What She Must Seek Forgiveness
she wrote
an essay about her mother
who met an accident
on the road
about how she died
instantly
there were signs
and premonitions but she did not really mind them
she cried
of course she knows how to cry
and write a poem
about death and
redemption
i understand
i know the feeling
when mothers are gone without the needed goodbyes
life moves on
like time it does not wait or tell anything important
i just remember
and now like everyman entering the halls of old age
i begin to reflect
like that mirror absorbing light
showing some faces
and bodies
some leaves that twirl and tumble
and then
takes its own little space
upon the
silence of the burial grounds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Tumble & Twirl
Ive seen the city
I took the next flight
For borneo
They say its pretty
I like the t-shirts
In borneo
Some wear bob marley
Others in playboy
Or duvalier
Make the last plane come
Let me rise through the cloudy above
With a book on borneo
Strangers come and go
Its such a waste of time
Problems far behind
Another day
But even in springtime
Its a rich slice of life
So send me a letter
Ill reply with a broken spear
That dusky mulatto
In nylons and tattoos
Hot juice in coke bottles
We dance in the sand
Well, they twirl and they tumble
Yes, they twirl and they tumble
Well, Ill twirl and Ill tumble
Ive been to leons
Hes got nine daughters
And a stereo
They say that leon
Watches from the tree tops
In borneo
When the road is mud
Everything stops with a thud
Thats the way it goes down yonder in borneo
Far beneath his mansion
Theres an open drain
Sending all the sewage down the hill
But when the general shows movies
No one hesitates
To sneak from the jungle
They laugh and they mumble
Enjoying the show
And that dusky mulatto
Hot juice in coke bottles
In blue jeans and tattoos
Well, they twirl and they tumble
Yes, they twirl and they tumble
Well, Ill twirl and Ill tumble
I like the free world
They say its pretty
This time of year
They tumble and twirl
They tumble and twirl
Ill tumble and twirl
They twirl and they tumble
They twirl and they tumble
I like the free world
I like the free world
They say its pretty
This time of year
This time of year
Tumble and tumble
I like the free world
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tumble And Twirl
I've seen the city
I took the next flight
for Borneo
They say it's pretty
I like the t-shirts
in Borneo
Some wear Bob Marley
Others in Playboy
or Duvalier
Make the last plane come
Let me rise through the cloudy above
with a book on Borneo
Strangers come and go
It's such a waste of time
Problems far behind
Another day
But even in springtime
It's a rich slice of life
So send me a letter
I'll reply with a broken spear
That dusky mulatto
In nylons and tattoos
Hot juice in coke bottles
We dance in the sand
Well, they twirl and they tumble
Yes, they twirl and they tumble
Well, I'll twirl and I'll tumble
I've been to Leon's
He's got nine daughters
And a stereo
They say that Leon
Watches from the tree tops
in Borneo
When the road is mud
Everything stops with a thud
That's the way it goes down yonder in Borneo
Far beneath his mansion
There's an open drain
Sending all the sewage down the hill
But when the general shows movies
No one hesitates
To sneak from the jungle
They laugh and they mumble
Enjoying the show
And that dusky mulatto
Hot juice in coke bottles
In Blue Jeans and tattoos
Well, they twirl and they tumble
Yes, they twirl and they tumble
Well, I'll twirl and I'll tumble
I like the free world
They say it's pretty
This time of year
They tumble and twirl
They tumble and twirl
I'll tumble and twirl
They twirl and they tumble
They twirl and they tumble
I like the free world
I like the free world
They say it's pretty
This time of year
This time of year
Tumble and tumble
I like the free world
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tumble & Twirl
Bowie/pop
Ive seen the city
I took the next flight for borneo
They say its pretty
I like the tee shirts in borneo
Some wear bob marley
Others in playboy or duvalier
Make the last plane come
Let me rise through the cloudy above with a book on borneo
Strangers come and go
Its such a waste of time
Problems far behind
Another day
But even in springtime
Its a rich slice of life
So send me a letter
Ill reply with a postcard
That dusky mulatto
In nylons and tattoos
Hot juice in coke bottles
We dance in the sand
Well, they twirl and they tumble
Yes, they twirl and they tumble
Well, Ill twirl and Ill tumble
Ive been to leons
Hes got nine daughters
And a stereo
They say that leon
Watches from the tree tops in borneo
When the road is mud
Everything stops with a thud
Thats the way it goes down yonder in borneo
Far beneath his mansion
Theres an open drain
Sending all the sewage down the hill
But when the general shows movies
No one hesitates
To sneak from the jungle
They laugh and they mumble
Enjoying the show
And that dusky mulatto
Hot juice in coke bottles
In blue jeans and tattoos
Well, they twirl and they tumble
Yes, they twirl and they tumble
Well, Ill twirl and Ill tumble
I like the free world
They say its pretty
This time of year
They tumble and twirl
They tumble and twirl
Ill tumble and twirl etc.
