tight closed minds
absorbed in prejudice which blinds
to any possibility.
Which they can’t touch or taste or see.
Although I do not understand
I cannot dismiss out of hand
Abilities which some possess.
but are reluctant to express.
Because they do not want to be
Subject to foolish mockery
You are convinced it can’t be true
and you refuse to listen to
any opposing argument
Your mind tight closed you are content
to live your life in ignorance
. Ascribing everything to chance
A choice you are entitled to
if you prefer a blinkered view.
Because some things can’t be defined
I much prefer an open mind.
I can accept quite easily
not every body will agree.
There’s so much that we do not know
about the human mind.Although
it seems to be illogical
I think nothing’s impossible.
08/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All That I Need
all that i need robert
is a little nap
beside a kitten
unclad and then
i will continue
writing the poems
for all the cats and
dogs and for all those
who have forgotten
what sleep is,
all i need is a little
dark corner, a little light
from the candle and
an open window where
i can see the moon,
without a star
there are no stars, i so
think, in real poetry
it is more of like ants
building castles on their hills.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Must i convince you again, if i must, i must
passion, it is the sound of
blankets and
pillows it is the song of
bedroom and
shower that make our hearts
join in the symphony of
the choir of passionate
melodies, remembering and
contemplating
on those satisfied nights
away from the usual crowd
of lonely people,
and so i ask where is the passion now?
what table what space have you
put it? what are those chairs
with no one sitting there?
those cold coffee cups
and burned cigars
a room filled with smoke clearing up
with time
i guess we have a role to play
in this domino of jejune
this long waiting
passion must be reborn in books
and monitors
those poems unwritten
because you have encircled your body
with flimsy arms
fingers melting into water
feet without soles
shoes with molds because of
non usage
dead nails that you have not pulled
or cut
sow the seeds again
on those grassy fertile lands
of forgotten desire
come with me, i am alone in my bed
we can talk and then
decide
what we can fill with those blank spaces
those closed doors
those broken stairs
our eyes may wink again
and be
sympathetic at last....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Open Your Eyes
Who sees you when you're sleeping
who knows the thoughts you're keeping
You're reaching out your hand 'cause someone's calling
Don't open your eyes too soon 'cause it might be me
The darkened sidestreets that you've taken
faces all around say you're forsaken
You see yourself and someone else behind you
Don't open your eyes too soon it might not be me
(Chorus)
Haunted by my broken dreams
haunted by my empty screams
Creeping cautions 'round the corner
climbing slowly out the window
Running fast but getting nowhere
Don't know if I'll ever make it back alive
(Chorus)
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Eyes Without A Face
I'm all out of hope. One more bad break could bring a fall.
When I'm far from home don't call me on the phone to tell me you're alone
It's easy to deceive. It's easy to tease. But hard to get release.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
I spend so much time believing all the lies to keep the dream alive.
Now it makes me sad. It makes me mad at truth for lovin' what was you.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Your eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Your eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
Such a human waste your eyes without a face.
And now it's getting worse. Yeah.
song performed by by Scooter from Encore (Live & Direct)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Always The Poems In Me
Always the poems in me-
Saying themselves over and over
Returning to lines learned long ago
Or lines learned with more difficulty in old age-
Always the poems in me-
While my own poems written
And forgotten
As if only
Poems of a single occasion
The time of their writing-
Always the poems in me-
The poems which others will have in them after me
Poems not my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Eyes Wide Open
Your eyes are wide open, but yet you don’t see
All the love I have inside of me.
Eyes wide open, but you don’t look around
You don’t open your ears, you don’t hear a sound.
Eyes wide open but the beauties that surround you
Do not seem to exist.
Is it that your eyes on you are playing tricks?
Eyes wide open and yet you have a blank stare.
Have you closed off your mind?
Or you just don’t care.
What can I do to remove that haze
So that on my face you can gaze.
If I hold you tenderly in my arms
And kiss those beautiful eyes.
Will they move? Will they cry?
What must I do so that you can see
That our love was meant to be.
They say that you went deep inside yourself
To hide the hurt and pain
But without your love “ I am the same”.
Eyes wide open. Did they just glance at me?
Is it because your heart is finally free?
I see a tear forming in your eyes
Emotions being let out that you tried to hide.
