Up the Road
Fellow of my life and hazards, as fiend not foe,
I speak of misers as road-like and toad-like.
Fellow of retribution, find suitable lodgings,
And speak again to friends and sly people.
Your heaven is in sight, or loud I said on way,
You decide which bend is nearer to you.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Circles
Friends come and friends go
As I go round and round in circles
Love someone change your mind
Decide he was a swine
As you go round and round in circles
He who knows does not speak
He who speaks does not know
And I go round in circles
Dislike someone and will not bend
Later they may become your best friend
As life it goes around in circles
He who knows does not speak
He who speaks does not know
And I go round in circles
Soul takes on a body with each birth we make our date
With life and death along the road the soul reincarnates
The show goes round and round in circles
When loss and gain and up and down
Becomes the same, then we stop going in circles
Round and round in circles
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What I Actually Meant To Say
This is what I am saying...
From my lips to your ears.
I apologize for making statements,
Attributed to me while in the company...
Of those very wealthy and supporting my campaign.
When I thought my comments were not being recorded.
And it was extremely foolish of me to do that,
After nibbling on the glazed roasted chicken...
Topped with honey mustard sauce.
And then to take a sip of the exquisite champagne?
Whew...no one should consciously do that to then speak.
I had no idea I was being recorded.
However...
Once that was brought to my attention.
And I had time to change my mind,
I awakened the next day with the realization...
I had made a mistake in assessing,
The lives of the people I so dearly want to represent.
AND what I actually meant to say,
Was not taped at all.
It was there in my head seeking to find my lips.
I hope that 'this' explanation makes clearer my position.
I am so filled with love and empathy for all of my fellow-men.
And fellow-women, fellow-children and their fellow-pets.
'May I ask a question? '
Of course.
By all means.
'Who are you? '
Well...
I am certainly not that other guy!
You can rely on me 100%.
'Does that include the 47% you earlier excluded,
From the giving of your love and empathy? '
That would be two questions.
And I recall you requested to ask just one.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who Is This God Fellow And What's The Reason Why
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet
When he thought to cry
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Dose he never leave the gated community
Of his heaven in the sky.
Who is this God fellow
And what is his gig
It seems to me that he and his priest
Got the whole damn thing rigged
Is he a prince or a pauper a pusher or a pimp
That dose his jealous thing reveal
To me while I smoke a bit of hemp.
Who is this God fellow
Is he married to human by the power of a prayer
And why is it that he should even care
Who is this God fellow and what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet when he thought to cry
Who is this God fellow and why are his blessings to live
Only by the hands of priest that are stingy to give
Who the reason and what’s the reason why
That a small rain should collect in his eyes.
poem by David E. Patton
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Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)
speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I am that I am for C.P.Sharma
I speak to those who choose to hear
To those who choose to see, appear
If you believe you will perceive
if you accept you will receive.
The blessings that I offer you
and in return I ask you to.
Attempt to love your fellow man.
It is not easy but you can
What does it matter black or white
all men are equal in my sight.
You have free will and you must choose
to listen to me or refuse
Be still and let the silence speak.
I am that for which all men seek
23-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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He Who Serves
He has not served who gathers gold,
Nor has he served, whose life is told
In selfish battles he has won,
Or deeds of skill that he has done;
But he has served who now and then
Has helped along his fellow men.
The world needs many men today;
Red-blooded men along life's way,
With cheerful smiles and helping hands,
And with the faith that understands
The beauty of the simple deed
Which serves another's hour of need.
Strong men to stand beside the weak,
Kind men to hear what others speak;
True men to keep our country's laws
And guard its honor and its cause;
Men who will bravely play life's game
Nor ask rewards of gold and fame.
Teach me to do the best I can
To help and cheer our fellow man;
Teach me to lose my selfish need
And glory in the larger deed
Which smoothes the road, and lights the day
For all who chance to come my way.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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If Heaven has a Number
I pick up the phone, dial 0 for the operator
And ask if heaven has a number
Does heaven have a number because I need to speak to God to ask For his forgiveness?
Does heaven have a number, because I need to speak with my aunt To ask her does she feel better?
Does heaven have a number, because I need to speak with my aunt
To tell her I love her?
Does heaven have a number, because I need to speak with my aunt
To know if I will be accepted
As one of God's children?
Does heaven have a number, this at last I need to know because, I Need someone in my life who cares, who loves me for me, like my aunt
Did, because I am all alone on this big Earth
So...........
Does heaven have a number?
poem by Katrina Thompson
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Young Poets
You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
Speak with respect now, for jungles and streams,
Speak for all wildlife and dream giant dreams.
Speak with great courage, speak up and speak out,
Write with a whisper or write with a SHOUT!
Stand up young poets for clean air and rivers,
Free verse or lyric; your message delivers...
Truth to the future citizens of earth,
Speak of your freedom your friends and self worth.
Speak for tomorrow and though you're still young,
Speak for the Forest, your pen is her tongue.
