In This Dungeon
And in the passage we charted our ways tossing aside paper and stones,
What pull that is central shall strike at us now that we wonder?
This dungeon became something of a recluse,
It wished for disaster as a master of deception.
Falling back behind as a result of half-made gestures
Concretely martyred the entire crew of cruelty,
Lessons swayed and mangled the children of adventure.
This labyrinth that glows in the thoughts
Masters my prose as I write the words of pages
That detail my absence so that I win.
And in the passage as a result,
My words and deeds are now in imagination.
For we are witnessing the greatest pleasure
Man shall ever recognise,
One showing thinker has relayed his message
For all to glimpse and judge.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Rite Of Passage
Words and music by bob seger
Its the age of reason for the anarchist
Its a change of venue for the lobbyist
Its a dream of justice buried in the grist
Its a secret briefing based on need to know
Its a condescending rationale from command control
Feel the sense of wonder at the overthrow
Its a rite of passage through a hurricane
Through a rolling thunder through a screaming rain
Hear the shriek of abel hear the cry of cain
And abraham will take his son
Five billion years from now the cruelty will be done
Make a destination
Of the greater truth
Make em hang their heads and eat their words
When you find the proof
This is all youre given
Its your only move
Its a rite of passage for the everyman
To a higher ground
To a brighter light
To a promised land
You can feel the power
Of the masters hand
Its a rite of passage
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A useful advice
Just look at your face
How badly it has vitiated
I know it is not an accident nor any sorrow
It is the result of your evil deeds
It is the result of Your greed
Your dishonesty
Your cruelty
If you wish to regain your beautiful face
Forsake your bad habits.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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An upright soul
Thoughts must conform to words
And words to deeds to give peace.
Good thoughts and bad words: one is
raw.
Bad thoughts and good words: one is a cheat.
Good words and bad deeds: one is
cruel.
Bad words and good deeds: one is a
barker.
Thoughts, words and deeds must not
be
In conflicts to ensure an upright soul.
25.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Many Can Teach Few Can Write
many can teach and be good teachers
some even aspiring excellent teachers
but few can image write wondrous words
who are now waiting among
those who have words worth writing
words waiting to be written?
writing will cost much
demanded much
then will cost yet more
a small fortune in wages
wages spent not made
still to be spent and yet
accumulative cost is nothing
for there are hunger hearts
minds waiting for these words
looking even searching
for quest sought words
therefore it matters not
if for a specific poem
or passage paragraph
only a few or one is searching
these thoughts
are important
still must be written
some of what we write
even much of what we write
is of no prime importance
but that small portion
which is important
that tiny potent seed
which is important
must be written
translate many can translate
some even translate
almost perfectly precise
but those writing
original thoughts
are far more precious
and their words
will also in their time
be sought after read
but there time is not yet
that which is not
written cannot
be read
therefore write
write
and write well
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Life Essay
if life is multiple choice
maybe we can get a perfect score
but life is an essay
there is wide white space
and questions life running above
maybe we answer like theory
or find our own words
maybe we don't fill the blank
because we don't understand
or we write thousand flowery words
but we don't understand what we write
maybe the written is full of correction
or clean and planned carefully
maybe we use pen or pencil
maybe we torn the paper or blot it
maybe we cheat
maybe we work together
maybe we don't care
but when the time's finished
someone will read
and examine our result
do we respect the question
do we try hard
or play around
maybe we wrong, maybe right
maybe half of both, maybe none
so before we can't change it anymore
when there's time
before we regret it
just write your thought
because nobody in this world
who has the same handwriting
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Inspiration and Imagination
Inspiration can be found everywhere
if we open our eyes to see.
It can be found in every living thing
and even amongst the decay.
We have to attune our mind to it,
see the possibilities within there,
then put our pen to paper,
write as our imagination flows.
Once our imagination starts,
the words will come tumbling out
and we will find ourselves
flowing with rhymes and prose.
