A discard doll
I slipped from the Manor's upstairs into the trash bin.
My hair burnt, eyes removed and they amputated my hands.
I stuck in the leftovers, among the stench I cannot see anything
And I write on a broken slate with a piece of chalk which gripped by my right foot's fingers.
Darkness is better than a true vision.
And I think of the new doll who sings well in the upstairs.
I humbly pray for her a long-life in the Mansion.
*[ Australian Man throws the daughter off bridge. A morning News.]
I dedicate this poem to innocent street children where they sleep under the same transparent sky.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Upstairs In My House
No one knows what I can see and and what I see it pleases me on my roof
South pacific hot sea pool, coney island amusement school for mispent youth
Its all in my own front yard, seagulls grazing in the park and foreshore
South-east wind pins back my ears, luna park lights up the years of painless days
I like it, upstairs in my house
Dealers selling junk and trash, people spend their hard earned cash on sundays
Its quiet when they fade away, westgate bridge breakes up the day, into red sky
I like it, upstairs in my house, upstairs in my house
No one knows what I can see and what I see it pleases me on my roof
I like it, upstairs in my house, upstairs in my house
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falling Upstairs
Long before I ever saw your face
I got to know you in a dream
But things aren't always what they seem
You learn along the way
I just can't stop myself from breaking down
It's just no good unless you come around
I turn into a monster
all my friends agree
So goodnight
I'm going to bed
I'm falling upstairs to meet you
I wake up with memories in my head
I'm someone else instead
Fallin' upstairs to you
You came to me from secret place
You're beautiful and strange to me
Just like an antique melody
Too sad for me to play
I hope you'll wait for me behind closed eyes
I know I'll search for you all through the night
'Till when the dawn breaks in and throws it's light
Around the room
Goodnight
I'm going to bed
I'm falling upstairs to meet you
I wake up with memories in my head
I'm somewhere else instead
Falling upstairs to you
Falling upstairs to you
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Upstairs
(carly simon/mike mainieri)
Sitting in a car here
After a party where weve seen
Everyone weve known for years
Well Ive known you for years
Oh but now its all changed
And all of my feelings
Have been rearanged
(chorus)
Come upstairs
Well be all alone
Come upstairs
No one will know
Come upstairs
We can take of the phone
Come upstairs
You can take of my clothes
Say that it feels good
Maybe too good to say that it feels like a dream
You want to knock on some wood
Well Ill give you some wood
And Ill give you some fire
Ill give you myself
And I will show you my desire
Come upstairs
Well have a few laughs
Come upstairs
Well take a bath
Come upstairs
Its only one flight
Come upstairs
You can stay overnight
Ill give you some wood
Yeah, Ill give you some fire
Ill give you myself
And I will show you my desire
Chorus
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Poem Came To Me In The Night
MY POEM CAME TO ME IN THE NIGHT
My poem came to me in the night
Long after I should have gone to sleep
It came with darkness inside and a fear of darkness deeper still-
It was a poem of the end of the earth
A dark poem
The last poem of the day and perhaps the last poem of forever-
It came to me in the night
And made me write it down gently
And said because there is no time left
It is impossible to add on to it
Or give it true character and feeling.-
The poem of the night and its darkness
Stilled me into vulnerable silence
And I slept and went to sleep
Far from the page I wrote.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0200 Dementia
Now what did I come upstairs for?
Of course I haven’t forgotten your name,
young lady, it’s just that I can’t remember it
Why am I going upstairs?
I only just got up
No dear, you’re wrong,
I always pay on account
Where’s my bed?
Isn’t this upstairs?
Take the paper back
to the newsagent, someone’s
already done the crossword
Of course I’m undressed,
I just came upstairs
Of course you can sign my name dear,
they know me at the post office
Why is it so dark downstairs,
I’ve only just got up
Why should I give you money for the gas,
Young man? I don’t even know you
I’m sure there are more stairs
than there used to be
Stop being so insulting, young man,
it’s only money
No of course I don’t need help with the stairs,
I know my own house
No dear, you sign for it, I’m sure
your boss will understand
Somebody changed the stairs
when I was out, they
aren’t the same
Why are people so rude about
money these days?
Ask my father to speak
to that young man
The stairs are steeper than they were,
somebody’s changed them
Who are you, I didn’t
ask you to come in…
Of course it’s my house,
it’s just that you changed the stairs
Tell the bank manager to
come and see me in the morning.
Why does that man upstairs
move the stairs at night?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crown Of A Poet
When my pens are all dried up
And my writing on Earth is done
I will then take off my tarnished crown
And I will hand it off to my son.
To continue the writing that I have started
As from this world I have parted.
A poet my son he will become
To reflect his life in rhyme
To bring forth beauty and wonder of himself
Which will take a never ending life.
For the last poem is like a kiss,
For one is born whenever there is a wish.
A poets pencil is his best friend
And a piece of paper is his canvas of white
To paint the words that have been unpainted
And to stir the soul and open the mind.
