Birthday Poems
A Touch of Class, The Art of Giving,
Put Your Words in Poetry Writing.
A Lovely Poem That Frames Your Thought,
For That Person, The Gift You Bought.
Should you not be a Poet in Waiting,
A Collection For you, I Am Sharing.
A Touch of Class, The Art of Giving,
Can Also Be From Sourcing.
'Have An AweSome Day! '
Related quotes
A Journey Of A Poet
A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.
Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions
A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind
With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry
Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words
A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.
A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection
A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Class has a sense of humor. It knows that a good laugh is the best lubricant for oiling the machinery of human relations. Class never makes excuses. It takes its lumps and learns from past mistakes. Class bespeaks an aristocracy unrelated to ancestors or money. Some extremely wealthy people have no class at all, while others who are struggling to make ends meet are loaded with it. Class is real. You can't fake it. Class never tries to build itself up by tearing others down. Class is already up and need not attempt to look better by making others look worse. Everyone is comfortable with the person who has class because he is comfortable with himself. If you have class, you've got it made. If you don't have class, no matter what else you have, it won't make up for it.
quote by Ann Landers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For A Very Special Lady Called Melvina
As we travel along our many different roads,
we meet people, sometimes face to face and sometimes not.
They influence us through their words,
and change us in someway.
This poem is written for one such person,
a very special person whose name
is none other than PH’s Melvina Germain.
I’ve often stated that it was through her poetry
that brought me here to PH.
On my arrival, I was very confused,
even poor Mel couldn't read
the mixed signals that I was giving.
However, as the weeks turned into months
her inspiration brought me to my senses,
and after a long absence, I began to write again,
stronger and wiser than before.
However that wasn’t the only thing she gave to me,
though I don’t think she ever realised.
She gave me a greater gift,
which was my faith in God back.
I had lost and was wandering
like a lost and vacant soul.
With the guidance through her writing,
I was soon put back on track, and derailed no more.
She was to give me one more gift,
which I adore her for.
The greatest gift one person can give another,
the gift of friendship.
There is more I would to tell you about her,
but then, this poetic tribute would end up
as a poem without end.
So I am going to end by saying,
Melvina, there are a lot of things
I would never have without you.
You picked me up when I needed it the most.
For that, I will always be in your debt.
Although this poem is not
all that good as it should be.
Please take it anyway
for all the esteem I hold for thee.
God bless you Mel.
(For Melvina Germain/18 August 2007)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Second Day of Class
This sylph came forward
from the second row
the second day of class
and asked if
I would edit her poem
so it would read
the way it should.
I told her straightaway
that even though
this was writing class
and I was the instructor,
I couldn't edit her poem
and still have the poem be hers.
Editing her poem, I said,
would be a little like rape,
just painful in a different way
whether she understood that
yet or not.
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Report
What is report?
Report is established,
Not demanded.
Seduction to manipulate
Premeditated moves
Will not sit well with someone else
You wish to impress
With what you offer that's approved.
One seeking report
Leaves these aggressions at the door.
If not one will find rejection...
Without another reception.
And having report,
Is what one should never first ignore!
'You mean 'ree'pour? '
Report is like giving a grade.'
And 'ree'pour is like giving what?
'Having class! '
Well,
What do you get in a 'class'?
'A report! '
Let's see...
If you report to class with 'ree'pour',
You'll get a good grade!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes Out Of Touch
There were times I stood my ground
When I knew you were right
Turned around and walked away
When I should've held you tight
But you never closed the door
You just turned out the light
Gave me time to think it over
A chance to make it right
Sometimes out of touch
But never out of love
Sometimes giving in
But never giving up
We've been worlds apart
Yet always close enough
Yeah, we've been out of touch
But never out of love
--- Instrumental ---
No matter how we try
There still may come a time
When our minds are far apart
But I know you and me
Will always find a way to be
Together in our hearts
Sometimes out of touch
But never out of love
Sometimes giving in
Oh, but never giving up
We've been worlds apart
Yet always close enough
Yeah, we've been out of touch
But never out of love
Yeah, we've been out of touch
But never out of love...
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poet Loses His Power For Poetry
A POET LOSES HIS POWER FOR POETRY
A poet loses his power for poetry
He can put down words
But they no longer have poetry in them
Something of the feeling of what real poetry is
is gone.
He strives
He writes again and again
He puts words down in the forms and in the shapes his poems usually take
But he has no poetry in him
He has lost what he is
And all he can do
is strive again and again
Word after word
Silence after silence
To hear within himself again
A voice he does not have.
The poet is writing poetry
And it is not poetry
The poet is dead
And he is pretending to be alive
Is this a poem?
Is he a poet
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything Is Kiling Me....
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
poem by Adnan Zahedi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Write About Giving Up Writing
WHEN I WRITE ABOUT GIVING UP WRITING
When I write about giving up writing,
I am not giving it up
I am instead trying to find another justification for continuing-
I am not giving up then-
If the whole effort is futile
If in the end it will mean nothing
If I despair of it even as I continue it
Still
I will not give up.
