Glorious Speech
Glory fires me up with distinction,
Desks of thought bestride me in speech.
A word has more meaning when spoken
Rather than the written variety
That swore their page and added ground
To the basic teachings of our fathers.
Mothers similarly resound on our behalf
To astound the good people into something.
Exaltation is made on us when exalted
And now we spoke regarding our generations
To be wounded by them, as we have been
Wounded eventually.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Wounded
Well theres a whole lot of hurting being going on
Well Ive been wounded, wounded, wounded
This aint no way to be carrying on
You see me wounded, wounded, wounded
Im taken like a stone
That youve thrown in the deep blue sea
Giving me the scars that will never heal
Wounded, wounded, wounded
I remember the day when you came up to me
Almost breaking on your knees
Said you needed me more than anything else
You really took me in
But itd make you feel good to know
Id do anything you say
Well forget that line cause I aint gonna play
Wounded, wounded, wounded
I remember the day when you came up to me
Almost breaking on your knees
Said you needed me more than anything else
You really took me in
But itd make you feel good to know
Id do anything you say
Well forget that line cause I aint gonna play
Wounded, wounded, wounded
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daughters
I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hand
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Is A Wounded Heart
Words and music by neil diamond
Home is a wounded heart, havent you heard the story?
Hes out for love and for glory and shes waitin home by the fire.
And wasnt it yesterday, wasnt it me who said it?
I swore that youd never regret it.
Now home is a wounded heart.
Its a complicated thing, not an ordinary thing
And my heart just breaks in two
cause I can see you standing there.
You know that I cant bear your wounded heart.
Paint me a red balloon; give me a string and baby Ill tie it,
Give me a ring and baby Ill buy it and bring it on home to you.
Home is a wounded heart.
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn to Love
We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:
But burn’d not through us thy imagining
Like fiérce méood in a séong céaught,
We were as clamour’d words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.
For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,—
The lives travelling dark fears,
And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool
Thrown down abysmal places?
Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth
And our journeying time theirs;
As words of air, life makes of starry earth
Sweet soul-delighted faces;
As voices are we in the worldly wind;
The great wind of the world’s fate
Is turn’d, as air to a shapen sound, to mind
And marvellous desires.
But not in the world as voices storm-shatter’d,
Not borne down by the wind’s weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like darkness fill’d with fires.
For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Love’s meaning our life wields,
Making our souls like syllables to throng
His tunes of exultation.
Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly,
As rain blown along earth’s fields;
Yet are we god-desiring liturgy,
Sung joys of adoration;
Yea, made of chance and all a labouring strife,
We go charged with a strong flame;
For as a language Love hath seized on life
His burning heart to story.
Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee,
Thy thought’s golden and glad name,
The mortal conscience of immortal glee,
Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory.
poem by Lascelles Abercrombie
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Gift of Knowledge
Desks of understanding can never replace
The books of amazing nature, the real
Relishing designs that cost a lot of knowledge.
Destroy our men from the goodness of learning,
Good is their prize of joy, the force of days
That reveal a prize, and more prizes.
The medals I deem essential are golden,
Like forming wet puddles in the ground,
Over a reason my puddles are heard, the medals.
Knowledge is perfect, is exact in rests and seizures,
But we are old forms, resting bones from all exercises,
From bandages and wounds contrived by the wounded.
Understanding is the present of the heart
To a wounded man of brilliance.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Think Twice
Words once spoken
Can never be erased
Though when written
Can be deleted from any page
The thought you once said
Can be for a lifetime
Resulting to a distance
Between someone’s life
The only thing then we will regret
Is how to change
The things we have said
Hurting words no one deserves
Soars bitterness
How can we mend
Is there a second chance
To right a wrong
How can you heal a wounded soul
The reality of life
Is we can’t undo the past
So think twice of the words
That come from your mouth
So you won’t break someone’s heart
poem by Rose de Ramar
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Words
So many words are there in our speech,
they can be very poor, they can be rich.
No one can be indifferent to their meaning
as they are alive and express your feeling.
Spoken word is not just a sound,
it can’t be found on the ground,
it’s always in your head, sometimes in your soul.
When it is spoken it becomes a parole.
A word is an energy of your spirit,
it was presented to you by God, it’s His merit.
A word is a tool of communication,
A word is a source of information.
“A word spoken is past recalling”.
Strolling all around it can’t be found,
returned back and kept in your sack.
“The pen is mightier than the sword”,
that was told about a written word.
Words, words, words………………
They are love and seduction,
each one with a certain function.
They are wonders of sin
and songs of education.
They are salvation, temptation, affectation…
They can be an executioner,
they can be the owner of a whiner.
A word can be a treatment,
It helps when you are ill.
A kind word is better than a pill.
