An Old Man Watching The Stars From His Deathbed
obviously
as no one is present
to read him
some poems
he simply waits
for the stars
to come out
in the heavens
from the open
window
of this deathbed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Joint At Deathbed
I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed.
In the living room of
childhood memories
Inhaling and Exhaling
blue plumes of smoke
Hours before he
drew HIS
last breath.
And
sitting at his deathbed.
as the grandfather clock struck
and the streetlamp outside the window
was turned on
and later off
I made my peace with God
and all consuming time
I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed
Putting my hand on
his
he spoke, his voice a pale whisper.
“Nothing can be done about it”
These last words to me
from a dying old man.
I smoked a joint
At my granddad’s deathbed.
Sweet soothing numbness
Held sadness and sorrow at bay.
Unspoken words of gratitude
milling around inside
but alas
a day too late.
and “nothing could be done about it”
I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed.
in cold cool contemplation
alone in the darkness, I understood:
All you hold dear will perish.
summer holidays,
friendships,
love,
life.
And no,
“nothing can be done about it”
The Old Man was right
poem by Carsten Thomsen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gratis Et Amore
for the poems that i have written
and which you read
by heart, i bless you with a prayer for luck
for another year
for the poems which i have not written yet,
i wish you a longer life, so you may read them
when they become finally written
for the poems i have in mind and which i will not write
i wish you patience i wish you some prayers
may these poems realize their worth
may they decide to become truths
with you i pray that God may be also kind
for those still unspoken
and may God bless your mind
may they open up like tight buds to become the flowers
of the world, the sun to warm them, the rain to shower them
may these poems live and linger
may they be like grass always unswerving to grow and cover everything
alive and loving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Do not read my poems…. [for YOU ]
Do not read my poems…
After I am dead
As a lament, a wail
An elegy, a requiem
Do not read my poems…
After I am gone
When no more I can
Hear your velvet voice.
Do not read my poems…
Alone without me
To comment along
And read with you
But, do read my poems
When I beside you lie
With my head resting
On your supporting arm
Listening to you read
In whisper, in kisses
In silence, in love
In sleep, in dream
Watching you feel
Every word I wrote
I’ll close my eyes - Love
Brush aside my hair
With your breathe
Which half veils my face
Sleepless fevered I wrote
Read me my poems
Now sing me a lullaby
Rock me to sleep
On your broad chest
Diving into your eyes
A thousand times
I am refreshed
By your smile
I’ll write on you a poem
Traced by my fingertips
To be etched in your heart
And burnt into your soul!
So, do not read my poems…
poem by Angelina Pandian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Too Much Thinking
you are like a window
half-open
still in a crisis of whether
to close
or open
or perhaps simply sifting
what wind
shall be allowed to enter
always indecisive
as to what really must be done
tonight
perhaps i am thinking that
much
about you
underestimating that all you wanted
to have
in this sophisticated minding
is just the soft light of the moon
on that window
that is always half-open
and that really
there is nothing much to it
to debate upon
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Praise of Poetry...
Apologies, folks
for slipping this one in
under the guise of a poem
but isn't it great
to open this site's window
and find 20 poems
by 20 poets
several for the first time
making a fantastically rich hour or two
just reading them
such as never could have happened
a few years ago
(three cheers for webmaster)
I know that some of us
write umpteen poems a day
but could you please
space them out, just one or two each day
so I can read them without hurrying?
Apologies again, and
consider this as really
a poem
in praise of poetry?
which it is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wrong Century
I believe I was born in the wrong century
Cause I want to woo you with
Poems, flowers, chocolates and treats, none tainted
Like a lake with mercury
I want to recite you poems in the town plaza
Present you freshly picked flowers
And give you chocolate from the best chocolate tier
Within miles
To be outside your window at the stroke of midnight
And since I’m Mexican, I’ll come with Mariachis
And sing you a corrido or two
En Ingles and in Spanish
Just for you
But I was born in the wrong century
Where young men don’t even know how to treat a lady
They don’t even open the door for them or call
Them by their first name
So I sit in my chair, intimidated
But never defeated
Cause I know a I’ll present you with
Spanish and English poems
A luscious cactus flower
A sweet tamarindo candy
And a love that is ready
So let me woo you with soft words that
Blow in the wind like seedlings caught in a storm
I’ll defend your honor like a knight wielding the
King’s sword
poem by Orlando De Los Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written
I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I love chapbooks. They're in some ways the ideal form in which to publish and read poems. You can read 19 poems in a way you can't sit down and read 60 to 70 pages of poems.
quote by Robert Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Happy Endings
some poems are sad but we may help
them to be happy again
to let the poems wear a smile
and let these poems like
fairies dance in the
prairies let them sing the songs
of love and
passion and thanksgiving and
praise and be
so venerable before the throne
of the divine
i read this poem this morning
that has made my day
a very inspiring one indeed
and it was not that long and winding
and direct to the point
it simply said: i love you too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The poems I love
There are poems that I envy,
poems that I admire and respect,
poems that simply sing to me,
poems that I puzzle over…
but the poems I most love -
they may be jewelled and adorned
with adjectives and adverbs,
similes and metaphors, (but
they must be enlightening, relevant,
making mind and heart to expand
in sheer exhilaration)
or they may be so quietly, humbly carpentered
that they say, I’m simply here to serve you…
but they all say to me with
shining eyes, as if
the world made new in that moment,
‘Yes, I was there!
