En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Father

The evening found us whom the day had fled,
Once more in bitter anger, you and I,
Over some small, some foolish, trivial thing
Our anger would not decently let die,
But dragged between us, shamed and shivering
Until each other's taunts we scarcely heard,
Until we lost the sense of all we said,
And knew not who first spoke the fatal word.
It seemed that even every kiss we wrung
We killed at birth with shuddering and hate,
As if we feared a thing too passionate.
However close we clung
One hour the next hour found us separate,
Estranged, and Love most bitter on our tongue.

To-night we quarrelled over one small head,
Our fruit of last year's maying, the white bud
Blown from our stormy kisses and the dead
First rapture of our wild, estranging blood.
You clutched him: there was panther in your eyes,
We breathed like beasts in thickets, on the wall
Our shadows in huge challenge seemed to rise,
The room grew dark with anger. Yet through all
The shame and hurt and pity of it you were
Still strangely and imperishably dear,
As one who loves the wild day none the less
That breaks in bitter hands the buds of Spring,
Whose cold hand stops the breath of loveliness,
And drives the wailing ghost of beauty past,
Making the rose, — even the rose, a thing
For pain to be remembered by at last.

I said: 'My son shall wear his father's sword.'
You said: 'Shall hands once blossoms at my breast
Be stained with blood?' I answered with a word
More bitter, and your own, the bitterest
Stung me to sullen anger, and I said:
'My son shall be no coward of his line
Because his mother choose'; you turned your head
And your eyes grew implacable in mine.
And like a trodden snake you turned to meet
The foe with sudden hissing… then you smiled,
And broke our life in pieces at my feet,
'Your child?' you said: 'Your child?'

poem by Muriel Stuart
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My Anger

My anger wants to kill.
My anger wants to spill.
My anger wants to smash a wall.
My anger wants to make someone feel small.
My anger makes me carve my skin.
My anger is locked up within.
My anger is fierce and fatal.
My anger isn't stable.
When my anger is out stay away.
Because my anger destroys everything in its way.

poem by Jean Pullman
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Anger fills my heart and soul

Anger fills my heart and soul
Anger takes a mighty toll
Anger lessens but can never leave
Anger you hope to never receive,
Anger stays forever within
Anger acts with the might of all sin
Anger is deadly to all around
Anger gets mad at the thought of sound
Anger is the thoughts in my head
Anger that’s mine all should dread
Anger for me is different from you
Anger you see tells me what to do
Anger will sit and whisper in my ear
Anger he sits and tells me all that you fear,

Anger…
He is here
He’s here to stay
Anger is the hole
In which we lay
Anger is
And Anger will
Always be with us

He is in me, and he is in you
He can make you do
What he wants you to
Anger will make you
Make you cry
Anger can make you
Want to die
Anger can make you
Go insane
Anger….. ... A blood filled rain
No more anger
No more…..
Walk to the bright light
Shinning through that door…
Not knowing what’s in store
But even then
Anger lives on
But you… nevermore

poem by Jacob Hill
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Anger within me

My anger is not love …
My anger is drinking my life away.
My anger is killing someone who hurt me big.
My anger does one thing never loves.
My anger is ramming your head through a glass door of my use to be home.
When your are mad you do stupid things, stupid things that are stupid.
When mad you don’t feel nothing anger we all have
anger you cant change.
When I am mad stay, stay away from everyone.
My anger can kill because you do stupid things
when you are mad filled with ANGER

poem by Evevona Plummer
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(Love Poem) Bitter Sweet Rose

Bitter sweet rose will you be mine?
Or am I wasting my time?
Bitter sweet rose you smell divine.
Do you have a succulent kiss?
Is it something I've already missed?

Bitter sweet rose what gives?
Is it how we must live?
Bitter sweet rose will you answer my questions?
Are you devote?
Do you stray when your bored?
Will you doubt?
Is what you want something more?

Bitter sweet rose are you keeping score?
Will you try something new?
Will you lock your door?
Do your lips taste like dew?
Bitter sweet rose do you want to go?
Do you love the snow?
Is this right?
Is this what you want tonight?
Bitter sweet rose, oh my bitter rose.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Only a Woman

"She loves with love that cannot tire:
And if, ah, woe! she loves alone,
Through passionate duty love flames higher,
As grass grows taller round a stone."
Coventry Patmore.
SO, the truth's out. I 'll grasp it like a snake, --
It will not slay me. My heart shall not break
Awhile, if only for the children's sake.
For his too, somewhat. Let him stand unblamed;
None say, he gave me less than honor claimed,
Except -- one trifle scarcely worth being named --
The heart. That 's gone. The corrupt dead might be
As easily raised up, breathing -- fair to see,
As he could bring his whole heart back to me.
I never sought him in coquettish sport,
Or courted him as silly maidens court,
And wonder when the longed-for prize falls short.
I only loved him -- any woman would:
But shut my love up till he came and sued,
Then poured it o'er his dry life like a flood.
I was so happy I could make him blest!
So happy that I was his first and best,
As he mine -- when he took me to his breast.

