My God
my God is just around
like a friend who reads my poems
in the midst of his professor's lecture
on oil pipes and cracking chemistry
my God is silent
like the glass sculpture on my desk
my God is patient
like a blank paper on my table
my God is filled with possibilities
like a pen ready with its ink
my God is forever
like the series of green hills
extending an infinity of my thoughts
my God!
i am tired, i am overworked, and i am always late.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Back To My Work
It's time for me to write again
The poems were on pause
So as to ease my mind
Now I see it only took my emotions away
It was locked with the thoughts of new poems
Now I'm back and filled to the brim
Here come the poems
For so long tried to escape to paper
Blocked by procrastination and laziness
Welcome to the world new poems
May the paper caress you for years to come
Written January 31,2011
poem by Ryan Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Patient
The patient looks outs into the garden burning
With Christmas* stars of vermillion fire.
They flower, he feels, nicely on that bush together,
But he is no longer akin to himself.
Timidly he plumbs his inhalations night and day,
Sinking into that inner circle of being him.
Has he ever breathed without doubt?
How strange that now he thinks each breath.
People are so dear and ill-timed.
They offer their care, which lingers.
The patient is ashamed because of that stress
Which accentuates all talk of hope.
On his blanket lies the morning paper
With a giant headline screaming.
From the corner of his eye the patient reads
What already escapes his memory.
What, bombs, hecatombs slaughtered, downfalls
Of people and cities, early and evening?
Is this the world then? —The ego is a throng
Of identity burst long ago.
The I is like one of those swarms of bees,
Pendent, ready to fly, relocate …
It is filled with only one desire: For warmth,
And unmindful as forever is.
poem by Franz Werfel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Getting Older
it's nine o'clock
i'm getting tired
i'm sick of all my records
and the clothes i bought today
am i cracking up
or just getting older?
staying in
i can't be bothered
making conversation
with the friends that i don't know
am i cracking up
or just getting older?
and i bet that this is how life
turns out when you're finally grown
and you know if this my life
sit around all day on my own
i'm halfway up to the bottom
of another bottle
of my next best favourite friend
am i cracking up
or just getting older?
you're not cracking up
you're just getting older
we're not cracking up
we're just getting older
song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Blank Page
Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.
Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.
Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.
Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The time I discovered myself a Poet
I wouldnt say I was patient
but I have an interest in poetry
Is it the dawning of a new error
or will the sky be grey
I write how I see life and it is not always pleasant
I like to write abou experiences that I have been through
my poetry has changed as I ave changed
I see it as a hobby as I write in my grange
My poetry is mainly fiction but I also write about things that are true
I am not a person that would share alot of enthusiasim
poetry is a work of art
on each sheet of blank paper
I put my mark
Poetry is simple in this world of sin
I am not into shakesphere
what I write is authentic
the imagination on paper creates magic
a poem can change an atmosphere
I would like to say my poems mean something
my poems are meant to sting a mind
I want my poems to create pictures for people who are blind
poem by Natasha Browne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Just Getting Older
Its nine oclock
Im getting tired
Im sick of all my records
And the clothes I bought today
Am I cracking up
Or just getting older?
Staying in
I cant be bothered
Making conversation
With the friends that I dont know
Am I cracking up
Or just getting older?
And I bet that this is how life
Turns out when youre finally grown
And you know if this my life
Sit around all day on my own
Im halfway up to the bottom
Of another bottle
Of my next best favourite friend
Am I cracking up
Or just getting older?
Youre not cracking up
Youre just getting older
Were not cracking up
Were just getting older
song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When The Pen Sits Beside A Paper Doing Nothing
there is this time of the day
when you sit and stare and think about nothing
and so the pen merely places itself idly
on the table beside a paper
bland and blank
there is this emptiness that does not even speak for itself
you cannot write it
you cannot also write it off away from you
no one speaks there
except your thoughts
somehow you want to remember love
it smiles at you
and then you spell the word regret
always, and as usual,
it comes late, makes you chew a memory
it is bitter
and of course, like what they do, you spit it out.
to where it lands, a beautiful flower grows
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tabula Rasa
this is a blank wall
or as you wish it, this could be a blank page,
or you may consider this
a blank mind of a child and
you will be teaching him
some things for the first time,
go, scroll, and find something,
do you remember now, why the child is still in pain?
why the walls are stronger? why the blank page still have stains
of blood in there?
some sad memories that refuse to leave?
don't lose hope, there are still more blank spaces of the mind
imagine it to be some kind of a sky
now, put the stars and the moon, and try wishing
someth ing nice and beautiful
like a boat filled with flowers and some light and then silently it sails
on a very peaceful sea like a fine silky cloth covering the dining table
to the place that you always dream to live
forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mirror To Infinity...
