In The Summer
In the summer
I stretch out on the shore
And think of you
Had I told the sea
What I felt for you,
It would have left its shores,
Its shells,
Its fish,
And followed me.
Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown
Submitted by Noele Aabye
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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Oh, My Love
Oh, my love
If you were at the level of my madness,
You would cast away your jewelry,
Sell all your bracelets,
And sleep in my eyes.
Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown
Submitted by Noele Aabye
poem by Nizar Qabbani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every Time I Kiss You
Every time I kiss you
After a long separation
I feel
I am putting a hurried love letter
In a red mailbox.
Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown
Submitted by Noele Aabye
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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My Lover Asks Me
My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.
Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown
Submitted by Noele Aabye
poem by Nizar Qabbani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light Is More Important Than The Lantern
Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.
Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown
Submitted by Noele Aabye
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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One Typhoon Day
come typhoon
i walk along the shore
and think of you
i told the sea
what i felt for you
i left the shores
the waves rage
taking in
the shells the fish
my footsteps
on the sands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Breathing of the Ocean
you exhale
then inhale-sucking up your sins and
regrets from your life
washing away the pain you neglected
the shells left on shore are your only
memory of everything
the sand-your companion is always there
for you but never forgets
your insanity when your anger floods
out onto the dunes and rocks
your breathing is no simple matter
the Sun and Gravity controlling
your every move just as an officer
to a prisoner
but you keep forgetting to forget what
you have done and just live
Leave the shells on shore
they are your only memory
poem by Zia Jaycee May Trent
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Break Own Net ~ (~_~) Abstinence ~
Whatever you do
Don't ask for help
Whatever you do
Don't wait to get
Whatever you wish
away let it slip
Faster than the fish
Caught with one hand.
Ignore or forget
who's on the shore
in a smart blend
stinking fish net.
Stretch tearing a limb
Survive, shh..break own set
Don't try to scream a story
that may never end.
poem by Elena Sandu
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oh yes, Mr. Shaun, the Bible was not written in English
The Gospel of Christ and, in general,
the Holy Bible are written with the inspiration of God.
The Prophets and the Apostles
have recorded in written form
a portion of the oral teaching of the Old Testament
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
These are the original languages of the Holy Bible from' which all the translations have been derived. God's inspiration is confined to the original languages and utterances, not the many translations. There are 1,300 languages and dialects into which the Holy Bible, in its entirety or in portions, has been
translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.
This does not mean that the translations do not convey the meaning of the Bible for spiritual uprightness of the readers in their own language. On the contrary the Bible should be spread and preached to 'all nations'. The missionaries in foreign lands learn the language or the dialect of. the new area into which they bring the Bible and other religious teachings. For example, the missionaries from Constantinople, Saints Cyril and Methodios, sent to Christianize the Slavic peoples in the 9th century, first translated the Bible and the ritual books into the language of the people.
yes, Mr. Shaun, my friend the Bible was not written in English.IT was written in HEBREW, ARAMAIC, and GREEK....
But i like it written in English too, how i wish it were written in such a
language,
with a sense of class
and fashionable disguise,
for without it, how could i ever understand, God,
oh, my, God!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Torch, A Hand, A Cross!
the silent graves are shouting,
the waves come for the shore.
the time of thunder beckons,
the page is left unsigned.
miracles turn to ashes,
in the hearth of limitless time.
love burns in small fires left unnoticed,
the copper kettle is blind.
there's nothing left to say,
for words are tiny shells.
tiny shells cant hold oceans,
still oceans seek a home!
i only pray perhaps the snow will bring,
a torch, a hand, a cross!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Had Been To This Sea Sometime Before (Catena Rondo)
I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
it had been on a tranquil summer day,
I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
while a tiny boat rocks upon the wake
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
before deeper in the water we both dare,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
while you smile in a way that I adore
we hear the thundering on a distant shore
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
while you smile in a way that I adore,
we both swim through the crashing pull and flow
trying to find a way back, a way to go,
while you smile in a way that I adore
we both swim through the crashing pull and flow
it feels if our world is suddenly gone
while still together we do struggle on
we both swim through the crashing pull and flow
it feels if our world is suddenly gone
while we do see only the sky and sea,
we are trying to get back, to be free,
it feels if our world is suddenly gone
while we do see only the sky and sea,
we are blinded by a distant kind of sun,
hear the engine of a fishing boat run
while we do see only the sky and sea,
we are blinded by a distant kind of sun,
as an unknown, sheltering bay we reach,
as we both stagger out upon a beach
we are blinded by a distant kind of sun,
as an unknown, sheltering bay we reach,
we embrace and you stroke my hair gently;
a rich boat owner looks at you, smiles at me,
as an unknown, sheltering bay we reach,
we embrace and you stroke my hair gently,
we ride on a boat that rocks up and down,
but still we are in a world our very own
we embrace and you stroke my hair gently
we ride on a boat that rocks up and down,
I had been to this sea sometime before,
while we kiss each other and kiss some more;
we ride on a boat that rocks up and down,
I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
it had been on a tranquil summer day;
I had been to this sea sometime before.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Madagascar
I won't be told anymore
That I've been brought down in this storm
And left so far out from the shore
That I can't find my way back, my way anymore
No I won't be told anymore
That I've been brought back in this storm
And left so far out from the shore
That I can't find my way back, my way anymore
No, I..
No, I...