Ah me! If only then he had been true!
If for one little year, a month or two,
He had given me love for love, as was my due!
Or had he told me, ere the deed was done,
He only raised me to his heart's dear throne --
Poor substitute -- because his queen was gone!
O, had he whispered, when his sweetest kiss
Was warm upon my mouth in fancied bliss,
He had kissed another woman even as this, --
It were less bitter! Sometimes I could weep
To be thus cheated, like a child asleep: --
Were not my anguish far too dry and deep.
So I built my house upon another's ground;
Mocked with a heart just caught at the rebound --
A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound.
And when that heart grew colder -- colder still,
I, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfil,
Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will,
All -- anything but him. It was to be:
The full draught others drink up carelessly
Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me.
I say again -- he gives me all I claimed,
I and my children never shall be shamed:
He is a just man -- he will live unblamed.
Only -- O God, O God, to cry for bread,
And get a stone! Daily to lay my head
Upon a bosom where the old love's dead!
Dead? -- Fool! It never lived. It only stirred
Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard:
So let me bury it without a word.
He 'll keep that other woman from my sight.
I know not if her face be foul or bright;
I only know that it was his delight --
As his was mine: I only know he stands
Pale, at the touch of their long-severed hands,
Then to a flickering smile his lips commands,
Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show.
He need not. When the ship 's gone down, I trow,
We little reck whatever wind may blow.
And so my silent moan begins and ends.
No world's laugh or world's taunt, not pity of friends
Or sneer of foes with this my torment blends.
None knows -- none heeds. I have a little pride;
Enough to stand up, wife-like, by his side,
With the same smile as when I was a bride.
And I shall take his children to my arms;
They will not miss these fading, worthless charms;
Their kiss -- ah! unlike his -- all pain disarms.
And haply, as the solemn years go by,
He will think sometimes with regretful sigh,
The other woman was less true than I.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Happiness - Part: 2

Anger!
Anger is all I feel in place of my happiness!
It found me, and I embraced it.
Then, in all of it's evil glory,
Happiness turned on me!
Made me bitter, and angry.
Why? Why would it do this to me.
Now Pain is my only friend. Heartbreak is my companion.
Anger!
Anger is all I feel in place of my happiness!

poem by Luke
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Talk Of Tongue In Anger

In anger, whatever
The tongue utters,
May be loud to ear
But, are the words bitter.

Anger talks hot words,
Provokes and instigates,
Bitter the relationship
And happiness desolates.

Utter in anger un-pleases,
Heart beats increases,
Peace and patience seizes,
Emotions, controls un-eases.

Happiness lies in love,
Loving fetches the joy,
What you give same you take,
Anger or love receive back.

For happiness keep you normal,
Emotions and anger controllable,
Liquidate the ill thoughts,
And keep you hospitable.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Anger

anger is not love
anger is driking
anger is killing someone
anger one thing never do
love, anger love not anger
anger is ramming you head throug a glass door

when your are man you do stupid things
stupid things that are stupid
when mad you dont feel nuthing
anger we all have
anger you cant change

when mad stays
stay away from everyone
anger can kill because you do stupid things
when mad sleep
anger just anger
ANGER

poem by Kerri King
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Other

I do not have to be mad
For the anger to build up within me
I am a human being
Money and fame come and go
But we long for few things
I being a father of children
Become a child
I have a mother
But find a mother in other
When other does bother
I am the happiest

But when the other ignores
I go wild
Use words
Which are called obscene
Where's obscenity when
Everything is open
Give me a better word angel
I will change my language

Anger builds up from within
I am called mad
But a mad person rushes
For anything and everything
Sane seldom care
May be mad are better
In understanding the needs

Anger builds up from within
But anger is not anger
We are lost as ever for words
Give me a better word angel
I will change my language

Anger here is a hunger
I remain hungry for words
And for affection
Which I shower on the other all the time
Words never come
I see the tears
I cannot wipe
Who am I?
I can only cry

Anger will remain
I express
I am a child
Cannot hide my feelings
Please be my mother
You the other
You are distant
But other part of me

poem by Richie John Pais
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Tongue in anger

In anger, whatever
The tongue utters,
May be loud to ear
But, are the words bitter.

Anger talks hot words,
Provokes and instigates,
Bitter the relationship
And happiness desolates.

Utter in anger un-pleases,
Heart beats increases,
Peace and patience seizes,
Emotions, controls un-eases.