(Gen.1: 26,27 / Matt.13: 10–15)
The Mirror To Infinity
Has Appearances of Possibilities
And Countless Windows In Views
And Decision Doors To Choose …
And Which One To Go Thru?
Where Time – In & Out Moves
The Mirror To Infinity
Has Images of Eternity …
The Mirror To Infinity
Opened Oval-Opportunities
& May Shape Your Personality
But You Form Your Own Finality …
Took A Peek – One Before & Behind
In Two-Way Mirrors of Heart & Mind
& The Astronomical Portals Availed
… One Had To Be A Fool To Fail!
Two Mirrors Faced On Opposite Walls
Both To Each Other Looked & Called
And Entered Each Other’s Visibility
And Became One Mirrored-Intensity …
The Mirror To Infinity
Has Vivid Visions of Great Beauty
Beyond Ocular Imagination
It Even Has Rainbows’ Admirations
Where Insights, In-Flights Come Together
In Gold-Framed Fractals To Forever
Is It A Diverse Dimension Indemnity
… This Mosaic Mirror To Infinity?
The Mirror To Infinity
Offers Us A Multi-Mystery
Thru Secret Territories
In A Mirror’s Observatory …
The Mirror To Infinity
Holds Hopes & Dreams of What May Be
What Future Would You Like To See
… In The Mirror To Infinity?
Oh, Do Not Let Dull-Doubt Take It!
Nor Must You Let Blindness Break It!
Where You’ll Lay Shattered In The Past
Or You’re Trapped In A Piece of Its Glass …
The Mirror To Infinity
Set Royal Realms Around Reality
And Reaches On and On and On …
Its Gospel-Gaze Is Never Gone …
But Ever Staring Strong
– in The Mirror To Infinity –
Written & ©: 12/7/2011
By: The MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Man in hysterics
Poor Mom bought for him,
he has sold all to a second hand book-shop.
Algebra, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Zoology,
McMilan's World Atlas and et cetera.,
He hurried to a Pub for a tranquilizer.
On his way he memorized the gypsy palm reader
who was at the book-maker's stall.
One day read his palm and told
'definitely you will be a professor in a college'.
After a few gulps, while he was returning home
passing the university,
all of a sudden shouted in the public
'where is the professor?
Oh! my poor mom's professor'.
to my friend Max Reif.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A poem to my student Claire
Education is forever
a path to wisdom
Blue, yellow, red
color disguises to some,
it's difficult to understand
But there you are
on that poor wooden table
studying the certainty of the future
Sitting on a green plastic chair
of hardship, torture and uncomfort
Small cubicle glass
a size of a box
prisons all possibilities
of exploration
To little for a space
to venture the world of surprises
Learning with a cheerful eyes
unafraid, unceasingly open
every afternoon with a cup of coffee to suffice
The absence of the warm from family
you asked to be filled by a mother, a teacher-
that is me.
I'm surprise because you made me write again
a poem, I so long forgot.
poem by Hazel Calumarde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blank Sheet Of Paper
I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry in Me.........
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
Anger writes the feelings in the speed of thought,
I swing the axe to split the block of inspiration
Mind Pictures in my words sleeping under dreams.
Happiness and sadness hold hands in the whirlpool of words
Metaphor movies flicker in my brain,
Venting feelings to flow from my pen,
Celestial images punctuated live as
Syllables jostle for rhythm’s flow.
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts lie,
I find comfort deep within as we write together
With your silent guide my friend,
In the cutting room snakes strangle the ‘odd’ word
Then wonders mark unfolds, originality leaps forth.
My eyes close feeling tired the hour is late
On this session I must close the gate,
Oh poetry my friend inside, dormant thoughts sleep,
A silent friend to keep.