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
the old man in Greece...
somewhere in Greece
now i remember
because of your letter
there was an old man
who holds a piece of
a shattered mirror
that he carries everywhere
and those that he cannot
confront
or say
see directly he does
with his mirror
and he had since then
seen them all
whatever light he captures
he reflects it to those
who are sad like him
and he tells himself now
i understand
now i am no longer afraid
now i can proceed to
the ways of
being alone
what road is left
he must traverse
what thought is there
he must think for
himself
and before he died
(because he died in truth
alone in his bedroom)
he wrote his view of the
world
in that shattered piece
of mirror
still reflecting
whatever small light
he stored
from within....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A poem for you...
I write a poem for you today,
to get a place in your heart for ever
A poem that could tell you my love for you
I write my poem with emotion and affection
for you to understand my deep thoughts for you
A poem to love and a poem to understand its soul
A poem to enjoy and a poem to understand its happiness
A poem to think and a poem to understand its way of life
A poem to learn and a poem to understand its content
A poem to sing and a poem to understand its melody
A poem to cry and a poem to understand its sorrow
There are poems I have written but this is specially for you
The poem could tell you how important you are for me
There are words comes out freely from my mind to write poem
but there are no words to find my love for you
Those words can not missed as I miss your love today
Let me have all those words put in to my heart and
say I love to write a love poem for you
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright ©2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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The Poem I Wrote Yesterday/ The Poem I Write Today
THE POEM I WROTE YESTERDAY/THE POEM I WRITE TODAY
The poem I wrote yesterday
The poem I write today
The poem I will write tomorrow
What do they all mean?
Life goes on
Even my life will go on for a time
Without them.
True they give me hope now
But hope is another kind of delusion-
Creature of hopes and dreams delusions and poems
I go on now writing another poem hoping that you somewhere
Will want to know and read and remember it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Lost The Poem I Wrote In My Mind
I LOST THE POEM I WROTE IN MIND
I lost the poem I wrote in my mind
When walking to Shul this morning-
I can only try to recall its thoughts;
‘Walk too fast and the mind cannot hear itself
Walk slowly and listen to the poem inside yourself.
The road ahead the trees the sky
Has a beauty too great for you to write
Thank God for your sight.”
The best lines are forever gone-
A poem to replace a poem
Is not as good as the original-
I wish I had the words for all the beauty God gives me in my life
How wonderful it is to be alive- sometimes
And to be able to write poems – even if somewhat poorly.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scribbler's Stymie
Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write
Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write
Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write
It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write
My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write
It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write
In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write
I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write
Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write
Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write
It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write
poem by Julia Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reincarnation
Somewhere
I think of you
Somewhere
I remember you
You are with me like the wind
From a faraway land and I know it is you
The way you kiss me still makes me quiver
Wind-lips touching my cheeks my neck
Wind hands caressing my arms my hands my chest
Wind-body hushing pressing against my body today
There is a sense of longing about two
Past bodies,
Two past warm bodies pressing to
Past warmth and past time somewhere
Only that it is too hard to remember the details
Of that past love, past the season, only that it is hard
To remember why that love died untimely
Now we are here, I am in this present body of a writer
For some reason you read me in your present body of a reader
You are telling me that something in my poem catches
The eye of your soul and you begin to remember
This is him, this is him, he was there with me before
Your way of telling me without seeing me is a feeling too
We were there before we were together we just can’t remember the details.
Today you are the thought that touches me like the wind-mind
So gently, a thought comes to my brain, a feminine thought claiming
A right that was there before, and which today vehemently denies.
The present seals it with birth.
Locked.
Another death is needed to open it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ashberry
what makes a promising poet
is the one who comes to you
telling you that he wants to write a novel
in some other exciting ways
or simply one who lightly quips
that he likes to play with words
like some tumble weeds
and bedbugs tugging a bundle
of fecal matter
i suppose one that lacks the seriousness
to write the most important matter of life
and he was clear in saying that the one
who comes to him telling him that he wants to be a poet
because he has important stories to confess
ideas to express
does not really become a poet
and i am really, one of them
because i do not really want to be one of them
there is simply no use
at the age of ten, i already wrote my first line:
please leave your slippers before entering the door
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace At Mind
i have spent so many night
searching for someone to talk
and in my mind i found a friend
on that will always be there
through thick and thin
i thought i was alone on this road
and i was shown the light
only you hold the light in you life
can no one understand you
if you don't know who you are
so when i look in the mirror
the guy that stares me in the eye
and predicts my every movement
is not me but who i want to be
and though the road to redemption
is one taking solo the two of us
are on that track together
swaying away as we sing syllables goodnight
poem by Robert Roberts
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No Poem Is An Original
No poem is an original
everyone who writes
poetry thinks their poem
was an original, it just so
happens that their poem just
surfaced to the top
of their mind first, so they
were able to write it.
Everyone has love, hate
compassion buried deep
in their soul.
Poets are able to bring
all of this to the surface,
to construct, add the words,
but it is not an original
idea, for the poet because
they wrote it now, it
becomes an original for them.
Who has not heard a song,
read a poem, story or book,
seen a movie and said,
to themselves, hey I had
that same idea.
Only thing is, someone else
brought it to the surface
of the mind, and wrote it first.
Even this poem I'm writing
now is not an original
someone out there
has this idea buried
deep in their soul.
