The Martyr
you built the house
and there they live
you planted those
what they shall reap
you bought all these
and they shall use
you write the poems
they earn the credits
you cook the food
and there they eat
and then they kill you
so they shall live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Its My House
(nickolas ashford/valerie simpson)
Its my house and I live here
(I wanna tell you)
Its my house and I live here
Theres a welcome mat at the door
And if you come on in
Youre gonna get much more
Theres my chair
I put it there
Everything you see
Is with love and care
Its my house and I live here
(I wanna tell you)
Its my house and I live here
On the table, there sits a rose
Through every window
A little light flows
Books of feeling on the shelf above
cause it was built for love
I was built for love
Its my house and I live here
(I wanna tell you)
Its my house and I live here
Theres a candle to light the stairs
Where my dreams await someone to share
Oh, theres music on the radio
And good vibrations wont let me go
I put my name on the ceilin above
cause it was buillt for love
It was built for love, ooh
You say you wanna move in with me
You say you wanna move in with me
Got to follow the rules to get me
Got to follow the rules to get me
You wanna visit my house
Say you wanna drop by
Wanna visit my house, yeah
To see me sometimes
Theres a welcome mat at the door
And if you come on in
Youre gonna get much more
I put my name in the ceilin above
cause it was built for love
It was built for love
Its my house and I live here
(I wanna tell you)
Its my house and I live here
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Live Poems We Cannot Write
WE LIVE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE
We live poems we cannot write-
Words of beauty that sometimes come suddenly
And disappear before we think to transcribe them-
Indescribable perceptions that move rapidly within us
And are gone before we can even be fully conscious of them-
We live poems we cannot write
Worlds of feeling there are no words for-
Our lives are pervaded by unwritten poetry
And our strongest Will and most determined Memory
cannot make pages of it all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Cook Of The House
Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't write poems
I don't write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don't write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don't write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don't write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
26th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Never bother who created man
I enjoy life as I can
People tell me, Get up early
I sleep late,
So go to hell
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Somewhere I read,
pray to god
I don’t have any time for that
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Mother says take care of health
I say most important is wealth
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Preachers preach,
Never be phony, Live honestly
I say fool as many
Being honest is being lousy
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
My goal is money
Even if have to kill somebody
Life without money
Is bee without honey
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
I met with an accident
Nobody lent a helping hand
I realized, I was disliked
I thought with all the might
To make life happy
One has to live rightly
Greed is worst for life
With it one can never rise
I’m a changed man
Contentment is my ambition
Now, I never earn as I can
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Built This House
I built this house from its foundation
It's foundation I made it strong
So that it can't be shaken
By anything
I built this house
On love
Not on lies
I built this house
I turned it into a home
And that was my vision
I built this house
Just like a wise woman
A woman who builds a house on a foundation of a rock
Not like a foolish woman
Who builds a house
On a sand
And then turns and destroys it with her hands
I won't allow anything to break it down
To break my children and my husband
With nonsense
With arguments, alcohol and unfaithfulness
So devil you better live
Cause I built this house
On top of the rock Jesus
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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Poems Are My Life Now
POEMS ARE MY LIFE NOW
Poems are my life now-
I write them as if they are all
I will ever write-
I live in them
I take hope in them-
Small
And yet not delicate
My heart and soul in them
The Poems I write now
Are all I will ever be
In Literature –
Maybe they too are nothing
But they are what I have and am now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Cooking and taste
eating the same tasteless dinner at the only diner
the umpteenth time, a thought came to my mind
am i a guinea pig or one of its kind
or was there a conspiracy behind
has my taste buds gone out of date
why is all so tasteless, that is the food i ate
i dared to ask the manager why the taste is so bad
bang came a caustic reply, this is by the best cook he ever had
(insinuating a problem not with his cook but with my taste)
well then it has to be my taste buds i thought
directing all my efforts to the food i had bought
then came storming, the savior, inside the hall
in his hand was the same food for which i have taken the fall
indignanlty he shouted at the manager
this food is so bad that even his dog had refused to had
hell i thought even the dog has a better taste
why, why am i such a waste
the dog in me forced me to start cooking that very day
the dog in me does sometimes refuses to eat what i cook
the human in me requests him to hav another look
for, when people are struggling for one square meal a day
how can i keep the food i cooked at bay,
hence i eat, taste or no taste, everything i cook, every day.
The writer must earn money in order to be able to live and to write, but he must by no means live and write for the purpose of making money.