But…there are words that just kill.
They sound like a horrible drill.
Words, words, words…………
They are triumph and defeat,
They can be pleasant and sweet.
At the end of my message
I would like everyone to acknowledge:
Each word has a strength
and it doesn’t depend on its length.
So, think before saying a word,
as it is quite well heard even by walls,
it touches someone’s soul,
it shouldn’t be a wicked foul.
“Better the foot to slip than the tongue”.
And… there is no exception for the young.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Look What The Good People Done
They were drinkin his wine
They were usin his name
They were takin the time to take
His name in vain
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
They were havin their fun
Look what the good people done
Well, the good people say things that they
Dont really mean
They look so convincing cause theyre
So squeaky clean
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
Its a million to one
Look what the good people done
They (? put him on walkin down ? ), they said,
Lets go on with the show
And they pad him on whiskey and say, boy,
Youve got to go
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
Hes (? on the highway ? ) to none
Look what the good people done
All the newspaper men
They were lookin for names
Pulled him out of a hat
They needed someone to blame
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
He thought he was the one
Look what the good people done
Well, the good people say,
Keep your nose to the ground
Then theyll build you right up
Just to knock you right down
Look what the good people done to you
Look what the good people done to you
They were gettin their kicks
Look what the good people nixed
[spoken - here we go]
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
They were havin no fun
Look what the good people done
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spoken Word
The spoken word takes many forms
in its hunger to be written down
translating itself through many minds
as it reaches out in many voices
until it eventually grasps the glory
and wears the eternal crown.
25 September 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee
Indian legislation's on the desk of the do right congressman
Now he don't know much about the issues so he picks up the phone
And asks the advice of the senator out in indian country
A darling of the energy companies their ripping off
What's left of the reservation
I learned the safety rule
I don't know who to thank
Don't stand between the reservation
And the corporate bank
They're sending federal tanks
It isn't nice but it's reality
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Deep in the earth
I said cover me with pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
They got these energy companies
Who want to take the land
And they got churches by the dozens
Trying to guide our hands
And turn our mother earth
Over to pollution war and greed
Well
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won't you cover me with your pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
They got the federal marshalls
We get the covert spies
We get the liars by fire
We get the fbi
They lie in court and get nailed
And still leonard peltier goes off to jail
(the bullets don't match the gun)
Bury my heart at wounded knee
An eighth of the reservation
Bury my heart at wounded knee
It was transferred in secret
Bury my heart at wounded knee
We got your murder and intimidation
Bury my heart at wounded knee
My girlfriend anna may
Talked about uranium
Her head was full of bullets
And her body dumped
The fbi cut off her hands
And told us she died of exposure
Yeah right
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Oh deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won't you cover me with pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Talk about a revolution
We had the gold rush wars
Why didn't we learn to crawl?
And now our history gets written in a liar's scrawl
They tell me " honey you can still be an indian
Down at the y on saturday night''
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
And cover me with your pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart
It was an eighth of the reservation
Bury my heart
It was transferred in secret
Bury my heart
Got your murder, murder, murder and intimidation
Bury me
Bury me
Bury me
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Son can be a rival/.
I taught my son lessons on singing
And made him with my sweats a great singer.
Sons’ glory is fathers’ glory.
His glory is my glory.
His wings spread and mine shrunk.
People thronged around him and spared me.
They didn’t say he was the great;
They said I was no where near him.
His glory is not my glory;
Sons’ glory is not fathers’ glory.
Can there be two heroes in a play?
Should he outlive me in the posterity?
He is my rival, no more a son.
11.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Wounded Wind
the wounded wind
spirited messages
she does send
disturb not the bark of this tree
ancient soul
it does speak to me
disturb not the pureness of this stream
trickling tears
it does haunt my dreams
the wounded wind sighs
ghostly shadows still dance before her eyes
the wounded wind cries
like the coyote who splits the silence of night howling at the moon
Warning, the wrath of the wounded wind will be upon us soon
poem by by unknown author
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Ex-Whore
I'm a miserably predictable
Broken, sticked-up doll.
My dress is torn, my hair matted
And one arm dangles at my side.
My wounded pride, my wounded pride.
I used to be pretty, you know
Before I got so old, before I became disposable.
They used to look at me and smile
I was theirs for a while.
My wounded pride, my wounded pride.
Too old for the job,
No one pays to keep a rag.
I'm a doll, a broken doll,
Wishing I didn't fall.
poem by Ana Podarevska
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to Rose, ms. wounded
Rose, do not be lonely with your wounds,
do not cry,
there are too many wounded people in this world,
and as they are too many,
they have formed indeed a one
big, happy family
and their leader if you must know
is the most wounded of them all: Jesus Christ.
