How I Have Lived And Thrived In My Parent's Nice Front Yards
how i have lived and thrived in my parent's front yard
handed to us through generations,
i call it luck
inheritance of comforts and style
but soon
i get tired and i have become one
meaningless arrogance
away from everyone, so i have decided to go somewhere
in the lines of my poetry
now in poverty of spirit
with so much humility
i offer some lines on some meter and forms of
repentance,
i'll go away, take the exit doors of this luxury
and try to see the backyards
of everything i have not seen i have not gone to
i see some tattered clothes
of tenancies, i feel their tremblings
in hunger, i hear the gnashing of their teeth,
i feel the shaking of their feet,
i think of what they have been conceiving
all these years
i have talked to them
in their hunger
to compensate for their lack
they will teach me about their revolution
i will hear them
in this backyard
i will join them
my ancestors will cry and disown me
i will give them rebirth
create them a new name
time shall judge, who wins?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I Hear The Voices Of Others In Me
I HEAR THE VOICES OF OTHERS IN ME
I hear the voices of others in me
It does not mean I have a voice of my own
I feel their lines and their poems their melodies and their harmonies
I feel the beauty of what they say
Each one in his own exceptional way-
I hear the voices of others in me
And wait to hear my own voice
And stumbling fumble these lines and more lines and lines
And I do not know
And only hope
That I am me
And I am real
And I have a voice of my own.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born With The Hunger
Hear the coyote howl
He's found his pray at last
In one moment of weakness
The chase is over so fast
He celebrates his kill
No mercy in his eyes
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
Midnight is on the prowl
And I hear it call my name
Danger lurks in the shadows
But it's all part of a game
Until I quench this thirst
I will not close these eyes
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
You and I, we're the same
We both carry this flame
To depths of our souls
Once the fever awakes
We can never escape
It's beyond our control
We're both born with the hunger
Oh with the hunger
Temptation bites your lip
One kiss ignites the fire
So begins the seduction
As we succumb to desire
Your body aches for more
Why are you so surprised
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger - it never dies
Never dies
When you're born with the hunger It never dies
When you're born with the hunger Oh, it never dies
He celebrates the kill
You're born with the hunger
It never dies
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sound Of Drums
I hear the sound of drums on a melody
I hear the sound of drums
Well, singing the names above in the city
Yeah, revolution for fun
I feel the time has come like a remody
I feel the time has come
Were shaking the spear of love in the city
Yeah, I hear the sound of drums
Yeah, can you feel the love for me, yeah yeah
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums
I hear the sound of drums on a melody,
Calling me to return
Well, I laugh and catch the sun
cause its gonna be revolution for fun
Yeah, can you feel the love for me, yeah yeah
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums..oh oohh...
Well, I feel the time has come with the melody
I see the golden one
Well, Im not the only one with the remedy
Im not the only one
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums
song performed by by Kula Shaker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Mind Is In a Poetic Meter
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
Until it was produce to seduce,
To make aware.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Tired Of It All
I am tired of it all
I am tired of today
I am tired of the summer heat-
I am tired of all the years of trying to be something
And still being nothing and no one
I am tired of myself and my ambition
I am tired of reading the great poems of others
I am tired of Poetry
I am tired of being old
I am tired of no longer having the means to help those I care for-
I am tired of having written for so many years
And having so little to show for it-
I am tired of being an old man getting older -
I am tired of being afraid of what is going to happen to me
And those close to me
I am tired of having so many sick friends-
I am tired of having more and more people I have known who are dead
I am tired of a world in which violence and stupidity play such a great part
I am tired of all the problems that should have been solved years ago
And yet persist-
I am tired of cruelty
I am tired of rudeness and petty selfishness
I am tired of seeing the evil get away with it
I am tired truly tired
Tired of being tired also
Tired of myself and my complaints-
And my failure all these years
To make things right-
And yet and yet with all the tiredness
I know there is so much else even in myself-
I still want to live and dream and hope and help those I love
I still want to write still a few lines of poetry
that will be read by others
And help them
Dream to begin again
I still want to give to those I love
The little I still have to give
I still want to live
For life itself is life itself is still good
Despite the tiredness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Say Anything
Say anything, save everything
If we say nothing this love will die
Give me just one word, you can scream or whisper
If you want to stay with me, tell me why
Say anything
It's not the words aren't there but they'd only fail my emotions
Just want to feel this way without chaining you down to some old clich
You want water in my hands and we stand waist deep in the ocean
It's bigger than the sea, it won't let me
Say just anything, because I feel everything
I'd rather say nothing than the same old lines
I think I give you more, something there's no words for
You don't have to hear me to feel me trying
To say anything
Baby I know you try but sometimes I still want to hear it
Even when the waters calm but lately it's just when there's something wrong
Why can't we splash around and hold on to that playful spirit
Oh like we used to do and won't you
Say anything, save everything
If we say nothing this love will die
Give me just one word, you can scream or whisper
If you want to stay with me tell me why
Say anything
This love is true
Even if you
Call it by a different name
And it's still the same, so we'll
Say anything, feel everything
I want to be with you so this love can fly
We'll hang on every word and we'll scream, we'll whisper
This moment is waiting for you and I
Say anything
Say anything..
