Knowing You Finally
it is my love of poetry
that has drawn me to you
and i imagine a face
the rhythm of your body
the softness of your hands
the gentleness of your words
like a flute a friend
must i discover a different you
from your words
those that have become
pilgrims living in some other
houses
brothels actually
there is bifurcated path
one that could have led to you
where i can be
happy
but there is that path that
leads away from
what is good
undressed it is a totally different
you in my mine
and i close my eyes and bow my
head and
i could have blamed myself
about something that could have been possible
but which i have denied
and so here i am again
solo flight
again to this journey
on paths that i have constructed myself
forgetting you
the usual
wolf in sheep's clothing
sorry...
this morning i get you book
of poems
pour kerosene over each page
and burn
them all....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poetry by Meena Mustafa
My brain is a recorder
It stores all black and white
Each time I write a poem
It throws a different light
It makes the reader happy
At times it makes him sad
The love of poetry
And the poems that I have
Words pour like fountain
Imagination takes its place
On a journey to knowledge
Poetry we must embrace
Poetry is my refuge
And keeps me on the path
Expressions take new meaning
And words pour out at last.
Poetry is a song that sings to the soul
The rhythm of the words that a pen can hold.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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O' Dear Pebble
the elephants cannot walk over you
the birds and the worth of words over you
but in case they do, careful they ought to be
for yours is the flower that blossom
that which no man can see that either
can them that otherwise not known to you
for you is the strength of mine hands
and so it goes the pebble on my palm
that my eyes caught by the pebbles
and caught by the words
you uttered o' dear pebble
the words you made me walk in thought
the answers some i did not
have until on my hand i picked you
the dances on my palm caught me
dancing to the music
i barely could hear
not that i could not
but the rhythm i tell you
was the soul to my heart in talk
and so were that man that walked their path
that man that looks their path
to see where next to foot step
and endorse my foot print
on the yards of the pebbles
as i lifted my head too
in talk to mine with you
but was in thought of memory
since i had long taken you back home
to see you next in the next day
of existence
as i hope to not to die tonight
rather see you before if i do
for i so in dire need to see you
o' dear pebble of my hand
opn12092012/2154
poem: o' dear pebble
poet: onalethuso petruss ntema
book title: the pebbles
© september 2012
book no.10 of 2012
ntema's unique poetry (nup)
email: opncompanies.bw2gmail.com
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Imagine That
Imagine That
Close your eyes...
Now relax your mind...
Now I want you to picture yourself
Far, far away
(You know your thoughts inside, girl we're 'bout to take a ride)
I don't want you to have a care in the world right now
(Let it go, let it go, let it go, aw yeah)
It's just you... and me
In this moment
Quiet... listen...
Baby take your mind into a zone
Imagine that we're all alone
2-way's off and our friends are gone
Now picture you and me gettin' it on
Take my hand and come with me
Let's indulge in fantasies
Cast your cares and worries
And slowly fall into this ecstasy
I'm gonna rub your body so baby just relax
You've been pourin' out your lovin' and now it's time to pour it back
Imagine that
Imagine that, imagine that, imagine that, imagine (all night long)
Imagine that
Me strokin' your body, imagine that
Imagine that, imagine that, imagine that, imagine (ohh-ho)
Imagine that
Whipped cream and strawberries, know what I mean?
Imagine that, imagine that, imagine that, imagine (ohh-ohh)
Imagine that
Candles and oils surrounding the bed
Imagine that, imagine that, imagine that, imagine (ohh-ho)
Imagine that
And me kissin' your body from feet to head
Imagine that
We don't have to talk
Ohh lay your body here, and watch my fingers walk
Take a second... and imagine the opportunity
You and me sharin' sexual energy
Now girl just meditate on you bein' in this chair
Now close your eyes and act like we're not even here
Girl I'm gonna rub your body so baby just relax
You've been pourin' out your lovin' and now it's time to pour it back
Imagine...
Ima
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knowing Not what’s Ahead
I don’t know what lies ahead, so I look to my Savior instead,
The One Who bore a cross for me, to die a death at Calvary,
He, Who did that for me friend, knows how my path will end,
And so I’ll fix my eyes on Him, as He gives me peace within.
