Ashly
he plays an Eye of the Beholder
theory in his work
such as poetry,
and they say he has become
too Aloof
his style they mean
when someone comes
and knocks
on his door
he transforms into
a rage that they
never imagine
something in him now
wants to be
alone
someone sick and
dying and then they
understand.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When I was working on Eye of the Beholder, I played a character who is so aloof that my whole lifestyle became very aloof. If someone knocked on my door, there was a part of me that went into a rage, because I wanted to be isolated and alone.
quote by Ashley Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Knock on a Door
Who
Who
Who knocks?
Who knocks at
Who knocks at my door?
Who knocks at my door - not chamber
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks?
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks? Is it a raven - a raven
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks? Is it a raven - a raven named Nevermore that knocks, knocks at my non-chamber door?
Who knocks at my door - not chamber door, but door. Who knocks? Is it a raven - a raven named Nevermore that knocks, knocks at my non-chamber door? ... No, it's just my brother, Josh, that knocks, knocks at my non-chamber door:
It's time for dinner.
poem by Hannah Shier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry
Poetry.......
Poetry defines me
Poetry.......
A place where you be you and I'll be me.
Poetry.......
We are best friends for eternity.
My Poetry.......
Is the daughter of my emotion,
There I've said it, no need to interpret the connection.
Poetry.......
Where my pen and paper are sealed with a kiss,
So easy to write for my mind is a bliss.
Poetry.......
Poetry has multiple meanings,
An indescribable feeling when I realize others understand them.
My Poetry.......
It just comes natural to me.
My Poetry.......
Is out there, , , , , away from exile,
And style of writing is very versatile.
Poetry.......Poetry.......
P oetry.......
It speaks out to me.
poem by Anita Khelawan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Modern Poets And Modern Poetry
Modern poets and modern poetry seem far too complex to understand
For such as I a common labourer from the boglands of Ireland
Though whether it be good or not so it is not for me to say
As I'm not a poetry critic and so I'll keep my tongue at bay.
Maybe some of these modern poets are special and the poems they write are great
And maybe they are superior thinkers writing from exalted state
Most poetical critics now acclaim them and prefer the modern style
And 'twould seem that modern style poets are now the in thing and their efforts seem worthwhile.
But for me it's old style ballad, give me good old fashioned rhyme
To the modern style of poetry I'd prefer it every time
Like I say I'm just a labourer from the boglands of Ireland
And the complex modern style of poetry is far too hard for me to understand.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry is Everywhere
To all my friends who say –
Poetry is not my cup of tea,
I’d strongly recommend that
they watch “Dead Poet’s Society”.
Poetry is in your cup of tea,
poetry is in every wave of the sea,
poetry is in the song of a bird
poetry springs forth from each of your word.
Poetry is in the smile of a baby,
poetry is in the redness of a ruby,
poetry is the union of your heart and mind
poetry teaches you to be soft and kind.
Poetry is the song of your soul,
poetry reminds you of your life’s goal,
poetry is in a game of cricket,
poetry is in the sound of a cricket.
Imagine life without poetry -
What an empty life it would be!
Imagine a world without poetry -
What a dull place it would be!
09 June 2010
! 2: 50 pm
poem by Gita Ashok
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Can Poetry Heal The Sick?
HOW CAN POETRY HEAL THE SICK?
How can Poetry heal the sick?
When the sick can no longer speak
The Poetry within them?
How can Poetry heal
Those who can no longer hear it?
How can Poetry be anything
When the suffering person
Barely has a mind anymore?
God has given us Poetry
A Great Blessing -
But like all God has given us
At certain times
It simply is not good enough.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Imagine the World
Imagine the world ……………………….
Imagine the world without wars…
Imagine the world without your laws
Imagine your life without fear
Imagine your eyes without a tear
Imagine all men were real men
Imagine…imagine…imagine…
Imagine life without hate
Imagine you knew your own fate
Imagine all children were happy
Imagine all nations were free
What would life be like?
Imagine no-one were blind
Imagine all the woes behind
Imagine…….imagine……..imagine….
Imagi ne earth were flat
Imagine man without a heart
Imagine the day without light
Imagine the dark without the night
Imagine……….imagine……imagine……
Imagine faces without a smile
Imagine birds without a nightingale
Imagine …imagine…imagine
What would life be like?
poem by Bouche Cousue
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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More Than Just A Fight
We fought,
It hurt,
He's mad,
I'm sad,
Don't know what it was about,
He wont tell me,
Expects me to understand,
Without telling me why,
Ive tried,
Cant understand,
It just makes me feel like crying,
Ive cried so much,
Its slowly tearing me apart,
I'm sick of it all,
Sick of avoiding and being avoided,
Sick of pretending that I'm okay,
Sick of complaining,
Sick of laughing when all I wanna do is cry,
Sick of tryin to be strong,
Sick of being so weak,
Sick of caring,
Sick of fighting,
Sick of crying,
Sick of trying,
Sick of it all,
I wonder,
Wonder when I lost him,
Wonder why,
Wonder how this mess started,
Wonder when it will end,
Wonder if the friendship will survive this,
Wonder if Ill survive this,
He says I'm clingy,
Says I talk too much,
Says I need to get a boyfriend,
Says I need to leave him alone,
Says he doesn't care that it hurts me,
I say he's changed,
He says he hasn't.