I cannot give up.
What else do I have, after all, except the writing?
After all these years of giving my life to it
What other work could ever mean so much?
Even if I fail in it
It is who I am
And what I can do.
I am writing again now
What else can I do?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Working Class Hero
As soon as you're born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so f***ing crazy you can't follow their rules.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still f***ing peasants as far as I can see.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
There's room at the top they are telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill.
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be.
If you want to be a hero well just follow me,
If you want to be a hero well just follow me.
song, music by John Lennon, lyrics by John Lennon from John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (11 December 1970)
Submitted by anonym
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The Poem About The Poem
The poem about the poem
And what is a poem?
And what is a poet?
And will the poem
Save me?
Help you?
And is writing the poem
The best I can do?
Or is it only words and more words?
Is the poem about the poem
For the poet only?
Or for each one reading and speaking and hearing it?
The poem about the poem
On this sunny spring Jerusalem morning
Peace and happiness in me -
The poem about the poem
For now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Know There Are Other Kinds Of Poetry
I know there are other kinds of Poetry-
I know for many a confession cannot be a poem-
But for me my confession is my poem
And my writing what I most intensely think and feel
And need to say-
It may not be Poetry for you
And it may not speak to you at all,
I don't want you to waste your time
With what is meaningless for you-
But if the poetry of Confession
And mine in particular
Can be poetry for you,
Thank you for giving my lines
Some time and attention.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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46
she, too, dislikes it, because it gives her the feeling as though
her head is taken off, makes her body cold so no fire can ever
warm her again. One does not look on poetry as a closed work, the poems go on and on
at all times on one’s head, and snip off a length.
You mush remember the homely definition,
Poetry is the best words in their best order, words in their nth power.
Bony ideas, bloody nerves, held together by the delicate
Tough skin of words…
Words…words...
I agree, I have never started a poem where I know the ending
Always the ending is unpredictable.
Poetry is your personal
Expression making it public, a revelation, a revolution of sort, you throw a pebble to the world.
In essence, poetry is an emotion, said, written in measured motion,
And that motion is an art.
Drip pity, drip pity, drip drip drip drip
Like a dripping rain, from a leaking roof, while one sleeps
To its rhythm.
A wording of highest thoughts, appearing as a
Remembrance, it does not really mean anything, it is simply magical…
But be.
You make a poem, but the reader recognizes it as his own,
But there is no accusation of thievery or plagiarism
A sea animal, evacuating to land, and now wanting to fly in the sky, that is poetry.
Making familiar things rare, as though they are
Not familiar anymore.
Giving habitation to airy nothing.
Giving nothing to everything.
Giving a nobody a nice home like he is now a somebody.
The invisible, made visible, and the visible made invisible.
A quarrel within himself.
In his tranquility, he recollects powerful feelings, and give in
To an spontaneous flow of giving.
That is poetry. Giving, and always giving, no taking, nothing taken.
I, too, dislike it at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poets on Poetry: a collage
she, too, dislikes it, because it gives her the feeling as though
her head is taken off, makes her body cold so no fire can ever
warm her again. One does not look on poetry as a closed work, the poems go on and on
at all times on one’s head, and snip off a length.
You mush remember the homely definition,
Poetry is the best words in their best order, words in their nth power.
Bony ideas, bloody nerves, held together by the delicate
Tough skin of words…
Words…words...
I agree, I have never started a poem where I know the ending
Always the ending is unpredictable.
Poetry is your personal
Expression making it public, a revelation, a revolution of sort, you throw a pebble to the world.
In essence, poetry is an emotion, said, written in measured motion,
And that motion is an art.
Drip pity, drip pity, drip drip drip drip
Like a dripping rain, from a leaking roof, while one sleeps
To its rhythm.
A wording of highest thoughts, appearing as a
Remembrance, it does not really mean anything, it is simply magical…
But be.
You make a poem, but the reader recognizes it as his own,
But there is no accusation of thievery or plagiarism
A sea animal, evacuating to land, and now wanting to fly in the sky, that is poetry.
Making familiar things rare, as though they are
Not familiar anymore.
Giving habitation to airy nothing.
Giving nothing to everything.
Giving a nobody a nice home like he is now a somebody.
The invisible, made visible, and the visible made invisible.
A quarrel within himself.
In his tranquility, he recollects powerful feelings, and give in
To an spontaneous flow of giving.
That is poetry. Giving, and always giving, no taking, nothing taken.
