Fire's Reflection
Perhaps it's no more than the fire's reflection
on some piece of gleaming furniture
that the child remembers so much later
like a revelation.
And if in his later life, one day
wounds him like so many others,
it's because he mistook some risk
or other for a promise.
Let's not forget the music, either,
that soon had hauled him
toward absence complicated
by an overflowing heart....
Translated by A. Poulin
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Future
The future: time's excuse
to frighten us; too vast
a project, too large a morsel
for the heart's mouth.
Future, who won't wait for you?
Everyone is going there.
It suffices you to deepen
the absence that we are.
Translated by A. Poulin
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Music
Take me by the hand;
it's so easy for you, Angel,
for you are the road
even while being immobile.
You see, I'm scared no one
here will look for me again;
I couldn't make use of
whatever was given,
so they abandoned me.
At first the solitude
charmed me like a prelude,
but so much music wounded me.
Translated by A. Poulin
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Dead Boys Poem
The child sits and weeps,
How could this be all that matters,
Why did this have to hurt so deep,
How could this be life?
The child sits with the pain inside,
He sits with his heart in his chest,
‘How could I have died? ’
Is all he thinks, he forgets the rest.
The child’s eyes closed so tight,
His fists clenched so strong
He feels the night,
He knows everything that happened was wrong.
The child stands and looks into the houses light
He stares at not the window,
Not at the sight,
Yet only for the weeping widow.
The child stands holding the gun,
The gun he died holding,
As he remembers his father killing him, his only son
He remembers his father scolding.
He knows he took a life,
Yet he knows his father took his,
He remembers not the taking of his father’s life,
Only the pain of his father stealing his.
His eyes so dark,
His mind so lost,
His hand tracing deaths mark,
As he remembers it’s cost.
He remembers the scene, the time,
He remembers the look in his father’s face,
He remembers doing the crime,
He remembers seeing the pain in his father’s face.
But then his memory stops,
And reality takes place,
For this is when he dropped,
This is when life left his face.
He walks past,
To eternity; to roam
Of all his memories this shall be his last
For this is the dead boy’s poem.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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In These Poems That We Write
these are the wounds of the heart
let your fingers pierce that part
blood drips from a wounded heart
pain gleaming against the light
time has not healed the wounds
you can hear the screaming sounds
these are the wounds of my heart
we are not many miles apart
we share the wounds of the heart
in these poems that we draft
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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T-bone
Me and t-bone on the road to town
Its like Im walking with a talking machine
Just as soon as he thinks of something else
He wont wait to interrupt himself
Must be something that he cant quite say
He just doesnt want to leave it that way
Although he may not know it yet
Unless I miss my bet
Hes just trying to forget
What his heart remembers
I see that t-bone got an automobile
Low-loping and open to the sky
All night behind the hurricane wheel
Riding in the eye
All day underneath the hood
Mondo bondo, plastic wood
He needs a mile of masking tape
He wants to keep his ship in shape
Someday to escape
What his heart remembers (oh, yes,what his heart remembers)
T-bones not alone, not alone
Looks like he gets a second chance
Its mamarama and lumalamalu
Want to take him to recovery dance
Hes looking like he gets his meat suit back
I guess he must have missed the crack attack
Still hes riding for a fall
cause its written upon the wall
That now he must recall
What his heart remembers (what his heart remembers)
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A reflective portrait
A reflective portrait
~
I’m a real piece of work
A Machiavellian self portrait
I could be the living abstract
Of my over complicated mind
While others try to work me out
Finding who or what I am
Beggars belief why they even try
I look away blindly into nothing
Trying to conjure some imagery
That I may weave in words
A poem of some or any worth
That’s what I do in my line of work
I crave emotions, explore them
I find sensations to abuse
I hurt myself to keep on living
I make little sense to anyone
Pride is complicated to understand
And comes at a high rate of interest
Interest I have little to share
Looking at my reflection, honestly
I’m a real piece of work
And yeah, I’m still me
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Wait
It is life in slow motion,
it's the heart in reverse,
it's a hope-and-a-half:
too much and too little at once.