What's In It For Me?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE HAVE TIME FOR TWITTER AND FACEBOOK, BUT NONE FOR THEMSELVES OR OTHERS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE HAVE A HUNDRED 'FRIENDS' ON FACEBOOK,
BUT NOT EVEN TEN IN REAL LIFE
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE EMOTE WITH EMOTICONS BUT NOT WITH THEIR FACES,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE PREFER TO WRITE 'LOL' RATHER THAN ACTUALLY LAUGHING OUT LOUD,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LOVE THEIR COMPUTER MORE THAN THEIR FRIENDS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LIVE THEIR LIVES MORE ONLINE THAN OFF IT,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE CAN SPOT THE ERROR IN SOMEONE'S TYPING BUT CANNOT SPOT A TEAR IN A FRIEND'S EYE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE CAN GROW ANY CROP ONLINE BUT CANNOT EVEN PICK UP A SPADE IN REAL LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE RELISH THE FOOD AT MCDONALDS AND DOMINOS, BUT CRIB OVER HOME COOKED FOOD,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE ARE READY TO KILL FOR A FEW SHREDS OF PAPER,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE KILL IN THE NAME OF RELIGION,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE A MAN IS READY TO KILL HIS BROTHER OVER PROPERTY AND MONEY,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE VALUE OF MONEY IS MORE THAN THE VALUE OF LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE LIVING A LIFE IS TOUGHER THAN KILLING A LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE IT'S EASIER TO EARN MONEY BY CHEATING THAN BY WORKING HONESTLY,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE VALUE OF A GIFT IS THROUGH ITS PRICE AND NOT ITS EMOTIONS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE MEASURE OF A MAN IS THROUGH HIS CAR AND HOUSE RATHER THAN HIS CHARACTER,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LOVE THEIR POSSESSIONS MORE THAN THEIR FRIENDS AND PARENTS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THINGS ARE LOVED AND PEOPLE ARE USED,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE DO ANYTHING FOR A BETTER PAY BUT NOTHING FOR A BETTER CONSCIENCE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD IS BAD AND I KNOW THAT BUT SILL IF I WIN THIS WORLD,
WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
poem by Deepak Hariharan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Perhaps My Poems Have Already Been Written
PERHAPS MY POEMS HAVE ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN
Perhaps my poems have already been written
Perhaps it is all now senseless repetition
Perhaps I should just stop
And go on if I can to some other form of writing
God gives us what we have
We strive to go beyond ourselves
We can to a certain point
But then we have done what we have done
We can live a million years more
And write a million more poems
But what we have to write
Is done
Perhaps my poems have already been written
And small and poor and awkward as they are
Less than the truest poetry
They are what I have and am
Good-bye myself
I cannot go home.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beginning, Middle And An End
Every story has
a beginning, middle and an end,
but don't ask me where I am
because I won't know until I die.
Some live poor, begging food everyday,
others live rich, as rich as Rockefeller.
Others live as gangsters just like Al Capone.
While others live as lawmen, Sherlock is the name
I live my life with stories
that flow from my pen
and everyone I write has
a beginning, middle and an end.
21 February 2012
poem by David Harris
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The Addiction To Write
THIS is my addiction: to write
my failure: sometimes i write without a direction
and my success: i am writing about everything
that happened here
without missing a thing
thru symbols and signs
when things i met are unbearable
thru stories to illustrate what
misery have others inflicted upon others
and themselves
thru poems that can speak what i do not wish
to tell you
this is my addiction: writing without a purpose
except to spend time with you
descriptive and not judgmental
letting the hours go and not imprisoning them in the
cells of my mind
accepting the fact that i am as insignificant as you
that we pass this way
and we do not really know where we are finally going
we hope that this is not just this
but that there is something beyond
we suspect but we kill it
we live each moment and so we live without fear
we are here because we are here
we step upon a path because it is a path
we think we think we always do this thinking
and it must not be for nothing
we think, we think.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Isn't Money Funny?
Money, money, money
Isn’t it funny?
Some crave for a penny
Some own crores many
When I was younger
I would believe indeed
That money is not all
That we need
But we grow up
And so we learn
That we earn to live
And live to earn
Food, clothing and shelter
Is not everything we require
These things even
A beggar does acquire
I thought all we need
Is love and friends
And our search
For happiness there ends
But in this world
Nothing comes for free
To win these too
Money holds the key
Money the only god,
Earning the only prayer
Spending the only religion,
It’s the only thing we care.
poem by AMyth Kulkarni
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Money And Life
Isn't Money Funny?
Money, money, moneyIsn’t it funny?
Some crave for a penny
Some own cores many
When I was younger
I would believe indeed
That money is not all
That we need
But we grow up
And so we learn
That we earn to live
And live to earn
Food, clothing and shelter
Is not everything we require
These things even
A beggar does acquire
I thought all we need
Is love and friends
And our search
For happiness there ends
But in this world
Nothing comes for free
To win these too
Money holds the key
Money not, only god,
Earning the only prayer
Spending the only religion,
It’s the only thing we care.
Live
Clear out your mind
Look to your past and see what you can find
Stole soul afraid
Of the prophets perfect picture falls away
Is this the life that we choose to live
Or is this the life that has been giving
Now is the time to see what my life should be
What is mine!?
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
It's a timeless rage
For many people praying to be saved
Truth is so strong
It needs lights to guide it so it can carry on
I've seen blood on my hands
Am I dead or is this where it begins
I feel the shame
For my friend who put a bullet in his brain!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
I've got
You've got
We've got
Something to die for
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now!
We live in!
We live in!
We live in Shangri La now
We live in!
We live in!
song performed by by Zug Izland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am My Poem
When you see me,
you see my poems.
For when i breath, i breath out ballads.
But vers libre express my heart.
Should i write in complicated
and rhythmic words to make
my poems deep and beautiful?
My life is complicated already.
Should i write in simple and
enticing words to make
my poems attractive?
My life is not that simple.
Like stream to the river
down to the sea,
so is my poems from my
soul to my spirit down to my body.
You may disapprove me
but come and take a walk
within my soul and see if
you can live there for a moment.
So when i write, must i
invite you to read.
Read if you want to.
I write because the chamber
of soul finds relieve.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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The saprophyte- Holiest
Nobler than noble, holier than holy
Are the fungi that kill not any
That is alive, for their food
But only live on those dead.
A scavenger, a redeemer,
And a plant food converter.
No man, no god man can equal them
No saint, no sons of God
Lived without a kill of foe or prey.
Who is the holiest?
24.07.2000, Paralakhemundi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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
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I Take My Poems With Me Wherever I Go
I take my poems with me wherever I go-
I write and read them inside myself
Sometimes I try to recall them and cannot
And most are forgotten
And live elsewhere on pages little or never read -
But inside myself
I have poems
I write and rewrite
Read and reread.
I am poems
And wherever I go they are with me
poem by Shalom Freedman
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