Eyes wide open- now they are mine
I can see your love for the very first time.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Small Time
small time, you call it small time
writing
is small time, there is no money
in writing, like a
politician, look at him, he does not
write, someone writes for him
and he gets the prize
the money
the pot
the jackpot
and look at you
you keep on writing
and writing
and writing
oh la la
poems, fit for a woman
her limited mind
her gullibility
her passion for words and words and words
her imagination
and look at you
poor man, poor, poor, poor
what you give
to this world, what are you giving to this world
it is not even a flower
just a poem for her, and you claim that you are winning her heart?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rose Coloured Glasses
(scott mccarl)
Im an ivory tower boy
Never quite put down the toys
I always think the best of them all
I see only sunny skies
With the wool over my eyes
I never seem to find the crack or the fault
I see it all through rose coloured glasses
And I only see what matters to me
I see you all through rose coloured classes, yeah
The road that I chose is coloured rose
Its a funny sort of haze
All full of dreams of yesterdays
And the dreams are so real you could cry
And you know the grass is green
On the side youve never seen
And the thought is what helps you get by
I see it all through rose coloured glasses
And I only see what matters to me
I see you all through rose coloured classes, yeah
The road that I chose is coloured rose
As I grow a little more
Wonder what this all is for
And the brass ring is slipping away
I would keep the glasses near
And would shed a quiet tear
And maybe smile inside as I say
I see it all through rose coloured glasses
And I only see what matters to me
I see you all through rose coloured classes, yeah
The road that I chose is coloured...
song performed by by Eric Carmen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
See, See … I can do it too
Words elevated to a dazzling height
Silently answering perfections plight
Love strung together to make a sentence
Hate molded to become a pen
Time yields to patience
Rage bows to zen
Transcending a mind
A unique voyage just to find
That my pain is not my own
The dark is not for me to own
A star sits in a dark corner weeping
Its light flickering, its tears beckoning
Waiting to be rekindled, be reborn
Its essence weakened, its passion torn
Unable to help, my flame long since extinguished
But her whispering screams need to be relinquished
My history a possible remedy to her heart breaking agony
So I slowly open scars I closed indefinitely
I bleed memories and thoughts, hoping her tears will stop
Synchronized … as her tears and my blood drops
For every memory, a tear is traded, for every thought the corners of her mouth move up a inch
The darkness recedes as her light increases
Her tears slowly transform into pieces, pieces of poetry
Convincingly showing my blood a forgotten beauty
… I smile …
Sometimes the dark holds a star waiting to soar
People see it as scary, but the dark, yes the dark has so much more
poem by Vino Venitas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unwritten
I have also had my
Poems unwritten.
Like a friend whom
So much I admire.
Had in her
A burning desire.
A love unforseen
For many yet
unseen.
Now my friend
Had her poems
written.
But still I know
more
Her thoughts
Are yet unwritten.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wisdom from the Mirror
It needs light so that mirror can reflect
Remove the darkness in your life
For you to shine and goodness can reflect
A concave mirror can make the object appear smaller
A convex mirror can make the object appear bigger
But a louder voice cannot make a person
appear to have a bigger mind or a bigger brain
A mirror can be used in a good way
Or can be used badly like that of the Queen
In the fairy tale of Snow White and the seven dwarfs
Hope knowledge will only be used for the good of men
Things in the mirror are illusions
They are not real but just a reflection
Fears we feel can be an illusion
Turn on the light of courage, and fear will vanish
Wide mirrors can make a place appear bigger
But wider knowledge doesn’t always mean a wider wisdom
Nor old age assures a greater understanding
Mirror only reflects outward beauty
Nor our eyes can see inner beauty
So treat anyone with respect and dignity
Regardless of skin or nationality
As mirror is of no use for the blind
So wisdom is of no good use for the closed or evil mind
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Admirations—and Contempts—of time
906
The Admirations—and Contempts—of time—
Show justest—through an Open Tomb—
The Dying—as it were a Height
Reorganizes Estimate
And what We saw not
We distinguish clear—
And mostly—see not
What We saw before—
'Tis Compound Vision—
Light—enabling Light—
The Finite—furnished
With the Infinite—
Convex—and Concave Witness—
Back—toward Time—
And forward—
Toward the God of Him—
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dad and Son
A dad, a son,
One life, one love,
A road, all alone,
One last strife, from above.
Dad's ticket has been bought,
Dad's heart has been shot.
Unfair, son cries,
Dad dries.
Shaky hands rub son's face,
With embrace,
Dad whispers words,
In son's ear.
Another tear of the son falls,
On dad's palm vanishing with rainfalls.
Can not breathe easy,
Blood flows from dad's body.
Dad smiles and looks his son,
As his hand falls on the ground.
Eyes stay glassy and empty,
A tear dropp stays still on dad's eyelash.
Tears in son's eyes,
Dad slowly dies,
In weak son's hands.
By the road purple lilies smile,
Red roses seem to die.
Son takes a sweet lilie
Lies it in his father's hand,
And whispers slowly;
'I know, I know, me too dad'.
Last dad's words;
Son, I am sorry,
I never said,
But I......
poem by JeanFrancois Denis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!