poem by Mandy Author2
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Doctors
They told me I was dying
But I was only sick
I started to panic
Made all kinds of mistakes
I returned to poetry
Got myself married
But now I'm in recovery
And I tell you straight:
It's a long, austere process
Don't listen to the doctors
They understand sickness
They know nothing about death.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It ain't about if he knocks a guy out. It's about how he knocks a guy out. It's the style, the improvisation.
We Work The Black Seam
This place has changed for good
Your economic theory said it would
Its hard for us to understand
We cant give up our jobs the way we should
Our blood has stained the coal
We tunneled deep inside the nations soul
We matter more than pounds and pence
Your economic theory makes no sense
One day in a nuclear age
They may understand our rage
They build machines that they cant control
And bury the waste in a great big hole
Power was to become cheap and clean
Grimy faces were never seen
But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen
We work the black seam together
The seam lies underground
Three million years of pressure packed it down
We walk through ancient forest lands
And light a thousand cities with our hands
Your dark satanic mills
Have made redundant all our mining skills
You cant exchange a six inch band
For all the poisoned streams in cumberland
One day in a nuclear age
They may understand our rage
They build machines that they cant control
And bury the waste in a great big hole
Power was to become cheap and clean
Grimy faces were never seen
But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen
We work the black seam together
Our conscious lives run deep
You cling onto your mountain while we sleep
This way of life is part of me
The is no price so only let me be
And should the children weep
The turning world will sing their souls to sleep
When you have sunk without a trace
The universe will suck me into place
One day in a nuclear age
They may understand our rage
They build machines that they cant control
And bury the waste in a great big hole
Power was to become cheap and clean
Grimy faces were never seen
But deadly for twelve thousand years is carbon fourteen
We work the black seam together
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why are we addicted to Poetry?
We Poets who write,
All day or all night,
That Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
There’s scarce a moment in time,
That thoughts don’t find words in rhyme,
To put into verse,
Whether better or worse,
In that Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
Why do we write all these Verses?
We must have better things to do,
But whatever we try,
And I don’t know why,
We write Poem upon Poem for you.
It’s funny how my style has changed,
It’s a Limerick today I’ve composed,
It wasn’t meant to be,
But it is ~ you can see,
Just Poetry! ! Poetry! ! Poetry! !
© Yisroel Yonatan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 26 January 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So there is a personal sense of style for a given work - I don't like a general style, but every work has its own style, and I want to create a style for every work.
quote by Karlheinz Stockhausen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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IMAGINE (with apology to J. Lennon)
Imagine there’s no poetry
It’s not easy
you may try
No bliss below us
Above us, only prose
Imagine all the poets
Not sharing all the words
You may say I’m Nobody
That I’m not Somebody
I hope someday you’ll join us
And Poetry shall not pass
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sick all
Sick for all...
All are sick...
Today...
Morden world...
Sick is not disease
Sick is little of
Back pain...
Little of leg pain...
Little of sneezy...
Little of head ache...
Little of tired....
All are sick...
Sick for all...above
With a badley life style...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Poetry
On Poetry
Poetry has its own language and structure, Culture
Poetry has its own craft and method to capture the taste, Art
Poetry has its own medium of inspiration from the spiritual world, Religion
Poetry has its own manner of seeking wisdom both from natural and supernatural, Philosophy
Poetry has its own object to shape both evolution and revolution, History
Poetry has its own laboratory to amend feelings and emotions, Psychology
Poetry has its own system: theory and praxis; facts and fiction to convey a message, Science
Poetry has its own discipline to stimulate the various interests, Way of Life
Finally Poetry is life itself full of stories to share:
secrets to reveal,
mysteries to unfold,
vision to interpret,
mission to fulfill before the Poet enters the door of death
Poetry is ancient and noble craft.
Note:
The "On Poetry" is an inspiration from the articles about poetry in the book "The Successful Writers and Editors Guidebook". And the articles with its respective contributors are as follows: You as a poet by Paul Bechtel; Poetry by Leslie H. Stobbe; The How-to of writing poetry by Jan Franzen.
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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Getting Over Stage Fright
People say imagine people naked
to get over stage fright,
I say imagine people like little suns
shining bright.
All of them bright orange beaming light,
on to my act for they make me look right,
Right to the character on my right hand,
She is the one who doesn’t understand.
Understand humans for she makes fun of them,
she only has her bat, she has no friends.
So feel for me on the stage,
I’m next to an evil puppet who’s filled with rage.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 12,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
www.suzaechevalier.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Knocks Door
One knock
just say my name
Two knocks
you should clear your ears
Three knocks
open the door!
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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