Join us then
in this celebration!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I don't do impersonations. I can do a wounded elephant! I can do a really good cow! And because of the amount of time I spent in North Yorkshire, I do a variety of sheep. All of which I will be happy to roll out for you!
quote by Patrick Stewart
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Word Made Flesh
Suck my breast, I'm the word made flesh
Ain't no rest for the word made flesh
My lips are moving but I hear no sound
It's that same old noise, it's in sensurround
Tune yourself up and count yourself down
Word made flesh, word made flesh
Lord help me rise to this occasion
Word made, word made flesh
I've been toiling so hard in the vineyard
Pay your debts to the word made flesh
East meets west in the word made flesh
I see you talking, but I still can't hear
Like a box of glass blocking off my ears
Turn off the charm and prey on your fears
Brainless pests for the word made flesh
Wall Street desks curse the word made flesh
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fathers Eyes
I may not be every mothers dream for her little girl,
And my face may not grace the mind of everyone in the world.
But thats all right, as long as I can have one wish I pray:
When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say,
Shes got her fathers eyes,
Her fathers eyes;
Eyes that find the good in things,
When good is not around;
Eyes that find the source of help,
When help just cant be found;
Eyes full of compassion,
Seeing every pain;
Knowing what youre going through
And feeling it the same.
Just like my fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
Just like my fathers eyes.
And on that day when we will pay for all the deeds we have done,
Good and bad theyll all be had to see by everyone.
And when youre called to stand and tell just what you saw in me,
More than anything I know, I want your words to be,
She had her fathers eyes,
Her fathers eyes;
Eyes that found the good in things,
When good was not around;
Eyes that found the source of help,
When help would not be found;
Eyes full of compassion,
Seeing every pain;
Knowing what youre going through,
And feeling it the same.
Just like my fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
Just like my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes,
My fathers eyes,
Just like my fathers eyes.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buy A Pair Of Gloves
You've got to be from out of town?
'Yes, I am.
How did you know that? '
Your eyes are too bright,
And dance with clarity.
That last statement you made...
About 'doing unto others,
As you would have them do unto you...
Added to my awareness.
Since 'you' HERE are among the few.
'Well...
Certain teachings I have learned to hold onto.'
Good luck!
I hope those teachings don't slip from your fingers.
'I...
My friend,
Will always remain the optimist.'
And I...
My friend,
Suggest you buy a pair of gloves.
To fit your hands to allow you a firm grip.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0276 Savagery
When did you first meet savagery?
Not merely, the wounded heart,
the Christmas present that they never bought
although they knew you wanted that
and nothing, nothing else..
not merely when you knew
that for the first time, they’d lied to you..
not merely when the world first let you down,
but that savagery that tears at the heart,
when you realise for the first time
that to others – or at best, some others –
you’re just nothing, nothing…
I guess the question is too painful for some; those
born into it; who wake to it within the house;
go to bed with it; are woken by it in the middle of the night;
some meet it at first school,
are schooled in it;
the first thing stolen from you
by those you thought your friends;
suddenly the world’s not flat, and just
keep away from the edge and you’ll be safe, but
spherical, with a horizon all around
beyond which the dragon’s smoky breath
lurks, waiting to devour.
Only three generations or so since
our forefathers met savagery, were savage, fought for land,
musket in one hand, spade in the other;
only four generations since
their fathers were forced off some other land they thought their own;
only two generations since the working class
lived their whole life with savage poverty not far away;
when savagery’s in short supply, there’s always war;
but that’s forewarned; there are no counsellors of battle
for then it’s just too late. We’re all to meet it; learn from it; but who
will dare to put it on the home, the school, agenda?
‘There are those to whom you’re not even
a victim or an enemy; you’re just – nothing..’
Pope called it
the inhumanity of man to man.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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0011 'Living and dying, laughing and forgetting' - listening to Ferlinghetti
and you’ve read many poems like this,
on the printed page;
the big words thrown in like some hot curry
where you’re short of good solid meat
so rap a few more big words in and
another spoonful of curry powder
or sex, or some current buzz-word
denoting a lifetime of youthful intelligent
rebellion and independent thought…
but not this time.
This is a famous poet of a famous time
and he’s just written it, in his eighties
and he won’t live for ever and he’s here
and reading it with vigour; a husky voice, and
his face flushed with eternity;
eternity, and innocence;
he means every word; and each word
comes from the centre of his life
‘living and dying,
laughing and forgetting…’
and listening to him, you could feel
that poetry’s too good for the printed page –
it should be declaimed, to audiences
who’ve walked for dusty miles,
who’ve bathed in sacred springs,
who’ve brought their children,
who’ve been here all day
and who will sit silent by the fires at night,
who are on their knees
listening with their lives
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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