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Poet Became His Own Poetry
A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY
A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.
A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Look At Their Faces
(6/13/12)
Is this the way our children s future is going to be
Living in filth and poverty, with just the clothes
On their backs - bought from a dollar rack.
With sneakers torn and tattered
And their feet bruised and battered.
The stench on them from not taking a shower
And the smell getting worse by the hour.
With their hands out - 'asking for change '
But the change that they should get is the
'way they live' it is something that we have to give.
It is time that everyone gets off their high horse
And in the ring their support they should toss.
If you listen you can hear the children say:
Politicians, religious leaders-
'IT IS TIME YOU SHOULD FEED US'.
We did not create this life style we're in
Living this way is a down right sin.
If we're seeing it here in this great nation
We have to come up with a plan for their salvation.
No one should have to be told
That this is a worldwide epidemic out of control.
Who would you blame if one of your family members
Was going thru the same.
The answer starts with the first step
And the followers will do the rest.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
It's OK
Hear me say it's ok there just is no other way
I believe and strongly feel some things just aren't meant to be
All the time in our lives something somewhere draws a line
I believe in time you'll see sometimes some thing are best let be
You may find between the lines lotsa things you missed first time
But that's ok now hear me say we all learn from our mistakes
Yes I'll be all right
Yes I think I'll be all right
I hope I'll be all right
Yes I wish I'll be all right
It's ok
Comed this far it's who we are and what and how that takes us far
So just proceed leave history behind but make sure your hands are clean
Halt for a while now would you try to change things given one more try
Sure I know the level is low but never fail and you'll never know
You may find between the lines... ::
Yes I'll be all right...
All the time in our lives...
You may find between the lines... ::
Yes I'll be all right...
song performed by by Quorthon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Harvest Song
I am a reaper whose muscles set at sundown. All my oats are cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them.
And I hunger.
I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry.
I hunger.
My eyes are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a blind man who stares across the hills, seeking stack'd fields of other harvesters.
It would be good to see them . . crook'd, split, and iron-ring'd handles of the scythes. It would be good to see them, dust-caked and blind. I hunger.
(Dusk is a strange fear'd sheath their blades are dull'd in.)
My throat is dry. And should I call, a cracked grain like the oats...eoho--
I fear to call. What should they hear me, and offer me their grain, oats, or wheat, or corn? I have been in the fields all day. I fear I could not taste it. I fear knowledge of my hunger.
My ears are caked with dust of oatfields at harvest-time.
I am a deaf man who strains to hear the calls of other harvesters whose throats are also dry.
It would be good to hear their songs . . reapers of the sweet-stalk'd cane, cutters of the corn...even though their throats cracked and the strangeness of their voices deafened me.
I hunger. My throat is dry. Now that the sun has set and I am chilled, I fear to call. (Eoho, my brothers!)
I am a reaper. (Eoho!) All my oats are cradled.
But I am too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger.
I crack a grain. It has no taste to it.
My throat is dry...
O my brothers, I beat my palms, still soft, against the stubble of my harvesting. (You beat your soft palms, too.) My pain is sweet. Sweeter than the oats or wheat or corn. It will not bring me knowledge of my hunger.
poem by Jean Toomer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hunger
Your stomach stretched thin
Your rib cage pronounced
A bewildered gaze tell your story
Where are your parents?
Where are your friends?
You are dying from hunger
And there are no outstretched hands
You were dealt losing cards
Although you played to win
Some will say it's because you sin
On your back you lay
Hands on belly
Dead but breathing still
What type of life you lived?
Have you ever smiled?
Ever laughed uncontrollably
Because you were filled with joy?
Ever been out on the town?
If you did it does not show
Your body does not tell
Of happy times
It says grief, loneliness, abandonment
And pain
Ever gazed at the sky?
Dreamed of greatness and significance?
A time without lack
Or bitterness?
Maybe so but your body disagrees
Hunger, hunger is what I see
What if you could dream again?
Hope again and laugh?
Would you?
Could you?
If you are going to die anyway
Why not just laugh?
