Tome Unopened
The book will remain unopened for its size,
This volume speaks wonders to analyze.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Closed Book
A book unopened
leaves words to die.
A book unopened
leaves words to lie
in perpetuity,
never alive, never free
to deliver its thoughts
for any to see.
Who was the writer?
What did he pen?
The absence of readers
are lost and then
the book lies quietly
on a shelf
and maybe all by itself it knows.
It will never be opened.
It will always be closed,
just like some people
who won't open up
and speak their words to you.
Their life is something
you'll never know,
something you won't view.
For they are a closed book too.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unopened rose
At first glance,
An unopened rose never shows its true beauty
At first try,
It’s impossible to touch a shooting star
The first time we’ve met,
I didn’t know how gorgeous you could be
Just like the unopened rose,
I know after time, the unopened rose turns into a beautiful rose
A shooting may never be touched,
But it’s possible to get closer
A shooting star comes and goes once in a while
And I know it’s impossible to bring it for you
But if you get the chance to glance at it,
You will know what beauty is.
Also an unopened rose bloom once in a while
But each time the rose is in blossom,
You can really appreciate the beauty of it
Just like an unopened rose,
You are my unopened rose,
Some one who you deeply want to meet and keep meeting
Just like the rose opening with each day that passes,
you become more precious each day to me
But unlike an unopened rose that comes and goes,
You will stay forever in my heart and mind.
poem by Carlos Wever
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's True
Madame de Sevigne
Doted on her daughter
Sent her many artful, insistent letters
Many of which the ungrateful child read
But some of which she left unopened.
Which did she leave unopened?
Only the important ones.
How do I know? Unopened
Letters are the always the important ones.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song Of The Open Road
(walt whitman, 1852)
Allons! the road is before us
It is safe, I have tried it
My own feet have tried it well
Be not detained
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten
And the book on the shelf unopened
Let the tools remain in the workshop
Let the money remain unearned
Let the school stand
Mind not the cry of the teacher
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit
Let the lawyer plead in his court
And let the judge expound the law...
...let them!
Comerado! I give you my hand
I give you my love more precious than money
I give you myself before preaching and law
Will you give me yourself?
Will you come travel with me?
Will you give me yourself? hey!
Will you come travel with me?
Will we stick be each other?
As long as we live?
As long as we live?
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Little Wonders
Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain
poem by Tiana Webb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Book
A volume speaks of divine actions and rigorous mathematics
Of the soul as a light of heaven.
A book reads of writing and matter of energy, of work
And the studies binding us in flames and ruination, of pleasure.
A word is like a nothing, a liver and a heart is strangely so,
The merger of phrases have Paradise.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A book called life
You find a book. a book unopened for some time. binding worn, title aged and not legible. you open it to find it dusty and blank. it has sat untouched for a quite a while. this book is the story of you. a story not yet written, but exciting non the less. a story to be one of epic, and legend. a story to be passed down for generations. that will be stamped into the pages of history and inspire forever. we all have a story, we simply need to write it.
poem by Nick Feiner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
after Basho's frog haiku
the garden pond
speaks more volume
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The mouth matters
The flame depends on the twig’s size
Not on the volume of the candle.
A stouter pot with a narrow neck
If the rich are, what is the use?
01.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXIX
SIBYLLINE BOOKS
When first, a boy, at your fair knees I kneeled,
'Twas with a worthy offering. In my hand
My young life's book I held, a volume sealed,
Which none but you, I deemed, might understand.
And you I did entreat to loose the band
And read therein your own soul's destiny.
But, Tarquin--like, you turned from my demand,
Too proudly fair to find your fate in me.
When now I come, alas, what hands have turned
Those virgin pages! Some are torn away,
And some defaced, and some with passion burned,
And some besmeared with life's least holy clay.
Say, shall I offer you these pages wet
With blood and tears? And will your sorrow read
What your joy heeded not?--Unopened yet
One page remains. It still may hold a fate,
A counsel for the day of utter need.
Nay, speak, sad heart, speak quick. The hour is late.
Age threatens us. The Gaul is at the gate.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The God speaks
Macbeth speaks; Hamlet speaks.
We say Shakespeare speaks.
Krishna speaks to Arjuna.
We don’t say Vyasar speaks.
21.11.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Manual, More Ancient Than The Art Of Printing, And Not To Be Found In Any Catalogue
There is a book, which we may call
(Its excellence is such)
Alone a library, though small;
The ladies thumb it much.
Words none, things numerous it contains:
And thing with words compared,
Who needs be told, that has his brains,
Which merits most regard?
Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue
A golden edging boast;
And open’d, it displays to view
Twelve pages at the most.
Nor name, nor title, stamp’d behind,
Adorns its outer part;
But all within ‘tis richly lined,
A magazine of art.
The whitest hands that secret hoard
Oft visit: and the fair
Preserve it in their bosoms stored,
As with a miser’s care.