So if you have an idea
for a poem, get busy
write it, don't wait,
or you won't write an original
start today,
don't delay.
wrote 2-2-07
I Can Remember
(eric carmen)
I can remember summer skies and your eyes
And in september when I first realized
That I needed you to be the other half of me
And my love long locked inside itself
Had finally been set free
I can remember autumn skies and goodbyes
Hurting so badly that I thought I would die
But the more things seem to change
The more they stay the same
And the lonely ones get lonelier
With every passing day
From the day we met I knew that
I should never let you get a hold on me
cause now you see I cant forget you
Oh i, I can remember mid summer skies
Love in your eyes
In the spring the sun will shine
And make the ice surrender
But it will not warm my heart
As long as I remember
Oh i, I can remember mid summer skies
Love in your eyes
And i, I will remember the times Ive cried
Since you said goodbye. I nearly died when you said
I, I cant let you down any more
So I guess this is goodbye
What, what did you do it for?
Every time I think of you and him together
I break down and cry
Oh i, I can remember the tears Ive cried
Since you said goodbye
I, I can remember the tears Ive cried
Since you said goodbye
I can remember
I can remember
I can remember
song performed by by Eric Carmen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is you
It is you
the mirror
you looklike
where.
The mirror
reflect intact
If you have
courage admit.
Wait not
for the result
process is important.
Anything can be
change at any stage
at any time.
It is the mirror
that says
what you are
and how far.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voodooded Lips
VOODOODED LIPS
esspeecee …18.06.09.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll reflect you lips’ eloquence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll blush-in by your lips’ glittrence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll unfold your lips’ innocence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll savor to the lees your lips’ elegance.
In the mirror of silence
I get psychic catharsis
In our lip lock reminiscences.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll siphon in your lips’ effulgence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll grope your lips
In abyssal absence.
In the mirror of silence
My lips will coalesce
In your lips’ effervescence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll be vortexed by
Lips’ psychedelic resonance.
In the mirror of silence
We’ll passionately hug
With sensuous confluence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll smear lips by
Your lips’ fragrance.
In the mirror of silence
We’ll tie-up our lips
In Monalisian resemblance.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll fresco my lips
From your lips’ brilliance.
In the mirror of silence
My lips will stain
By your lips’ every essence.
I’m voodooded by:
In the mirror of silence,
Your lips’ excellence,
And deluxe luminance.
Copyright reserved by the Author
.
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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I Wrote No Poem Today/ I Wrote No Poem Yesterday
I WROTE NO POEM TODAY/ I WROTE NO POEM YESTERDAY
I wrote no poem today-
I wrote no poem yesterday-
Will I write a poem tomorrow?
Perhaps all my lines are done-
And I must live out
The rest of my life
In silence-
God is Great
Am I a small small small voice still?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Strive Against The Silence Of The Night
I STRIVE AGAINST THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT
I strive against the silence of the night
Against my own inner emptiness
I wait to hear some song from inside myself -
Nothing is written.
I go back to where I am
And begin again.
There is always a poem if one is patient enough.
But what poem?
And for what special meaning of this night?
I write again and again
A poem which is about writing a poem
And when I come to end it
I question again and again
Whether it is real.
This night is already deep in darkness
And yet I have almost broken its silence
One more line
One more writing about writing a poem -
Perhaps Memory will come back to me
And I will write a more real poem
Than this strained effort now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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At The Time When Mother Left For Ozamis
i remember now
it was at that time when mother packed her clothes
and left my father for good
back in the little village where mother
was raised by grandmother
as a naive girl
keeping things to herself.
she dwells in a house of silence.
it was at that time when father said
that he loves her very much
that losing her would mean his death
but mother was no longer in the house
where we grew.
and of course, mother did not really believe him.
she died ahead of him, and he got drunk everyday, and
he put her picture on top of his chest and he cried all night long
staring at her face, black and white, her hair her mouth.
he died a year after and he was buried just beside her pantheon.
i still wonder if mother would believe him.
the silence is overwhelming. no one sweeps the heaps of leaves
and no wind is strong enough to clean the mounds filled with thick grass.
come summer time, i see white daisies blooming, and a black butterfly
hovers to stop a while. I watch closely this new turn of events.
it is like poetry. Some metaphors. Symbols, and hints. Love's mouth
wanting to say all over again, what the heart has constantly hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death and you and I
I saw her standing over me just before I died,
Death-she gave out such a bright lovely white light
She was beautiful! I understood why all life followed her,
Where had I been not to have met her earlier?
She smiled at me as if saying, “Say your goodbyes”,
My voice had withered but my tears they spoke for me,
Tried to speak they stopped me, I couldn’t if I tried,
I glanced at the faces I loved for the last time.
'I do not believe in love at first sight'-
Words you utter, wait until you see her face,
She was impossible to resist, I promise-you will understand,
My past didn’t matter; I dwelled on her-my future,
I gave up everything I adored-just to hold her,
All this you too will do, once again-I promise,
Life had certainly saved the best for last,
I weant to her, or was it her to me?
Hand in hand to the land none has ever returned.
poem by Isunge Mwangase
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