The world waits to hear your songs still unsung
Words posses power, you can write the wrongs
Teach us and lead us with Poems and with songs.
Speak now for nature, for trees and for birds,
Defenders of Earth choose carefullly your words!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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Let Me Entertain You
To the man playing his music loudly onboard my train:
Both you and I can hear your music, oh so very plain.
It doesn't seem to be appreciated by this here crowd.
Tell me, does your music really need to be quite so loud?
To play loud music in a public place, I would not dare,
But, to me, it is very obvious that you just do not care.
If you bought yourself a pair of groovy new headphones,
Then your fellow travellers, on this train, won't need to moan.
To you, your music will still be heard loud and crystal clear,
But, your music, your fellow passengers will not have to hear.
During their journey, some passengers like to have a chat,
And that's perfectly fine by me: I'm totally okay with that.
Spare a thought for those poor people who are trying to read:
To play your music quite so loudly, is there really any need?
From the people who are trying to read newspapers or books,
You certainly seem to be acquiring some pretty dirty looks.
At first, I thought you'd turned the volume up purely by mistake,
But now I realise that you are doing it just for annoyance sake.
I guess that your sole ambition was to be the star attraction?
I hope you feel you've achieved this by your current actions?
Your fellow passengers, you decided you would like to entertain,
But can't you tell from their faces, they think your music is a pain?
I'm sure many people share my view, but don't want to get involved,
So if you could switch your stereo off, the problem would be resolved.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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State of the Union
When the President “served” in the Senate
He was mostly an absentee tenant.
So I don’t find it odd he’s campaigning for “God”
while our Country is stuck in the toilet.
In the Senate a fellow named Baucus
Believes it’s a one party Caucus
No G.O.P. need apply, this fellow is sly
Nearly nine hundred Billion he’ll cost us.
In the House we’ve got Reid and Pelosi
So I’m viewing our future morosely
If the “tea party” crew doesn’t give them the shoe
“free” health care will likely prove costly.
When I look at our unfunded debt, I wonder how bad it will get.
Will the whole thing implode?
Will our prince prove a toad?
Las Vegas is now taking bets.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Lines From a Poet's Inner Landscape
His day is but a true disguise;
a quiet Sunday, uninterrupted by the doorbell,
unchained by circumstance, freed from fashion,
in loneliness so deep he can’t explain,
almost crying because he can’t describe it.,
waiting for the rain of the day which has yet to be.
He doesn’t have the nerve to speak, just gazes,
but with sufficient humility to make him proud;
thankful for the conversation that he grasps,
but fails to speak out loud;
the surroundings say everything that needs to:
dry rot’s concealed beneath his creaking boards.
Exploding words and questioned deeds -
to stretch his mind to comprehend this wealth?
He walks around outside to clear his head –
his cul-de-sac, come alive again.
(Each line is stolen from a fellow poet here)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Uncle Toad Said
Uncle toad sittin by the old south gate
Waitin them boys they bin stayin out late
Uncle toad thinks theyre way out of line
Maybe they think he is past his prime
Uncle toad said better straighten up right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad lived in the wood out back
Lived in the shade of a utility shack
He looked in at the big brick housr
At the girls as quiet as a mouse
Uncle toad said you had best get it right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad tucked in the compost pile
Out by the back door look at him smile
He said kid stop drinkin that brew
Plan while ya can or the jokes on you
Uncle toad said better straighten up right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad sittin by the swimmin pool
Sits in the sun when the weather turns cool
Sits in the sun when the girls walk by
Maybe they think hes a little bit sly
Uncle toad said you had best get it right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad sittin by the cool mill race
All day long with a grin on his face
He said boys you had better not try
Kissin em girls cause I wont stand by
Uncle toad sittin by the wrought iron fence
Lookin at the moon like it dont make sense
We say toad heres lookin at you
Hopin you get your wish too
Sway to the left, sway to the right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bas Ben Adhem
My fellow man I do not care for.
I often ask me, What's he there for?
The only answer I can find
Is, Reproduction of his kind.
If I'm supposed to swallow that,
Winnetka is my habitat.
Isn't it time to carve Hic Jacet
Above that Reproduction racket?
To make the matter more succint:
Suppose my fellow man extinct.
Why, who would not approve the plan
Save possibly my fellow man?
Yet with a politician's voice
He names himself as Nature's choice.
The finest of the human race
Are bad in figure, worse in face.
Yet just because they have two legs
And come from storks instead of eggs
They count the spacious firmament
As something to be charged and sent.
Though man created cross-town traffic,
The Daily Mirror, News and Graphic,
The pastoral fight and fighting pastor,
And Queen Marie and Lady Astor,
He hails himself with drum and fife
And bullies lower forms of life.
Not that I think much depends
On how we treat our feathered friends,
Or hold the wrinkled elephant
A nobler creature than my aunt.