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paper, Only for a Limited Time
Paper, blank and empty
A metaphor only meant for loneliness
White as new born snow
Lets add some words
To make a prophesized poem
Words, only meant for rhetorical use
Clouds that clear, only meant to hide the blue
The living, moving ocean that is our sky
Words, only meant for questioning
What are words but meaning
Clearing clouds, our living pulse bleeds through
Now this blank piece of paper
Has a shadow, and my shadow -combine
Lets make music together
Beautiful, wonderful, majestic music
Lets be music together-
And dance our hearts to something holy
Paper, blank and empty
But easily filled to create art
Art that can change the world
Turn it upside down, or nothing
Paper, blank and empty
But only for a limited time.
poem by Troy Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Another Plan
Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Weary of scribbling for daily bread,
Weary of writing what nobody read,
Slept one day at his desk and dreamed
That an angel before him stood and beamed
With compassionate eyes upon him there.
Editor Owen is not so fair
In feature, expression, form or limb
But glances like that are familiar to him;
And so, to arrive by the shortest route
At his visitor's will he said, simply: 'Toot.'
'Editor Owen,' the angel said,
'Scribble no more for your daily bread.
Your intellect staggers and falls and bleeds,
Weary of writing what nobody reads.
Eschew now the quill-in the coming years
Homilize man through his idle ears.
Go lecture!' 'Just what I intended to do,'
Said Owen. The angel looked pained and flew.
Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Scribbling no more to supply his needs,
Weary of writing what nobody reads,
Passes of life each golden year
Speaking what nobody comes to hear.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
While waiting for you
I sit on this desk like a schoolboy
Waiting
I tap my fingers i keep my feet
Underneath
Nobody is watching
I am looking
Outside from here
The green football field
The trees pruned like boys
With new haircut
The chapel,
It is where I pray everyday
Before going to the usual university quibbles
Two hours passed
Still there is no you
Or your shadow
Sometimes I think
Most of the time I don’t
This relationship
What am I to you?
That you should make me wait?
I take my notes
And begin writing
Who am i?
I quit this chemistry
I am ready for philosophy
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blank Mocking Paper
I stare at this paper so white
I just don't know what's so right
I want to write on it
I would love to write a sonnet
I just am alone with the green lines
The red now just starts to shine
Blank as my mind is this sheet
Please can my pen and it just meet
Instead of me sitting here dumbstruck
As if I almost got hit by a truck
Ink blue as the sky not writing
Instead on its end I keep biting
I don't want to right about a caper
So I’ll just stare at this Blank Mocking Paper
poem by Zachary Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poet, Write Well
- Young poet write
Of the harshness of life, the angst, the melancholy and disappointments
But use care with hate,
For if too much is spilled on paper,
Soon it becomes your own human trait:
There's many a page
Filled with a poets rage,
While words fresh and fair
Are so utterly rare -
Thus the true poetic mind
Must stretch to find
Grace, Beauty and Serenity
In phrases bound for infinity -
Our souls are poems
That forever live on and on,
So write them well
With the fire of love always burning brighter
than the dread bitterness of hell.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Dear Father
Sitting at my desk
I found myself in the past
Thinking of my father,
My dear father.
Then I remembered my mother
Her magical green eyes, giving me what I missed
But it wasn’t enough, I wanted more,
I wanted protection,
I wanted love,
Love from my dear father
I try to remember him
But he was not there,
There was my imagination
Playing with my thoughts
thoughts full of hate, it’s probably a mistake
But it was the mistake, of my dear father
I guess you don’t want to hear what I have to say
But I found it
I found the love that I needed
I found the missing piece,
The piece to complete my happiness
It wasn’t exactly what I have expected
But it was there and it filled me.
It filled me with pain, with passion
It filled me with strength; it filled me with a man’s body
It filled me with love as well as misery
It filled me with everything my dear father didn't
poem by Jomar Rosario
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0103 These late autumn days
these late autumn days
leaves fall like poems
green as new thoughts
yellow as wisdom
red as late summer love
brown as old speech
dry as the past
these late autumn days
old poets
look out at coming winter snowclouds
but hope like trees might hope, unknowing,
for a miracle of rebirth
beyond their dry boughs' reach
of words
new buds
green as
new songs
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!