Thence implements of every size,
And form’d for various use
(They need but to consult their eyes),
They readily produce.
The largest and the longest kind
Possess the foremost page;
A sort most needed by the blind,
Or nearly such, from age.
The full charged leaf which next ensues,
Presents in bright array
The smaller sort, which matrons use,
Not quite so blind as they.
The third, the fourth, the fifth supply
What their occasions ask,
Who with a more discerning eye
Perform a nicer task.
But still with regular decrease,
From size to size they fall,
In every leaf grow less and less;
The last are least of all.
Oh! what a fund of genius, pent
In narrow space is here!
This volume’s method and intent
How luminous and clear!
It leaves no reader at a loss
Or posed, whoever reads:
No commentator’s tedious gloss,
Nor even index needs.
Search Bodley’s many thousands o’er!
No book is treasured there,
Nor yet in Granta’s numerous store,
That may with this compare.
No!—rival none in either host
Of this was ever seen,
Or, that contents could justly boast,
So brilliant and so keen.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn 151
Prophecy and inspiration.
'Twas by an order from the Lord
The ancient prophets spoke his word;
His Spirit did their tongues inspire,
And warmed their hearts with heav'nly fire.
The works and wonders which they wrought
Confirmed the messages they brought;
The prophet's pen succeeds his breath,
To save the holy words from death.
Great God, mine eyes with pleasure look
On the dear volume of thy book;
There my Redeemer's face I see,
And read his name who died for me.
Let the false raptures of the mind
Be lost, and vanish in the wind;
Here I can fix my hope secure;
This is thy word, and must endure.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Australian Book of Etiquette is a very slim volume.
quote by Paul Theroux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Findings and Losings (Song from the Madman)
One day I opened a book and it happened that it showed me strange things,
said it there stays some love for me in you, , , ,
, , , , , Moments passed of mistaken amazement
for a little while later i realised that i the book was upside down when I opened it that day,
and that I opened it from the end.
Somethings how strange they are, best found only when lost,
sometimes even forever.
Some clouds have appeared as visitors over the sky of life.
And I watch a few drops of rain wander this way and that between them, ,
this way and that...
Those few drops I wonder must have lost their way
among the clouds which have appeared over the sky of life as visitors...
Lost is not always the destination which is reached through lost roads.
It does not fit the seasons to end the way they do...
Some letters of spring always remain incomplete,
and sometimes though complete without the address...
Some songs of autumn go unheard, , ,
some moments of winter remain unheld.
It does not fit the seasons to end the way they do.....
Someday if the road shows signs of no more, ,
the traveller often wonders what shall be the words of his last song, , ,
shall they mean that he carried a pair of eyes always in his heart
and that they never let him to be lone, , ,
Or they will be jus a mad man's song...
meaning nothing and yet about so many
findings and losings of life......
Talking Book
I wish I had a talking book
That told me how to act and look
A talking book that contained keys
To past and present memories
A talking book that said your name
So if you were gone, youd still remain
More than a picture on a shelf
In imagination I could touch
A talking, talking book
I wish I had a talking book
Filled with buttons you could push
Containing looks and sights, your touch
Your feel, your breath, your sounds, your sighs
How much Id bluster to ask it why
One must live and one must die
I wish I had a talking book
By my side so I could look
And touch and feel and dream, a look
Much bigger than a talking book
A taste of loving future and past
Is that so much to really ask
In this one moments time and space
Can our love really be replaced
By a talking book
Can our love really be replaced
By a talking book
Can our love really be replaced
By a talking book
Can our love ever, forever be replaced
Can our love ever be replaced
Can our love ever be replaced
(can our love really be replaced)
By a talking book
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Through The Veil for Dave Walker
there's a light
in the window
of the house
forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.
footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink
half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time....
whispering, whispering....
names that cannot
be heard.
voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs
on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,
touching small particles
of being left like gifts....
lives unwrapped into mine!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not in this world to see his face
Not in this world to see his face
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
Clasped yet to him and me.
And yet, my primer suits me so
I would not choose a book to know
Than that, be sweeter wise;
Might some one else so learned be.
And leave me just my A B C,
Himself could have the skies.
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mystery of Love
We try to realize,
And slowly analyze,
The Why and How of Sentiment,
But no man has of yet explained,
How two souls can in Love remain,
Forever, fused in love and pain.
poem by Sandra Feldman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Opening
Open this book after closing it,
A page from a crafty pen is written;
The ink and sheets of paper stay together,
A dagger can not sigh on the word.
The book jests like a scrub and wash,
Cleaning the mind so offered,
The minds themselves exit the shrine,
Worship causes us to listen, to shatter.
This volume concerns us with its joy
And builds into a sandwich called knowledge.
We are offended by readers who just stare,
As they glare at the pages with triumph.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!