Forgive that they teared down my soul
Bless them that they might grow old
A dream that's forgotten may know
That it's never too late
So many times that I've seen life before me
I searched and found the way to choose to the end
I found a way, to know, why it had to be
Mired in denial and saw all the rain
If we ever find it true
Love will have its way to choose
Three more to tame
We can be ever
I won't be told anymore
That I've been brought down in this storm
And left so far out from the shore
And I can't find my way back, my way anymore
No I won't be told anymore
That I've been brought back in this storm
And left so far out from the shore
That I can't find my way back, my way anymore
song performed by by Guns N' Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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31
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Some things that can happen with a fish
A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess
A fish that fishes in troubled waters, that is a fish taking advantage of another fish in trouble
A fish that fishes or cuts bait, well, to be or not to be, to retreat or to attack, that is the fishy question
A fish that is neither fish nor fowl, is a fish that is neither one nor the other, lacking some convictions
A fish out of water, is a fish feeling left out, no longer in his accustomed environment
Do you have other fish to fry for now?
Is there other matter requiring my attention?
Poor fish,
the lake is finally fished out from his fishy mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Enemy
My youth was nothing but a black storm
Crossed now and then by brilliant suns.
The thunder and the rain so ravage the shores
Nothing's left of the fruit my garden held once.
I should employ the rake and the plow,
Having reached the autumn of ideas,
To restore this inundated ground
Where the deep grooves of water form tombs in the lees.
And who knows if the new flowers you dreamed
Will find in a soil stripped and cleaned
The mystic nourishment that fortifies?
—O Sorrow—O Sorrow—Time consumes Life,
And the obscure enemy that gnaws at my heart
Uses the blood that I lose to play my part.
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Part 4: The fish saves the worm
The big-mouth fish, snatched the worm.
As the worm was afraid; a small piece of him,
was left, on the sharp object.
The fish cuddle him, in his mouth.
Swimming as fast as he can;
to make it, close to the shore.
The fish, spit him out, on the land.
As the worm landed, he look toward the fish.
And said, ' thank you for not eating me? '
I wish you well, the fish said. Take care!
As the worm grind his way, toward a new place.
Knowing this ain't his home, the ground was moist.
He drilled a hole, and discover a new home.
The End....
poem by Derrick Clark
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Blue, Brown and Gold
Blue, brown and gold, bold, I'll unfold
a portrait drawn upon a train
one summer morn which shall remain
for heart to hold if truth be told.
Brown, gold and blue she sat, smiled too,
to me it seemed true beauty gleamed, -
my spirit teemed with hopes that, teamed,
we'd share love through fair seasons new.
Blue, gold and brown without a frown
she journeyed on, too soon was gone, -
yet still upon my soul she shone.
Brown bag, blue gown, - Life's golden crown!
Blue, brown and gold, cannot grow [c]old
Year in year out their tale is told...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A.K.A. Mario
before he finally left
he came to the house finding me alone and busy with words
the usual work on words
that makes me
bread,
he did not say much
as usual he is the silent mario of the class
many thought
he is at peace, i told me he is not actually and so i tell his wife
mario is confused, like some entangled seaweeds
where no fish can penetrate and stay or bring something
mario died two days ago
thinking that i am the happiest man alive
i think so, i must think so, otherwise
mario shall know, otherwise, he would have live a little longer
mario feels this sense of abandonment
like a port without boats and seagulls like a fish without a fish
he died
and that is enough to tell us what he believes in
he felt something so disturbing
he did not mind
before he finally left
he thought that i am the happiest man alive
and now, i must promise myself that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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O Cruel Sea!
No more will I go near the sea!
No more will I stand on a beach;
No more will I live near a shore;
The sea no more looks lovely!
No more will I play on its sands;
No more will I bask in its sun;
No more will I watch ships and boats;
The sea has lost its glory!
No more will I walk on the shore;
No more will I build sand-castles;
No more will I eat sea-fish foods;
The sea has lost its beauty!
No more will I go over-seas;
No more will I adore the waves;
No more will I yearn for the sea;
The sea has lost its sanctity!
No more will I deep-dive for pearls;
No more will I collect sea-shells;
No more will I dream of Blue Sea;
The sea’s a Mass-Grave, watery!
poem by John Celes
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Epilogue
Carol, every violet has
Heaven for a looking-glass!
Every little valley lies
Under many-clouded skies;
Every little cottage stands
Girt about with boundless lands.
Every little glimmering pond
Claims the mighty shores beyond—
Shores no seamen ever hailed,
Seas no ship has ever sailed.
All the shores when day is done
Fade into the setting sun,
So the story tries to teach
More than can be told in speech.
Beauty is a fading flower,
Truth is but a wizard's tower,
Where a solemn death-bell tolls,
And a forest round it rolls.
We have come by curious ways
To the light that holds the days;
We have sought in haunts of fear
For that all-enfolding sphere:
And lo! it was not far, but near.
We have found, O foolish-fond,
The shore that has no shore beyond.
Deep in every heart it lies
With its untranscended skies;
For what heaven should bend above
Hearts that own the heaven of love?
Carol, Carol, we have come
Back to heaven, back to home.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Last Day Of Summer
Nothing i am
Nothing i dream
Nothing is new
Nothing i think or believe in or say
Nothing is true
It used to be so easy
I never even tried
Yeah it used to be so easy...
But the last day of summer
Never felt so cold
The last day of summer
Never felt so old
Never felt so...
All that i have
All that i hold
All that is wrong
All that i feel for or trust in or love
All that is gone
It used to be so easy
I never even tried
Yeah it used to be so easy...
But the last day of summer
Never felt so cold
The last day of summer
Never felt so old
The last day of summer
Never felt so cold
Never felt so...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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