30 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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According to the Sutras, evil deeds result in hardships and good deeds result in blessings.
quote by Bodhidharma
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Words
the art of expression
is what my words are penned down upon
the will of wisdom
and the essence of freedom
to bounce like a king kong
on the ping pong
glad or sad, is from within each or any
stanza of my words
from the top of my head
to the deep end of the membrane under my melanin skin
to the sensory nerves of my brain
coiled upon an ancient pane
my words,
that which mirrors my sense of thought and feeling,
that with an ancestor
that which the blood of my people
was shed for; just so simple
but my words are royal
because ‘am loyal
like an induna
and vocal
to usher-in a focal
point of the meaning of my words.
my needs
and deeds
have a lord
on board
to code my words
and shield my soul from the imp’s sword.
my words are so very simple
to understand
and overstand
‘t was my words
that kept the birds
away from the heads
of my corn
for i was born
and sworn
to live a life upon
my words are so very easy to grasp
the fewer that discern
the nobler i become
I need not to wonder
and ponder
over yonder
for such is unknown to you
and therefore you have no knowledge of me
nor are you, about my words
yes! my words is what i like
to write
for i write
what i like
to strike
a balance between
the psyche
and the mic
such is my words,
the art of penning down what is from
the mind
and rewind
to remind
my words to decide
my words
such is my words,
the art of expression
against deception
but inception
and intersection
of my words
i now tell you that
my words are the words from the art
that which i chat
to match what my heart
tells me; roger that
the art of expressing the knack of expression; my words!
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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The Master Mind
The master mind, devil of evil.
Initiator of deception, creator of sorrow.
Most cunning, most assuring,
fallen emperor, proud prince.
Master mind, he masters the mind
At the entrance of the grave,
he envies the throne of grace.
author of death, father of hell
rewards flaming passions with flames of fire
and he masters the proud, master mind
He serves to master
and masters the world
beauty, wealth, power, and pride...
his own assets.
The master mind serves the world.
His empire is deception,
his agent is 'reason'
who reasons with the wise
and curses the proud into a trap
He masters the mind, who masters the world!
poem by Timothy muggaga
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A poetic world
It is poetic world
Flow of nice words
No creation of upheaval
Words to look nice and real
It is for peace
Life to be at ease
New energy to release
All hostilities to cease
No storm to come and lash
No breach in shore and wash
It may be with message of danger
To come out of it without any anger
The world may be facing disasters
You may knell down before masters
Your feet may crumble
You got to be very humble
It is platform to spread message
Find the place in heart with good passage
The world to live in fantasy
No use of asking for any clemency
Better world with enough humor
Not to pierce through shield or armor
Rule the heart that needs solace
Will it be there in any palace?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Bookworm
This alien land is made of paper
Its pages stay firmly stuck together
Until this foreign creature slides them apart
She ruins their land like she has no heart
In these pages there are symbols
For the educated, they are tools
At a fast pace, the creature drinks them down
It was amazing that she didn’t drown
The symbols tell a story, only the creature knows
In them she escapes all of her foes
It is joyful to roll in the words
To fly through them just like birds
She squiggles on her stomach,
The world only sees her back
She enjoys being so low down
The story will never make her frown
In the narrative she worms
In its pleasure she squirms
In the fiction words she’s lain
The bookworm is back again
poem by Lenore Lee
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A run out player
That precious time may run out
It may result in complete route
Still so much is left in store
All my works to be admired and adored
I have love for rhyme
Synchronies it with space and time
I shall prefer only sunny side
The horizon is open and wide
Let me what I am
Not to be decided by them
I shall rule the hearts of people
My creation will always tell
It may echo all over
All areas to cover
The spreading of good message
Smooth sailing with clear passage
They are simple words
It has blessings from the lords
They have come as it has to
Each word is clear and true
Who shall come forward and say?
What preference I should have in way?