It's simply that I'm sure I can
Get on without my fellow man.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Once A Road
I am a road
Long ago well tread,
Those who upon me have ever travelled
Are now amongst the dead -
None anymore trod my path
Nor this way pass,
I alone every day
Continue wandering upon my way -
Once I was a road
Moving big and heavy loads,
Now merely a trail
No one recalls my tale -
But I know somewhere way out there
Miles away where few can see,
Over the hill, beyond the bend
Is a fellow drifter... looking for me -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Same Story, The same History
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made....
why always speak of descrimination
why always speak of war
why always speak of class
why always speak of injustice
why always speak of poverty
why always speak of rebellion....
why not speak of equality
why not speak of peace
why not speak of respect
why not speak of wisdom
why not speak of production
why not speak of working together...
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The famished road
Do not travel on
The famished road my lord
I speak in consideration
Of my children's hungry stomachs
And I want my salary intact
At the end of the month
Do not travel on
The famished road unless you
want to endanger your life
Deliberately my lord
Across the famished famine
threatened road they have
Unleashed the hordes of the poor
And they have left their hovels
It is so bleak and bare outside Sire
You see the skeletons of the hungry
And the famished and they come
Straight to you it is as if all
The devils have left hell and come
To earth to punish you for acting
Mean and selfish while the rest
Of your fellow humans starve
In a world of obscene plenty
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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At The Window
Every morning, as I walk down
From my dreary lodgings, toward the town,
I see at a window, near the street,
The face of a woman, fair and sweet,
With soft brown eyes and chestnut hair,
And red lips, warm with the kisses left there.
And she stands there as long as she can see
The man who walks just ahead of me.
At night, when I come from my office down town,
There stands a woman with eyes of brown,
Smiling out through the window blind
At the man who is walking just behind.
This fellow and I resemble each other -
At least so I'm told by one and another,
(Though I think I'm the handsomer by far, of the two,)
I don't know him at all, save to 'how d'ye do, '
Or nod when I meet him. I think he's at work
In a dry-goods store as a salaried clerk.
And I am a lawyer of high renown,
Having a snug bank account and an office down town, -
Yet I feel for that fellow an envious spite,
(it had no other name, so I speak it outright.)
There were symptoms before; but it's grown I believe,
Alarmingly fast, since one cloudy eve,
When passing the little house close by the street,
I heard the patter of two little feet,
And a figure in pink fluttered down to the gate,
And a sweet voice exclaimed, 'Oh, Will, you are late!
And, darling, I've watched at the window until -
Sir, I beg pardon! I thought it was Will! '
I passed on my way, with such a strange feeling
Down in my heart. My brain seemed to be reeling;
For, as it happens, my name, too, is Will,
And that voice crying 'darling, ' sent such an odd thrill
Throughout my whole being! 'How nice it would be, '
Thought I, 'If it were in reality me
That she's watched and longed for, instead of that lout! '
(It was envy that made me use that word, no doubt,)
For he's a fine fellow, and handsome! -(ahem!)
But then it's absurd that this rare little gem
Of a woman should stand there and look out for him
Till she brings on a headache, and makes her eyes dim,
While I go to lodgings, dull, dreary and bare,
With no one to welcome me, no one to care
If I'm early of late. No soft eyes of brown
To watch when I go to, or come from the town.
This bleak, wretched, bachelor life is about
(If I may be allowed the expression) played out.
Somewhere there must be, in the wide world, I think,
Another fair woman who dresses in pink,
And I know of a cottage, for sale, just below,
And it has a French window in front and - heigho!
I wonder how long, at the longest, 'twill be
Before, coming home from the office, I'll see
A nice little woman there, watching for me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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God saw fit, for wise reasons to allow the people of Israel thus to make and possess slaves; but is this any license to us to enslave any of our fellow-men, to kill any of our fellow-men whom we please and are able to destroy, and take possession of their estates?
quote by Samuel Hopkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Speak Gently
Speak gently! -- It is better far
To rule by love, than fear --
Speak gently -- let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here!
Speak gently! -- Love doth whisper low
The vows that true hearts bind;
And gently Friendship's accents flow;
Affection's voice is kind.
Speak gently to the little child!
Its love be sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild: --
It may not long remain.
Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear --
Pass through this life as best they may,
'T is full of anxious care!
Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart!
Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;
Let no harsh tone be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word!
Speak gently to the erring -- know,
They may have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so;
Oh, win them back again!
Speak gently! -- He who gave his life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were in fierce strife,
Said to them, 'Peace, be still.'
Speak gently! -- 't is a little thing
Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.
poem by David Bates
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Early Works - A Lonely Kind Of Fellow
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
who’s in love with a beautiful girl.
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
and to me this girl means the world.
Though I love her, so much it hurts me
I cannot tell her I feel this way.
I’ve been a loner all my life now
and a loner I fear I’ll stay.
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
who’s in love for the very first time.
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
with love breaking this heart of mine.
Date unknown.
poem by David Harris
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