I, too, dislike it at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For The Love Of You
Well, well well well
Drifting on a memory
Ain't no place I'd rather be than with you, yes
Loving you, well well well
Day will make the way for night
All we need is candlelight
And a song, ooh, soft and long
Well well well, like to be
We're alone with a love unlike no other
Sad to see, a new horizon slowly coming into view
I want to be living for the love of you
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
Lovely as a ray of sun
That touches me when the morning comes
Feels good to me
Well, my loving me, loving me
Smoother then a gentle breeze
Blowing from my mind with ease
Soft as can be
When you're loving me, when you're loving me
I love to be
Riding the waves of love enchanted with your touch
It seems to me
We can sail together in and out of mystery
I want to be living for the love of you
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
I know that I'm living for the love of you, oh yes I do
All that I'm giving, giving is for the love of you
Paradise and heaven things can't feel as secure again
You're the key
This I see
Now and then I lose my way
Using words I try to say what I feel
Yeah, this is so real, so real
I might as well, sign my name on a card that could say it better
Time will tell
Cause it seems that I've done just about all that I can do, I can do
I want to be living for the love of you, oh yes I do
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
I wanna be living for the love of you, oh yes I do
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
Each and every day I'm living for the love of you
Said that I'm giving for the love of you
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Requiem For A Poet
The ground laid waste beneath me
no flowering fruits lay there,
no fertility of imagination,
no quest to ride upon.
Gone are the flowing shrub of words
that coloured the winding path
upon which poets tread.
Left behind the words dissolve
and the metre melts away.
Maybe some day in the future
this pen will write again,
but until that day comes along,
this is a requiem for a poet.
and so long to all his friends.
19 February 2011
Author’s Note:
Before anyone thinks that I am giving up writing or I am in a writer’s block. This is just a poem as I am neither giving up or in a writer’s block..
DVH
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Deeply Reach
The gift and giving of things,
In an exchange to receive and take...
Seems never able to replace,
The touch of a hug.
Or the feeling of being embraced.
Time being in one's presence,
Helps to sparkle and cheer...
More than glitter and glitz.
And the simplicity of the action...
Stays longer to reminisce.
The gift and giving of things,
Is as trite as an expression...
Spoken without warmth.
And interpreted as superficial,
As an ornament worn to flaunt.
From the eyes,
It comes as no surprise...
Who one selects to prioritize.
And with a touch of a hug to deeply reach...
One is reminded instantly,
Who sincerely is there with feelings to greet.
And who comes around to go through a a routine...
As an inconvenient necessity to complete.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0377 Should be, but
I should be writing a poem
about those small wisps of white cloud
moving unusually fast across a blue blue sky
on their way to somewhere else
as if they're late for an appointment.
I should be writing a poem
about the way the breeze is so gentle
that it seems to have a secret plan with the sun
and the new green leaves
to do something quite extraordinary.
I should be writing a poem
about the way that the trailing geranium leaves
are giving out a scent more white than green
more heavenly than any thought.
I should be writing a poem
about the way that the purple and blue and yellow and white flowers
seem to say nothing but beauty.
I should be writing a poem
but all I can do is gaze in amazement
at what I've seen before
and never seen before.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Giving Up All Attachment To Love
'Giving up all attachment to love.'
That doesn't make sense.
'Why...
You don't like it? '
It's a bit absurd to me.
When love makes the world go round.
'What are you talking about? '
You just said...
Giving up all attachment to love.
'Oh...
That has nothing to do with you.
I was just thinking of a title for a poem I am writing.'
I thought you and I were having a conversation?
'We are.
I'm just waiting for you to say something interesting.
And when you do...
I will participate.'
Why do I keep believing,
To me you will ever be a friend?
'I love it.
Thank you.
Listen to this...
Giving up all attachment to love.
Why do I keep believing,
To me you will ever be a friend...
Go on.'
I don't even know why I am here.
You are sick.
You know that?
'Where are you getting this from?
I love it.
Listen...
Giving up all attachment to love.
Why do I keep believing,
To me you will ever be a friend...
You are sick.
You know that? '
You really are.
'Stop it.
Is this your own stuff?
You should be a writer.
I am stealing this.
I don't care what you say.
It is magnificent.'
I'm leaving.
'Why? '
We were suppose to go out to dinner.
'Why didn't you remind me?
You think I'm suppose to remember everything? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The One
Never underestimate the loving
How we intertwine our very soul
How we fill eachothers spaces
To lose control
When youre talking be the children
Who stand on solid ground
Never underestimate the giving
That will bring you round
Ill be there
To bring you this love in the morning
Ill be there
To bring you the stars at night
Ill be there just waiting to hear you singing
Never underestimate a giver
The gift of love will surely be
When youre asking for the secret
To set you free
When youre talking to the friendship
That love of higher self
This gift of love is
The answer to all your doubts
Be the one, giving in to love
Never let the good in life desert you
Be the one, giving in to love
Never let the fools destroy your dreams
Be the one, giving in to love
I can dream myself every minute
So how did we become
Masters of limitation?
Ill be there
Ill be there
Ill be there
To make it right for you
Giving in, giving in to love
Its the balance of this everyday feeling
Giving in, giving in to love
Without love our dreams become illusion
Giving in, giving in to love
I can hear you singing every minute
So you can sing the song, and see the truth
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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