To bring forth again the smiles and tears,
That has been locked away for so many years.
And when my pencils have all been broken
And my writing pads are burnt in fire
I will then loose my poetry crown
As I will seek a higher power.
Where my poems will be written upon the sky
Where tears again I will never cry.
My tarnished crown will become my sons
To write on Earth what he sees best
To write during the day and at night to pray
For a poet, as he knows no rest.
For sleep does seldom ever come.
To the one whose fingers are always numbed.
And when his hands are old and tired
The Lord then will give him his sleep
For a job isn't finished until the Lord says so
But then never again will He weep.
And then my crown I will give to my son,
So the dream of ours, will never be done.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted To Write A Poem For My Children
I WANTED TO WRITE A POEM FOR MY CHILDREN
I wanted to write a poem for my children
And tell them how much I love them
And care for them
And how much goodness and blessing
They have given me
And how grateful I am to them
And how much I love them
And how I worry for them
And pray to God
To help them have lives of goodness and blessing
I wanted to write a poem for my children
So that if and when I am not here
They will have the thought and memory of me
In such a way as to strengthen themselves
I want to help my children
In my death as in my life
I do not know if that is possible
I will hurt them by dying
I may hurt them worse by being sick for a long time
I pray to God
They will be alright without me
I pray to God
They will have families of their own
I pray to God they will have lives of goodness and blessing
And love their children and be blessed by them
As I have been loved and blessed by mine.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The mutual understanding of strange lovers!
She's born blind and I explained her
It's a Full Moon and I saw her sad expression.
Then I touched her face and said; ' You have a round face
And a very pleasant looking like a Full Moon! '
I found a tear dropp in her gloomy eye
It's like a dew.
She squeezed my hands and muttered; ' It's pretty warm your heart
And you're my one and only Sun in the dark citadel.'
* I humbly dedicate this poem to the innocent victims of Moscow Air Port blast! Also to the cruel human beings who involved to this tragedy, let them open their eyes and see the World without glasses as true brothers and sisters! It's very ridiculous, why you make long fences in this short life?
This World is a one land and one nation!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inspiration (before a live audience)
To be honest – inspiration may be found anywhere, anytime, in anything
A gaggle of geese flying overhead
Sitting in an outhouse in the middle of the woods
A weed growing through a crack in the middle of a paved parking lot
While watching an ant carry a load 100 times its size
Yes, inspiration may be found anywhere!
In a whisper of wind caressing your hair with invisible fingers
A smile or glitter of an eye from a passer by
The bouquet of perfume, the sight of flowers, the smell of the sea, the laughter of friends or children
And yes, even in the death of a friend or loved one, we may find – inspiration
Or, in the kind gesture of a stranger
And, of course, inspiration may be found in a piece of art or a book
FOR IT IS WRITTEN – 'if you cannot write a poem – live a poem'
And on that note…
EACH ONE OF YOU HERE – PROBABLY FEELS YOU’RE LIFE IS A LIVING PIECE OF POETRY – TO BE HELD NEAR AND DEAR
EACH ONE OF YOU - PROBABLY FEELS YOUR LIFE IS WORTHY OF
A LINE OR TWO – OR MAYBE THREE
BUT LET’S GET REAL – HOW MANY HANDS IN THE UNIVERSE HAVE HELPED TO WRITE YOUR LIVING VERSE?
OR PERHAPS, YOU’RE JUST A WALKING PIECE OF PLAGIARISM – AND, WHAT COULD BE WORSE?
OR, MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, YOUR LIFE IS A JOURNEY TO DISCOVER YOUR DEFINITION AS AN ORIGINAL INSPIRATION
poem by William E. Marks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bridge Rainbow over the River Sky
As soon as I recovered from Hay Fever
My congested nostrils cleared
And I could sniff as usual.
A rare fragrance from Dandenong in Australia.
My daughter Tharindu and son-in-law Kelum reside there.
She conceived it seems,
What a happy news wind brought?
If a boy I would like to call him 'Siddharta'.
And if a girl 'Yashodara'.
Nine months; more than enough
Learn Martial arts and get a black-belt
To fight with the mysterious life.
Nine months; quite enough
Learn dancing
To dance with the melancholy song of life.
Your old grandma [still looks young and could marry again]
And your old grandpa[ Cowboy on a wooden horse]
Waiting anxiously to see our grandson or granddaughter.
When we get the permission to cross the bridge rainbow over the river sky?
*I humbly dedicate this poem to Alison & Jerry
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Smile With Tears
He felt very guilty
while defending himself. Being nothing
in the times, he became so dangerous
for himself that the buttons were lost for
patriarchal connectedness.
The faces had become the permanent masks.
Now what?
Flutes lie broken in bottom of the pond,
stones had committed suicide.
A window lets in darkness.
I love the pace of history walking on the back
of alligators. It does not die.
I am emptying the urn, again and again
to write poems on the flyleaves of life.