Laugh uncontrollably
This is your last hour
Hunger wins
Cannot receive food now
Cannot digest
Thirst cannot be quenched now
So laugh
Laugh for the first time
Laugh!
poem by Buxton Shippy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Wait To Hear The Lines Come
I WAIT TO HEAR THE LINES COME
I wait to hear the lines come
I try to listen only to what has the melody and rhythm of poetry
I wait-
I hear-
But in me deeper than myself some Silence stops my soul -
The words are the words and they can come
'But what this Life is and what I have done in it? '
Is still a question-
After all these years
And old –
Still a question-
I listen to myself
But it is not enough-
Some one else, others must want to listen also
And perhaps they never will-
I have a poem, you have a poem
But do we have Poetry?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sobs Of The Starving Children
We know about them from the radio and television and the hungry getting hungrier by the day
But we do not hear the sobs of the starving children from where we live they seem so far away
On the six o clock news at times we do see footage of hungry
children in a Land where poverty and disease is rife
And we feel a twinge of sadness that we cannot help them since we have got our own struggles in life.
Still the sobs of the hungry children are growing louder and
not all of them live in a far Country
And not all of them in the slums of the big city there's such a thing as hidden poverty
The single mother raises her brood on welfare and she has to struggle for to make ends meet
And they survive on bread and tea and milk and cornflakes since she cannot afford to buy them meat.
Banks and corporations make billions in yearly profits and we read and hear of their financial gain
But they don't help to feed the starving children and the growing scourge of poverty remain
A mile from where the billionaire lives there's poverty and hunger yet of their plight he does not wish to know
Still for him to grow wealthier others must grow poorer and
life goes on as it did years ago.
To find want you don't have that far to travel for poverty is everywhere and near
And though the starving children keep on sobbing louder their cries for food we do not seem to hear
And sad to say that those who talk and dream of an egalitarian society will never live to see their dreams come true
And in a World where there is want and hunger the majority of the World's wealth still with the wealthy few.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Heart Bleeds (98)
I fancy I can hear the sufferers moaning
The starving woman and the dying man
The malnourished children with the hunger blown pot bellies
My heart bleeds for the people of Sudan.
But these people they need far more than sympathy
They need food and care and medicine right away
They have eaten the seeds that they had to be planted
And hundreds die of hunger every day.
For life's small blessings I ought to be thankful
For I am one who doesn't have cause for moan
Compared to many I feel very privileged
The pangs of hunger I have never known.
One of my neighbours never stops complaining
He grumbles by life he is hard done by
But he looks overweight from over eating
And of malnutrition he will never die.
And another I know he tried to take his own life
Because his girlfriend left him he is in despair
I feel more pity for those dying of hunger
For a broken heart is not beyond repair.
In a Land ravaged by disease drought and hunger
To live to thirty years seen as a lengthy span
And my sympathy is with the starving millions
The hungry and the homeless of Sudan.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shadows of life all around me
Shadows of life
All around me
People making merry
Singing and dancing
People crying of
Hunger and poverty
Life and shelter
Makes me laugh
Makes me cry
At times, feel happy
At times, feel sorry
For not doing enough
To make
Everybody feel happy
I have decided to
Change my style
My way of thinking
Now no more crying
Shall do all that is
Possible
To make everybody
Smile
11-02-2012
1 52-63-02-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Disintegration
While pawns die in the front lines
And the rest wallow in Poverty,
The filthy rich just wine and dine
And barren Politics rape Liberty.
Dissolving the essence of family,
The high and the mighty fall prey
To the whims and caprices of many
Forsaking what the Truth may say.
Renaming what is obviously Sin
Labeling it merely a lifestyle,
When a prince bares all of his skin
They call it a party and smile.
As greedy Bankers count their Gold
Who cares if millions die of hunger?
Man has degraded, his soul is sold
Sadly, Humanity's sinking lower.
When foundations like these fall apart
What else can the righteous do?
As a parent with children, I'll do my part
I will pray to the God Who is True.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Poetry
1
poetry can be
like a sky filled with wrangling clouds
or as a sky without a wisp
2
in poetry there are no
clichés in thought and phrase;
and what is left there is
the resplendent and the living
3
poetry leaves one
rich inside
and ordinary outside
4
the fool defines poetry
and poetry defies all definitions
5
poetry entertains, inspires;
poetry tickles, distracts, and shapes and frees -
but its true intent, no one knows
6
many lines, and countless lines
many pages, and thick volumes
don’t make poetry
7
if one had no coins
one cannot buy bread;
but not all the world’s wealth
can bring you poetry
8
Oh no!
Not another love poem!
Oh no!
Not another poem about oneself!
9
rhyme, technique and meter
and tricks of prosody
don’t make poetry: passion does
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's Late To Write A Poem
It’s late to write a poem-
It’s almost time to go-
And yet now as I was about to leave
The spirit of poetry came to me
And I feel in me lines that want to be written-
So as I quietly calmly surely write these lines down now
I know
The world can wait a long time for a real poem-
But when it comes
Oh how the sky opens up and the dreams go on happily on their journey.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Greater Lines Of Others
THE GREATER LINES OF OTHERS
The greater lines of others
Shadow my own.
I hear them within myself
Making mockery of the lines
I now write down.
The great poets own poetry
And we with the little words
And the big dreams
Might be wiser
To let only our silence
Speak for us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!