On every path that we trod, we must trust our Lord and God,
For on the path He has us go, our Lord’s desires shall show,
Where that path will end for us, as we follow our Lord Jesus.
And what the outcome will be, within the plan we cannot see.
The Plan of God we must embrace, while living out our days,
As children formed of but dust, an Eternal God we can trust,
For our Lord makes no mistake, on any path He has us take,
As all things work out for good, in His ways not understood.
Whether my path is bright or dim, I must always trust in Him,
He, Who knitted me in the womb, has set up, for me a room,
In His Father’s Home above, where Christ leads by His Love,
Love, He guides me in each day, even upon the darkest way.
Even if I choose my path in life, my way’s directed by Christ,
And upon every path taken, by my Lord I am never forsaken,
Who continues daily leading me, from this earth into Eternity,
Where all things will fall in place, when I see my Savior’s face.
(07/2011)
Dis poetry
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
It gets into me dreadlocks
It lingers around me head
Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike
IÕve tried Shakespeare, respect due dere
But did is de stuff I like.
Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book
Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look
Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved
An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved,
IÕve tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me
So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry,
I could try be more personal
But youÕve heard it all before,
Pages of written words not needed
Brain has many words in store,
Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting
De tongue plays a beat
De body starts skanking,
Dis poetry is quick an childish
Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish,
Anybody can do it fe free,
Dis poetry is fe yu an me,
DonÕt stretch yu imagination
Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation,
Chant,
In de morning
I chant
In de night
I chant
In de darkness
An under de spotlight,
I pass thru University
I pass thru Sociology
An den I got a dread degree
In Dreadfull Ghettology.
Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk
An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk,
Dis poetry is wid me,
Below me an above,
Dis poetry's from inside me
It goes to yu
WID LUV.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kerosene
everywhere I look I see
exclusive huddled
uninviting shelter
is privilege
of the same and competent
kerosene keeps me warm
I'm alone to watch it burn
kerosene
exposure is a pitiful
and pointless way of dying
before it gets me
I'll set a funeral pyre
kerosene keeps me warm
I'm alone to watch it burn
kerosene
i'm a man and
my dignity won't wave
Tonight buildings rage!
kerosene keeps me warm
it feels so good
to watch it burn kerosene
kerosene keeps me warm
feels so good
to watch it burn kerosene
song performed by by Bad Religion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lifes path
There are so many paths in life
I guess I could say
I ve walked them all
The right path
The wrong path
The path of pain
The path of good
The path of bad
Which path do I now take
At this present time of life
The path I take is the path of pain.
The path of hurt
So many paths I have walked
But im lost in the path
The path of pain
Amy Kerswell
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Life is a Journey; Not a Destination
The time has come
To say good bye
I gave it my all
I really did try
I took your heart
Which I broke in two
I tried to fix it
I did all I could do
Your eyes once warm
Now dead and cold
Your words once soft
Now cutting and bold
I became the man
You knew I could be
But now it's too late
These changes you won't see
You live in my past
Not here in today
Tomorrow doesn't matter
Our dreams washed away
You need to be happy
So I need to go
These changes to you
Are only a show
I bid you farewell
I wish you the best
I hope you find peace
I hope you find rest
I hope you find life
How you want it to be
I hope you find love
Even if not with me
My journey continues
Even if I'm alone
My Lord God will guide me
To wherever is home
For He knows my heart
And he knows my soul
In him I do trust
I am not alone
For the day will come
When I know his plan
I once was a boy
But now I'm a man
Even though I feel weak
I know I am strong
My path it is narrow
My path is so long
So I bid you farewell
And I hope I will find
That your path is not different
You're just two steps behind
For this is life is so short
And I have no control
My one living wish
Is to be one with your soul
It may not be tomorrow
But in the next life
Eternity together
As husband and wife
Take care my sweet princess
Take care my best friend
I will love you forever
As time has no end
On my path I continue
My heart it does know
Where God wants to take me
So with Him I will go
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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What is it all about
We try to talk about many things
Petty and not so vulgar
We try to overwhelm ourselves
With so much words as I choose
What to put to make you marvel
And you pretend you marvel
That I make sense, but in truth
That is not the point of this meeting
Of two souls, it is the meeting of bodies
Of two bodies, needing each other’s warmth
And wrath, as I tell you about something
Interesting, you know that I am just
Pretending, my eyes are looking at every
Corner of your skin, the tip of your fingers
Wanting to touch me, too,
The softness of your body, the lines in
Your curvatures, swaying towards
My lips, I stop, I kneel before your
Gentleness, as you close your eyes
As you hold my hair, as you caress
My neck, my arms, my chest and you
Have sympathies for my gentleness
My humiliation, you ask me with the
Signal of your hands, and eyes, and
Lips that I rise up
To kiss you, it is all about it, and
We have no chance saying words
Again, we breathe each other’s longings
We fill our mutual emptiness, like we
Are all cups now filled with air.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poems About Poems About Poems
Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?