Happiness lies in love,
Loving fetches the joy,
What you give same you take,
Anger or love receive back.

For happiness keep you normal,
Emotions and anger controllable,
Liquidate the ill thoughts,
And keep you hospitable.

(C) S.D. Tiwari

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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The Parting Hour

Not yet, dear love, not yet: the sun is high;
You said last night, 'At sunset I will go.'
Come to the garden, where when blossoms die
No word is spoken; it is better so:
Ah! bitter word 'Farewell.'

Hark! how the birds sing sunny songs of spring!
Soon they will build, and work will silence them;
So we grow less light-hearted as years bring
Life's grave responsibilities - and then
The bitter word 'Farewell.'

The violets fret to fragrance 'neath your feet,
Heaven's gold sunlight dreams aslant your hair:
No flower for me! your mouth is far more sweet.
O, let my lips forget, while lingering there,
Love's bitter word 'Farewell.'

Sunset already! have we sat so long?
The parting hour, and so much left unsaid!
The garden has grown silent - void of song,
Our sorrow shakes us with a sudden dread!
Ah! bitter word 'Farewell.'

poem by Olive Custance
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Sonnets XLIX: L: LI: LII: Willowwood

I

I sat with Love upon a woodside well,
Leaning across the water, I and he;
Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me,
But touched his lute wherein was audible
The certain secret thing he had to tell:
Only our mirrored eyes met silently
In the low wave; and that sound came to be
The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell.
And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;
And with his foot and with his wing-feathers
He swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth.
Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,
And as I stooped, her own lips rising there
Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.

II

And now Love sang: but his was such a song,
So meshed with half-remembrance hard to free,
As souls disused in death's sterility
May sing when the new birthday tarries long.
And I was made aware of a dumb throng
That stood aloof, one form by every tree,
All mournful forms, for each was I or she,
The shades of those our days that had no tongue.
They looked on us, and knew us and were known;
While fast together, alive from the abyss,
Clung the soul-wrung implacable close kiss;
And pity of self through all made broken moan
Which said “For once, for once, for once alone!”
And still Love sang, and what he sang was this:—

III

“O Ye, all ye that walk in Willowwood,
That walk with hollow faces burning white;
What fathom-depth of soul-struck widowhood,
What long, what longer hours, one lifelong night,
Ere ye again, who so in vain have wooed
Your last hope lost, who so in vain invite
Your lips to that their unforgotten food,
Ere ye, ere ye again shall see the light!
Alas! the bitter banks in Willowwood,
With tear-spurge wan, with blood-wort burning red:
Alas! if ever such a pillow could
Steep deep the soul in sleep till she were dead,—
Better all life forget her than this thing,
That Willowwood should hold her wandering!”

IV

So sang he: and as meeting rose and rose
Together cling through the wind's wellaway
Nor change at once, yet near the end of day
The leaves drop loosened where the heart-stain glows,—
So when the song died did the kiss unclose;
And her face fell back drowned, and was as grey
As its grey eyes; and if it ever may
Meet mine again I know not if Love knows.
Only I know that I leaned low and drank
A long draught from the water where she sank,
Her breath and all her tears and all her soul:
And as I leaned, I know I felt Love's face
Pressed on my neck with moan of pity and grace,
Till both our heads were in his aureole.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Blood Hate Reaps Damnation Souls

thermal imaging night vision fog soups
violently blinking are blind ghost eyes
lost human souls drift isolation herds

who hate dark flayed carcass flesh?
who whipped crushed love emotions?
who thorn wove their bitter crowns?

who pinned hopes pierced hearts?
who mad shredded empathy compassions?
who torn sacred symmetry spun souls?

pitch black dark weep landscapes
stand blind herd ghost lost souls
none can see into another's eyes

blood rain drips from bitter hands
hate crimes were life bitter deeds
blood hate reaps damnation crop souls

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Gift Of The Sea

The dead child lay in the shroud,
And the widow watched beside;
And her mother slept, and the Channel swept
The gale in the teeth of the tide.

But the mother laughed at all.
"I have lost my man in the sea,
And the child is dead. Be still," she said,
"What more can ye do to me?"

The widow watched the dead,
And the candle guttered low,
And she tried to sing the Passing Song
That bids the poor soul go.

And "Mary take you now," she sang,
"That lay against my heart."
And "Mary smooth your crib to-night,"
But she could not say "Depart."

Then came a cry from the sea,
But the sea-rime blinded the glass,
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said,
"'Tis the child that waits to pass."

And the nodding mother sighed.
"'Tis a lambing ewe in the whin,
For why should the christened soul cry out
That never knew of sin?"

"O feet I have held in my hand,
O hands at my heart to catch,
How should they know the road to go,
And how should they lift the latch?"

They laid a sheet to the door,
With the little quilt atop,
That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt,
But the crying would not stop.