Join me there! ’
and their ‘there’ is here and now
and as great as the universe
and the heart that yearns.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Loving Mother
i remember
loving mother on her
last hours on her
deathbed
spider webs
embroidered in her eyes
blurring from the
morning light
unable to read us
simply imagining
the images
flashing like neon
lights one evening
on that last day
she called my name
and she asked me
something
but i did not answer
anymore
i told her
it is time for her to go
that she must go in peace
that an angel shall meet her
like the light at the end of her tunnel
i held her hand gently
and she closed her eyes
i said a prayer
to send her there.
outside it was so peaceful
not even the wind was there
to make a leaf fall
then the sun shone
and light entered the room
filtered by the glass window
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To All Those Whose Poems I Have Not Read
TO ALL THOSE WHOSE POEMS I HAVE NOT READ
To all those whose poems I have not read
Who have said a kind word about mine-
I apologize
I simply am too selfish
And do not want to give the time-
I too do not want to lie
What if I do not like your poem?
And also I do not want to recognize
So many ‘equals' when I am after all to myself ‘the poet'-
An apology is of course not a real answer
Perhaps I will try to do better in the future-
But I do feel badly about this-
Please go on without me
There is a big world out there
And many listeners who hopefully
Will give time and attention to your poem
As I have regrettably not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Search Of Metaphors And Images To Express Yourself In A Poem
it is the expression that matters most.
it is the relational flow from the writer to the reader
the bond that is created anew, just like an ordinary conversation
one fine day.
why can't poetry be simple and direct? that is the question that poetry
asks
to itself, in itself.
the poet in us can be lost because of so much demands for the absurd,
this metaphor fits, this imagery is perfect, what is it?
you do not accept the sun and the moon and the stars.
cliches of their poetry. You do not show compassion for his feelings
of being abandoned
simply because there are no images that tickle your senses.
even if he jumps with joy, you do not relate to his joys
simply because the images are bland like
burger without the black pepper.
it is enough that one bleeds, one wants a listener, one wants to open
up to the world
Like a bud turning into a flower
(oh forgive this lousy metaphor
i am not a good poet somehow at imaging
at imagining.
Am not a camera.
My eyes are clumsy at details.
And my ears are not sensitive to sound of
beautiful words. They even hide behind my head under my hair.
And there is no compulsion for high highfalutin
Ivory towers of similes from the gods and goddesses of
Literature)
Why can't poetry be just an expression? Just that. A dialogue.
This one, this monologue.
It is enough that you write from the heart.
It is enough that you are true
(oh forgive me, can i be really
true to you? Do i have to be naked and tell you that i am beautiful?
Do i have to master the art of metaphorisms
to be your poet
for the night?)
Or is it that poetry is simply our hiding place
From this world of pain?
Or our chapel for our prayers
Or our playground where we can be children again?
I am tired of squeezing my brain in the quest of the perfect metaphor.
I have read what they have written.
I pretend i like them. They sound so well.
They must be poetry. Real poetry
Those that garner plaques.
Prizes from the jury.
Honestly, I do not understand a thing. Those poems of my idols.
But I read them just the same.
Hoping that I am in and be counted as one of the stars in those
Metaphoric Heavens.I watch every meteor that drops
to the ground. Their tails.
I am not a star. I am just a pebble.
And it is enough for me.
The poem says, just write me.
Don't squeeze your brain to have metaphors
To draw the images.
Just be yourself, and for God's sake if you have something to say
Just say it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Fate of Top Poems!
Past poets were remarkable by their poems only;
But present poets are made remarkable by others!
Poetry of the past are no doubt top poems ever;
But poetry of the top are not listed in top poems!
Becoming top poets how can theirs have no place
Among the top poems of the poetry list? I wonder!
Touch stone of the top poems depends on merit
But not by the supports of friends for fun ever!
Poems of lasting value only can become classic;
But poems of no merit also have become classic!
Poetry of the past are romantic and also classic
But poetry of the present are neither but modern!
What is the yardstick to select poems as top ones -
Just support of some but not merit and meaning?
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where Do We Go From Here?
after 70 years
of so much planning
nothing exciting
really happened in
his life,
he concludes everything
is wrong
because he is actively doing
everything
for him
he did not give fate a chance
to shape his own life
it is life that takes us
where to go
and life is a silent friend
it does not tell us
anything
we simply wait
for the surprises
a boat may arrive from a far horizon
and waits upon us at the nearby pier
we shall step inside its body
& it will take us
to a place
intended for our own good
a black bird my hover on the window sill of our house
and sings
and we who listen to the sweetness of its song
shall learn
about the most beautiful thing that can happen
out there
the next day shall be another adventure and fun
for we are life's children
and she is our loving mother
we simply have to open our eyes
alert our ears
and be sensitive to each and every sign
that life
everyday sends us
we simply must enhance the trust
and surely it will be good
and beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where poems grow
I love poems that grow
out of themselves
out of nowhere really
like an empty window-box
you’ve cleared, but haven’t
any plans for and one day
some seed from
some bird and
some meal
somewhere
settles in and look
yellow courgette flowers
sprawling delicately
all over the garden path
poems that grow from
a random glance
like someone gives you
a useless present and
it asks to be told its story
poems that grow from that
patch of waiting soil
in the heart saying
there’s always something
to surprise, to please when
there’s earth and water
there,
and warmth.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
O Janus
My knuckles crack at the places they fold
And between each joint swells a reddened blister
During the bleak winter month,
In January
When troubles swear allegiance
Stagnant in the hollows of the old naked birches
Webbing the bedroom window with shadow
The drawers hang open
Like mouths snoring in slumber
Drinking the stars’ blanket of glow
The clock’s arms are weighed down with lead
When the stretch of the night is before the peak
And spying over the window sill
Waits the last late evening snowfall
poem by Alyssa Rieper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!