I shall sing in the way I could
It is always for me thought for food
I have openly advocated
In thoughts also not sugar coated
It is through clear vision and sight
I had seen the path with light
Not all may agree
They are all free
The flowers may boom in spring
Birds and bees may silently sing
It shall ring with music
It may be life time music
I shall vow to come back again
The lost position and pride to regain
I shall watch from distance
Eyes may close at once
Some one may ring in ear
I would love some words to hear
In no time I shall be no more
The poems may remain forever
At some stage they open the page
I shall then come out of the cage
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Why do people behave in the ways, they do? (A prose poem)
I cannot understand
why most people behave
in the ways they do at present?
I certainly cannot accept
their logic, reasons, excuses
for doing so, all the time!
But I know that all can
well, certainly behave better,
and still derive pleasure
in life on earth, nevertheless:
Yet, keeping God’s tenets
flawlessly, at the same time.
For,
Words, both good and bad
come out of the same heart
of man by similar efforts;
Deeds, both good and evil
need the same energy and plan
for their execution.
So,
Why can’t people speak and do
the better things in life,
in better ways,
as per their conscience,
even if they cannot
believe in God
or in a superior power
that made us all?
The result is that
one can live naturally,
by free will and yet,
serve the unknown
Lord of the mighty universe,
whether you accept
the truth or not.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 03-11-11
poem by John Celes
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Trainor the Druggist
Only the chemist can tell, and not always the chemist,
What will result from compounding
Fluids or solids.
And who can tell
How men and women will interact
On each other, or what children will result?
There were Benjamin Pantier and his wife,
Good in themselves, but evil toward each other:
He oxygen, she hydrogen,
Their son, a devastating fire.
I Trainor, the druggist, a mixer of chemicals,
Killed while making an experiment,
Lived unwedded.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Narrow Passage
There's a narrow passage
that brings you back home.
You travel it slowly
like a rambling poem
that doesn't know where it's going
but word after word without really knowing
it reaches its destination.
To try and look back
and see the passage again
is obscured from your sight
as the word is from the pen.
Home is where you're headed
and when you arrive
you realize the passage
is what kept you alive.
To me, my passage
is tied up in every word
that starts with my thinking
and finally becomes heard.
I know that when I'm finished
with all I have to say
I'll find my home at last
on that narrow passageway.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Mood
I'll simply be out shopping,
or just going for a run,
when words and phrases hit me,
and a poem has begun.
Sentences and lots of words,
go running through my mind,
and i know if i dont write them down,
my thoughts leave me behind.
So quick hand me some paper!
Just please give me that pen!
If i do not write this down soon,
the words will go again.
poem by Holly Smith
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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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I Need to Write
I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,
First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;
Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,
All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.
Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,
No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;
Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,
Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.
I know what sort of holiday would people like,
And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;
Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,
And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.
It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,
It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;
It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,
Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.
So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,
Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;
Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,
Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.
Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,
You might even end up, turning it into a song;
Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,
And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.
poem by Margaret Haig
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In my travels
To this day of brilliant bright lights, I reminisce of all the memories made in my travels warm and cold
I have never written these words scattered across the landscapes of my free hand of sweet verse and prose
In my travels I have paved ways to my future thoughts amiable, like the splendor melody from a sweet old rose
I have seen the future through the power of my free imagination, and a glimpse of my eternity in great fold
Sometimes I sit and wonder if one day I will become a person I dream of in my designs and in my own marvels
My reality born through this very cold experience and the warm future I see, in the shadows of my travels
poem by Sicelo Sithole
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Vellum
I write my name down on paper
paper that has a unrealistic desire
to be vellum
I read what I have written
for a sense of authenticity
more authentic than my image
reflected in a mirror stained with mildew
and toothpaste
The words on this paper
anyone can read
bums, whores, addicts,
homosexuals
intellectuals
and the broken old men
whose hope died
in the past
I write
but I don't speak
what I write
details what I see
The things I see
O, the things I see
could invoke suicidal tendencies
in a child who still believes
in Christmas carols
and hunting Moby Dick
whom rules the seas
How tragic it is
to let fleeting imagination
slowly die among the magic spelling
of the words we once spoke
on Christmas Eve
And now I sit
with the adulterated gift
of alcohol
and nicotine
writing down words on paper
whom wish to be vellum
but realistically
could never be
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
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