It's a train that suddenly
stops with no station around,
and we can hear the cricket,
and, leaning out the carriage
door, we vainly contemplate
a wind we feel that stirs
the blooming meadows, the meadows
made imaginary by this stop.
Translated by A. Poulin
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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A Mother
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is conceived nine months in the womb
the child that is cradled at daytime,
night time until dawn?
How can a mother forget her child?
How can a mother forget her child
the child who after the flow of months
has learned to stand and run?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child whose mouth imitates her mother`s tongue,
the child who after a year or two can say,
'Mama, I love you'?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is so dear in her own heart and mind,
the child that reveals the mystery of creation,
the beauty of growth and human interaction.
the infinity of our own universe
within its finite linear time?
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Reapers Words Of Comfort
sleep little child dont worry about your fears i promise to wipe all your tears. shut your eyes child let your mind sway trust me when i say the pain will soon all go away.Forget them good child we both know what they would say the things that they did were never okay.Listen sweet child for i no your heart is torn so i will take you away lik u were never even BORN
poem by Kharon March
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In The Absence of life
In the absence of life..........
Sweet sexy summer in a
angelic wind,
coming from south in
no harm yet the
sky till feel absence
In the absence of life.........
if i lost my life
in pleasing man, please
remember my Achille's heel
in a acrostic poem
In the absence of life.........
indeed no life is absence
in anyway, except
the world is absence.
poem by Senator alufalism
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Running The Risk
Seeing you, watching you
Watching me
I hold back my emotions
I keep them veiled in secrecy
I cant let go of this thing weve started
Wasnt looking for love
No conspiracy of the broken hearted
I dont know how far to go
Until Im gone, gone, gone
I couldnt see the danger
It was just a little taste of temptation
I could not read the silence
That was written on your face
But here comes that feeling again
And theres nothing more I can do
I keep running the risk of losing you
Theres nothing more I can say
Im still running the risk of you walking away
Im lost drowning in a sea of emotion
Ive got one simple need
I need you to feel my devotion
I dont know how far to go
Until Im gone, yeah gone
Its a complicated picture
Im all tangled up in temptation
I couldnt read the silence
That was written on your face
But here comes that feeling again
And theres nothing more I can do
I keep running the risk of losing you
Theres nothing more I can say
Im still running the risk of you walking away
Im running the risk of losing you
Im walking this tightrope
Youre my only hope
Theres nothing more I can do
I keep running the risk of losing you
Losing you
And theres nothing more I can do
I keep running the risk of losing you
Theres nothing more I can say
Im still running the risk of you walking away
Im running the risk of losing you
Im walking this tightrope
Darling, youre my only hope
Theres nothing more I can do
I keep running the risk of losing you
Im running the risk of losing you
Im telling you honey
This heart of mine cant run the risk
Of losing you again
Everything have made you do
Im still running the risk of losing you
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thousand Pieces
When I was born
My heart's shattered
Into thousand pieces
That's why
In my life
I always search my lost pieces
One by one
I look for it in many places
Piece by piece
I found it in many hearts
It is strange
Even though I
Never experience before
I feel like
I have known it
For a very long time
Memories
Favorites
Dreams
Fe elings
One by one
I collected many puzzles
Year by year
I got it back in many ways
Desires
Wills
Vows
Reasons
One by one
I take through many wounds
Piece by piece
I keep it in many stars
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Interior Portrait
You don't survive in me
because of memories;
nor are you mine because
of a lovely longing's strength.
What does make you present
is the ardent detour
that a slow tenderness
traces in my blood.
I do not need
to see you appear;
being born sufficed for me
to lose you a little less.