But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.
And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nobodys Diary
If I wait for just a second more,
I know Ill forget what I came here for,
My head was so full of things to say,
But as I open my lips all my words slip away
And anyway,
I cant believe you want to turn the page,
And move your life onto another stage,
You can change the chapter you can change the book,
But the story remains the same if youd take a look.
(chorus)
For the times weve had I dont want to be - a page in your diary babe,
For the good, the bad I dont want to see - a page in your diary babe,
For the happy, the sad - I dont want to be another page in your diary.
Perhaps if I held you I could win again,
I could take your hands wed talk and maybe then -
That look in your eyes I always recognise,
Would tell me everything is gonna be fine,
Youre gonna be mine
For a long time...
(repeat above chorus)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobodys Diary
If I wait for just a second more,
I know Ill forget what I came here for,
My head was so full of things to say,
But as I open my lips all my words slip away
And anyway,
I cant believe you want to turn the page,
And move your life onto another stage,
You can change the chapter you can change the book,
But the story remains the same if youd take a look.
(chorus)
For the times weve had I dont want to be - a page in your diary babe,
For the good, the bad I dont want to see - a page in your diary babe,
For the happy, the sad - I dont want to be another page in your diary.
Perhaps if I held you I could win again,
I could take your hands wed talk and maybe then -
That look in your eyes I always recognise,
Would tell me everything is gonna be fine,
Youre gonna be mine
For a long time...
(repeat above chorus)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Path With So Many Conduits
i am a path with so many conduits
so please do not follow me
every path leads to a hundred paths
and you shall be lost
but keep the faith and love
and soon you will find
the only way
leading to my heart
when you reach there
(do not use your mind)
you may see yourself grieving
i have long been taken away
and i have no words or substance
no flesh or even bones
use the skin of your fingertips
to feel the dust
see the stain and do not ever wash
what is there is there
i am the eye staring at you, drowsy
about the coming
of something that is yet to be known
you shall not understand
neither shall i.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Karma Theory Of Islam
God has written down in brief
Our endless life story
That is being played
On the seven-storied stage of sky!
.
At the same time it’s also true:
We are the architects
Of our own future
Cause we get result of what we do!
However we’ll have the final result
Of our actions on the Day of Resurrection!
God acts according to plans
We should also plan our future
And try to make it happen.
Even God does not know everything
In absolute detail
And He doesn’t need to know it.
It is an endless story
Even God forgets some things
After zillions and zillions of years
That’s one of the reasons
Why God has written down every important matter
Be it big or small on Laohay Mahfuz.
Therefore we should also read and write
To preserve and spread our wisdom.
There are seventy thousand paths
That lead to paradise
For example
Path of Belief
Path of Truthfulness
Path of Remembrance of God
Path of Charity
Path of Salat
Path of Fasting
Path of Tax
Path of Hajj
And so on.
All the aforesaid paths are straight paths
That leads to respective gates of paradise!
In fact Pool Sirat has seventy thousand levels
All end at the respective gates of paradise!
The Gate of Faith of paradise is the biggest
And it is the must have access to paradise.
However
For a hassle-free journey to paradise
One needs to go through at least
The following paths
Path of Belief
Path of Patience
Path of Preaching of the Truth
And path of any other good work
If you are a firm believer
You will be able to go to paradise
Through the Gate of Belief
If you are a truthful person
You will be able to go to paradise
Through the Gate of Truthfulness
And so forth
So you see it’s very easy to go to paradise
But it’s very difficult
To be very prestigious
In the eyes of God.