Pure pain. I am smile with tears. My
knees carrying the amputated leg. A big
throw on the trash. I am thirsty,
not hungry. My hands reach for a strip.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Variation Of The Other Poem
when you are about
to squirt
and finish half of it
bad luck
blackout comes
the poem
gets half-cooked
and you
go upstairs
and sleep on
the bamboo bed
eyes staring
at the ceiling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I always performed when I was a child. My parents got very annoyed, because my brother and I had our little bedrooms upstairs, and I would plaster the house with posters with arrows pointing upstairs.
quote by Franka Potente
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem To Change The World
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
A world with barbwire fences
Try to cross and you get stuck
You get pinned and you can’t come back
Ya
If I could just write a poem that would take those barbwire fences down
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
With spotlights that blind rather than show the way
You have to look away
With spots in your eyes you cannot see
Ya
If I could just write a poem that would turn those spot lights away
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
Airplanes that get you there if you can pay the fair
If you’re poor, you will work hard but go no where
Those who fly, are they thankful to the sky
Ya
If I could just write a poem that would make this world fair
I wish I could write a poem that would change the world
What is worse is war
And it is over there, where we send our children
There is nothing here but fear
Ya
I wish I could write a poem that make that no more
How much longer will the birds and trees
have to put up with our dirty breeze
All the water in this world
someday none of it will be safe to drink
If I could just write a poem that would clean up this mess
poem by Roger Harkness
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What About The Children
Tears streaming down, her heart is broken
And because her heart is hurting, so am I
He wears a frown, his dreams are choking
And because he stands alone, his dreams will die
So, humbly I come to you and I say
As I sound aloud the warfare of today
Please hear me, I pray
CHORUS
What about the children
To ignore is so easy
So many innocent children will choose the wrong way
So what about the children
Remember when we were children
And if not for those who loved us and who cared enough to show us
Where would we be today
So, where is your son
and where lies his refuge
And if that young man can't come to you, then where can that young man run to
She's such a foolish foolish girl, yet still, she's your daughter
And if you will just reminisce on all the crazy things that you did when you were that young
You see, it's not where you've been, nor what you've done
Because I know a friend who specializes in great outcomes
See His love overcomes
CHORUS
What about the children
To ignore is so easy
So many innocent children will choose the wrong way
So what about the children
Remember when we were children
And if not for those who loved us and who cared enough to show us
Where would we be today..............
What about the children they need our help today
And what about the children they need us
more than ever more than ever more than ever
what about the childen where would we be today
where would we be today
what about the children
Where would we be today
Where would we be today
Where would we be today
What about the the children
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What About The Children
Tears streaming down, her heart is broken
And because her heart is hurting, so am I
He wears a frown, his dreams are choking
And because he stands alone, his dreams will die
So, humbly I come to you and I say
As I sound aloud the warfare of today
Please hear me, I pray
CHORUS
What about the children
To ignore is so easy
So many innocent children will choose the wrong way
So what about the children
Remember when we were children
And if not for those who loved us and who cared enough to show us
Where would we be today
So, where is your son
and where lies his refuge
And if that young man can't come to you, then where can that young man run to
She's such a foolish foolish girl, yet still, she's your daughter
And if you will just reminisce on all the crazy things that you did when you were that young
You see, it's not where you've been, nor what you've done
Because I know a friend who specializes in great outcomes
See His love overcomes
CHORUS
What about the children
To ignore is so easy
So many innocent children will choose the wrong way
So what about the children
Remember when we were children
And if not for those who loved us and who cared enough to show us
Where would we be today..............
What about the children they need our help today
And what about the children they need us
more than ever more than ever more than ever
what about the childen where would we be today
where would we be today
what about the children
Where would we be today
Where would we be today
Where would we be today
What about the the children
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghosts of the Past
Ghosts of a past are upstairs,
Hiding in the shadows of mystery,
In the really dark corners
Where we as children stir and craze
Over the burden of our coming years
In this haunted residence that I call my sweet mansion.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Only I Could Write A Beautiful Poem
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would write it special and only to you
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
So that we will forever remain so very very true
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
With more than a goodness like something new
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
Like the everlasting stay of the sky so blue
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would pray to God
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would work very hard for the Lord
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
With happiness the remain all through the year
f only I could write a beautiful love poem
Knowing that you will be very near
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
One so very very true
If only I could write a beautiful love poem
I would write it just for you
poem by Douglas Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Dog Dies
it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Daughter like Father
I look at you right into your eyes
Yet you still do not believe me
You belive him!
He's not even your damn blood
I am your daughter...
YOUR DAUGHTER
Yet I am nothing but a liar to you
When I need you the most you throw me away
Like a piece of trash
Like you are ashamed of me
There will be a time in your life
You will need me
You will be on your knees
And I will turn my cheek
Just like you did
The apple does not fall far fromt the tree
Daughter like Father
poem by Makayla Straight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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