Translated by A. Poulin
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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A Piece Of You
Im just trying to live this life of mine
The more I look, the more Im blind
And all I ask for is piece of mind
And all I want is a piece of you
Well I lost my way today
Back home from work
The snow fell like dust
I felt like dirt
Happens everytime I start to search
For that long lost piece of you
A piece of you
A piece of you
A piece of you
It seems the last time I was sure
Of anything
I sold my heart
I wore your ring
But now, the queen has lost her king
All I want is a piece of you
A piece of you
A piece of you
A piece of you
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Codys Song
When you feel afraid,
When you lose your way, Ill find you,
Just try to smile, and dry your eyes,
I will bring back the moon into your skies.
And ever you will, remember darling, Ill be there to:
Say to you
Ill promise you
Ill promise to
Comfort you and say to you
Darling, Ill be there just for you.
Theres so much to learn,
And when you want me
Then Ill show you,
And through the years,
Youll always be
The lullaby in the heart of the child in me.
Whenever you will, remember darling
Ill be there to
Say to you
Ill promise you
Ill promise to
Comfort you and say to you
Darling, Ill be there just for you.
Hold it, feel it,
Music is in your heart.
When you need it,
Just keep listening,
Let it sing, let it sing.
Though youve grown away
No matter how youll change
Ill know you.
And when you tire of life alone,
There will always be one sure way back home
Just turn on the quiet,
And you close your eyes
And listen inside
(unconditional)
(unconditional)
(unconditional)
Ill be there to sing to you,
I promise you
I promise to
Comfort you
And sing to you.
And darling, Ill be there,
Anytime, and anywhere,
Cody Ill be there just for you.
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vanity's Reflection
The mirror that I always pass
I know is just a piece of glass
that holds a reflection I see.
Is that a just a reflection of me?
Or rather is it just the one
that hates the rain and loves the sun?
I must cover it with a blackened drape
so I can't see my earthly shape.
I must forget it is there all the while
to catch the frown or the smile.
For the imperfections that are mine
are really only an outward sign.
I should not depend on a piece of glass
to hold the truth to my impasse.
I'm a prisoner only in my mind
and I am trying hard to find
my way in this world that feels like home
besides my song and besides my poem.
'Mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?
I know it certainly isn't me
for all you hold is vanity.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I am lying on the pyre!
I am lying on the pyre
A minute away from the fire
All things ready along with wood
In grudge across the river water increased
The last relative comes late and sees my face
Forget all in grief to cover my chest
Where lay the thousand wounds
For which I died a hundred deaths.
This is my last hope and honor so I cried
Oh cruel! Take away all but keep wounds secret
Respect my last right and please cover my chest!
The fire knows the taste of burning
The salt knows the taste of pinching
I know both as I got burning wounds
Oh clown! Don't shed too much tears
Never ever try to douse the flaming fire
As the fire will end my pain forever
The Water is waiting for me in the river
Strike the stick of the box, I can not wait
Let the wounds burn secretly of my chest
Oh buffoon! This is my last appeal please respect
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Complicated Life
Well I woke this morning with a pain in my neck,
A pain in my heart and a pain in my chest,
I went to the good doctor and the good doctor said,
You gotta slow down your life or youre gonna be dead,
Cut out the struggle and strife,
It only complicates your life.
Well I cut down women I cut out booze,
I stopped ironing my shirts, cleaning my shoes,
I stopped going to work, reading the news,
Im sitting twiddling my thumbs cos I got nothing to do,
Minimal exercise,
To help uncomplicate my life,
Gotta stand and face it life is so complicated,
Ladi dah di dahdah, ladi dah di dah dah,
Got to get away from the complicated life son,
Life is overated, life is complicated,
Must aleviate this, complicated life.
Like old mother hubbard
I got nothin in the cupboard,
Got no dinner and I got no supper,
Holes in my shoes I got holes in my socks,
I cant go to work cos I cant get a job,
The bills are rising sky high,
Its such a complicated life,
Gotta stand and face it,
Life is so complicated.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Survives
Who says that all must vanish?
Who knows, perhaps the flight
of the bird you wound remains,
and perhaps flowers survive
caresses in us, in their ground.
It isn't the gesture that lasts,
but it dresses you again in gold
armor --from breast to knees--
and the battle was so pure
an Angel wears it after you.
Translated by A. Poulin
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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