The widow lifted the latch
And strained her eyes to see,
And opened the door on the bitter shore
To let the soul go free.

There was neither glimmer nor ghost,
There was neither spirit nor spark,
And "Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said,
"'Tis crying for me in the dark."

And the nodding mother sighed:
"'Tis sorrow makes ye dull;
Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern,
Or the wail of the wind-blown gull?"

"The terns are blown inland,
The gray gull follows the plough.
'Twas never a bird, the voice I heard,
O mother, I hear it now!"

"Lie still, dear lamb, lie still;
The child is passed from harm,
'Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest,
And the feel of an empty arm."

She put her mother aside,
"In Mary's name let be!
For the peace of my soul I must go," she said,
And she went to the calling sea.

In the heel of the wind-bit pier,
Where the twisted weed was piled,
She came to the life she had missed by an hour,
For she came to a little child.

She laid it into her breast,
And back to her mother she came,
But it would not feed and it would not heed,
Though she gave it her own child's name.

And the dead child dripped on her breast,
And her own in the shroud lay stark;
And "God forgive us, mother," she said,
"We let it die in the dark!"

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Bitter Herb

O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
I search for you in vain;
You are the only growing thing
Can take away my pain.

When I was young, this bitter herb
Grew wild on every hill;
I should have plucked a store of it,
And kept it by me still.

I hunt through all the meadows
Where once I wandered free,
But the rare herb, Forgetfulness,
It hides away from me.

O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
Where is your drowsy breath?
Oh, can it be your seed has blown
Far as the Vales of Death?

poem by Jeanne Robert Foster
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Blood Feud

Once, when my husband was a child, there came
To his father's table, one who called him kin,
In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin.
His look was grave and kind; he bore the name
Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile.
Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke;
"I've been in the laurel since the winter broke;
Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while."

He'd killed a score of foemen in the past,
In some blood feud, a dark and monstrous thing;
To him it seemed his duty. At the last
His enemies found him by a forest spring,
Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head,
A silver shield that slowly turned to red.

poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Anger, Anger

anger is anger
anger makes you scream
anger makes you hate
anger takes control
anger want let go
anger wants you to hurt
anger wants you to suffer
anger makes you mad
anger makes you cry
anger turns people against you
anger is anger

poem by Jessica lee Workman
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Witch Child

This is a story of anger and pain;
Of inner storms with tears like rain;
Of hunger for love, and thirst for revenge;
Of lost hope, and a life of constant change.

There once was a child who had a great life,
Never knew sadness and never knew strife.
Until one day an old witch came a'knocking,
With dark eyes full of hatred and mocking,
And a mind with the cruellest intentions.
She ruined the child without hesitation:
She took away what the child loved the most.
All that the child had left was a ghost -
A ghost of an old faded memory,
And a heart full of pain and misery.
Innocence turned into monstrosity,
The child's pain turned into atrocity.
Soon the child was no longer a child,
But a vile creature, angry and riled.

poem by Maria Kirakosian
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The Tryst

I raised the veil, I loosed the bands,
I took the dead thing from its place.
Like a warm stream in frozen lands
My lips went wandering on her face,
My hands burnt in her hands.

She could not stay me, being dead;
Her body here was mine to hold.
What if her lips had lost their red?
To me they always tasted cold
With the cold words she said.

Did my breath run along her hair,
And free the pulse, and fire the brain,
My wild blood wake her wild blood there?
Here eyelids lifted wide again
In a blue, sudden stare.

Beneath my fierce, profane caress
The whole white length of body moved;
The drowsy bosom seemed to press
As if against a breast beloved,
Then fail for weariness.

No, not that anguish! Christ forbid
That I should raise such dead! I rose,
Stifled the mouth with lilies, hid
Those eyes, And drew the long hair close,
And shut the coffin lid.

My cold brow on the cold wood laid,
Quiet and close to-night we lie.
No cruel words her lips have said.
I shall not take nor she deny.
The dead is with the dead.

poem by Muriel Stuart
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The long suffering man

The wind whistles past the lone figure as he walks down the street
With nothing to do and with nothing to say
What is his story he has such sadness in his eyes
Shuffling along with a glum face but on such a sunny day

The hurt of Past memories in his head that won't go away
All the emotions to deal with all the pain and anger
The bitter pill of guilt and thoughts of self harm
To much to cope with and to much to endure

Those creepy hands over his small boyhood flesh
An uncle trying to be nice but getting his own way
The pain of abuse the pain of wondering why
Wanting for it to all disappear, for it to all go away

The bottle in his pocket is now his only friend
With the strong smell of whiskey on his breath he carries on
To much to hurt to endure so he pops all his pills
Goodbye world for tomorrow I will be gone

poem by Alun Jones
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