N.B. - Laohay Mahfuz is God's Diary and Pool Sirat is bridges of light that will connect the field of Judgment Day and paradise between them will be hell.
poem by Asif Andalib
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This Is Mumbling This Is Rambling
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face. That is the best way to speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Silent Conversation With Myself
do not care to read me carefully, just skim over
some words that may call your preferential attention.
do not mind the smaller ideas, or the images that
you find hard to imagine. They may not be images
after all but just blotches of my stains, the negligence
of my trembling fingers, the lapses of my brains,
the slip of my tongues, the cliches of humanity,
seeking meaning in the meaninglessness of words.
this is mumbling, this is plain rambling
do not ever mind what i am writing. this is not about you.
or myself, or the society that like sheep simply graze on the grass
not knowing that on the next step is the landmine that kills them,
or why look for the meaning of loneliness in words or lines or poetry.
are you going home tonight? on a train. sit there. look over the window.
see the line of trees, do they shout at you? No.
and move your eyes, as though you are scrolling for names on the
cell phone, like roving camera, you do not have to look that far on the
20th person sitting across the other side.
someone is sitting next to you. listen to his silence.
feel the vibrations of all his problems. try to unmask the cover of his face.
are there words covering his face? none.
or if words cover his face and body, try reading them all silently.
most of the truths are not said. Not even written. You always see them
next to you. Be it on the train, the bus or the plane. Or simply when you
walk along the cemented paths of the park. Here comes another
lost soul. Talk to him. Do not write poetry.
this is mumbling this is plain rumbling. Do not speak poetry.
write them and let them cover your face.
That is the best way to speak.
This is what is life is all about.
Speechless. Alone always.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0011 'Living and dying, laughing and forgetting' - listening to Ferlinghetti
and you’ve read many poems like this,
on the printed page;
the big words thrown in like some hot curry
where you’re short of good solid meat
so rap a few more big words in and
another spoonful of curry powder
or sex, or some current buzz-word
denoting a lifetime of youthful intelligent
rebellion and independent thought…
but not this time.
This is a famous poet of a famous time
and he’s just written it, in his eighties
and he won’t live for ever and he’s here
and reading it with vigour; a husky voice, and
his face flushed with eternity;
eternity, and innocence;
he means every word; and each word
comes from the centre of his life
‘living and dying,
laughing and forgetting…’
and listening to him, you could feel
that poetry’s too good for the printed page –
it should be declaimed, to audiences
who’ve walked for dusty miles,
who’ve bathed in sacred springs,
who’ve brought their children,
who’ve been here all day
and who will sit silent by the fires at night,
who are on their knees
listening with their lives
poem by Michael Shepherd
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And I call her 'Just Meggie' (Meggie Gultiano)
I know you'll find it hard to believe me
If I tell you that they describe you in there poems perfectly
I could hardly understand how I can describe you
Knowing that I really don’t know
What literal perfect words that will fit for you
I've never been like this before
I really love to give my friend and mentor
The words she will cherished eternally
I just don't know how to pour out my feelings for you
I wanted to find those wonderful and bizarre words
To make you realize how much you mean to me
But words continue to elude me
What would they be?
Something poetic?
I'm sure it should be heartfelt and out of the ordinary
I'm afraid it's no use; every time I see your name and your poetry
The words came out the same
Ahhhh….. This woman will always be my Just Meggie!
poem by Rommel Filoteo
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Just Imagine
To Axel Schneider
(The man with the music)
Just imagine how you would feel
if someone wrote to you
telling you, that they have turned
one of your poems into a song.
You are over joyed and elated.
Now just imagine your feelings
when you discover they
have done it to another poem.
You are now walking on air
and having a wow factor.
And just imagine you journey
along to their web site again
and discover to your surprise
that two more have been added.
You start getting that wow factor
all over again times four.
Moreover, I have to thank the man
for whom this poem
is sincerely dedicated to,
the man with the music
that make my words sing - Axel Schneider.
24 September 2011
poem by David Harris
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