To show off
I scored, sported, fought and made friends.
I married, bejeweled, begot and brought up.
I earned, bought, possessed and flaunted.
I read, wrote, spoke, sang and displayed.
I visited shrines, monuments, resorts for record.
I met great people and took photographs with them.
I have done all these to show that I could do.
19.04.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Trash Can Hands
You think because you bought this record, you read a list of thanks you can judge our lives(you've identified)
You think because you bought the record, you read a list of thanks you've identified(you can judge out lives)
A favor we provide
Little forum boys with your polished cyber toys
I read your bucket comment
Your three piece bulletin
POUT POUT BOOO HOOO TALK TALK POUT BOO HOOO HOOO
How is out identity working out for you?
It's funny how you can justify me(us) on opinion
An idea that I do this for you
DXCBOY FIREKID
You know who you are(and what you do)
We wrote this song for you
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Then?
His chosen comrades thought at school
He must grow a famous man;
He thought the same and lived by rule,
All his twenties crammed with toil;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?'
Everything he wrote was read,
After certain years he won
Sufficient money for his need,
Friends that have been friends indeed;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?'
All his happier dreams came true –
A small old house, wife, daughter, son,
Grounds where plum and cabbage grew,
Poets and Wits about him drew;
'What then?' sang Plato's ghost. 'What then?'
'The work is done,' grown old he thought,
'According to my boyish plan;
Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught,
Something to perfection brought;'
But louder sang that ghost, 'What then?'
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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It is not half cooked
Having heard and read, I wrote.
Having seen and felt, I wrote.
I wrote of love and romance
From experience and perception.
As I wrote I was soothed.
Don’t scorn my writings as half cooked.
10.10.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Songbird
With the voice of an angel she sang everyday
She sang everywhere we went
Someone said she could become a star
With the voice that was heaven sent
She looked up at the jewelled night sky
Wondering how far she could go
They offered a record contract
And a bit part in a west end show
She could see herself singing around the world
Packing her bags off she went
She appeared on TV, even made it into a film
She climbed each rung of the ladder
Sometimes taking several steps at a time
Parties followed one by one all along the way
Old friends she ignored and plastic new ones she made
She was riding on the crest of a wave
Nothing could stop her now
Fans grew and grew as her star shone bright
The parties still raged until one fateful night
No one could recall exactly what went wrong
Only that in the morning her voice was without a song
The doctors they all shook their heads
They pronounced she would never sing again
As the months went on her plastic friends
Disappeared like the wind
One day she looked around and everything was gone
Friends, fans, record contracts and songs
Broken and beaten she headed for home
She hoped that what she’d left in a whim
Would still be waiting there for her
As the train pulled into the station
She looked out for crowds to welcome her home
But there was no one only me
All the friends she had ignored
As she quested for fortune and fame
Moved away and never came
I smiled and took her hand as she stepped off the train
Then held it as I walked her to her family home
As the years moved on by the closer we became
Until the church bells one day rang out our names
The day after we were married
Her voice came back again
She could now challenge the birds
For who sang the sweetest song
As for fame and fortune they were long gone
She had more in her life now than an empty stage
In the fields and the meadows
Where she once sang before, she now sings again
Love can mend most anything
Even a voice that has been broken
As we walk towards our sunset
Nothing can tear us apart
We walk as one
With love and song in our heart
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ellamental
Way back, take a look, she would cook
When they were stompin at the savoy
She would blow, and they would dance, dont you know ?
It was an uptown kind a show
Cool notes and melodies, harmonies
She sang the song of the universe
She can make a joyful noise up to heaven
And call the angels down to the earth
From jazz, to swing, to be-bop
She kept the spirit alive
For bo, duke, dizzy, and miles
She spoke her mind
Shes ellamental to the art
She spoke her mind
Shes ellamental to the art
Too hot, until the dawn she sang on
When joints were jumpin and jive was in
Bodies movin back and forth to the rhythm
Ever since ella first did her thing
From jazz, to swing to be-bop
She brought emotions and moves
She kept the spirit alive.
She spoke her mind
Act like ya know, oh!
Was it the smooth tones that was so much like butter
Oh ella was singin just like no other singer
Cause you know I be the funky bringer of the new style
Because I be the wild child.
Listenin to hip-hop, listening to be-bop and jazz
Ella made you move that ass
Sensation for the people, insperation for the sisters and brothers
Smooth jazz for the midnight lovers
Savoy was the spot for shakin on your rump and
Ella made it hoppin
Got the joint jumpin, remembering you til the dawn
Because ella your memory goes on
She spoke her mind (yeah...and it just dont stop)
Shes ellamental to the art (the memory goes on and on...cause it just dont stop)
She spoke her mind (...yeah..jazz to the bebop)
Shes ellamental to the art
She spoke her mind..(yeah...much love...)
She spoke her mind...
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They visited her
They were happily married
and had one or two or three children
or none at all
and shared there lives
with their wives or sweethearts,
but they visited her.
Some had wealth
and some were poor
and some had magazine cover wives
and some were attractive
and some were dull,
but they visited her.
Some were elders in the church
and some were businessmen
and out of every occupation
they came
and even church ministers
visited her and shared her bed.
Somehow she understood
better than any head doctor
what made men happy
and what made them tick
and without any special trick
she shared her body
and cared in a way.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Not because we are friends
Not because we are friends then I will
Be dishonest, calling a spade a diamond,
I don’t work that way, ugly is ugly
Pretty is pretty, and bad is bad and
Good is good to me, no matter what,
And you show me your face with a
New haircut, and ask me if you look
Good, and I say, you look the other
Way around, is the barber still alive?
Then you show me your poem that you
Wrote last night, and you ask me
What do you think? I think it is
I take a look, read a while and
Twitch my face many times than usual
Garbage, throw it in the wastebasket
And you say I am cruel, I am inconsi-
Derate about how you feel. I am
Telling you, you are my friend and
We are friends because we are honest.
Why not try writing another one again?
I will not teach you though, I write so
Bad myself, feeling so bad, but I will not stop
Being myself & be my harshest critique
I bought another trashcan, bigger this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
I've been around for such a long time. My first hit record was over 20 years ago and the people who bought my records then are married now and they probably still play these records and their children like them.
quote by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Nordic Christmas Story
I bought boots for Christmas to tread the icy plains.
I bought toys for Christmas with Santas in my trains.
I lit my home for Christmas with a Cedar bright.
I made cup cakes for Christmas for my love's delight.
I bought Jane a dress for Christmas with ribbons pink.
I bought for my grandma a cozy Christmas mink.
I bought for Jill two amazing Christmas Sparrows.
I bought for Jack a toy quiver full of arrows.
I bought an Elk for Christmas with nose giving light.
I bought for Christmas, candles for a solemn night.
I made for Christmas a warm and sweet lemonade,
and I sang on Christmas morn, a sweet Serenade.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (18 December 2020)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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I Found a Little Poem
Searching through some papers,
I was about to throw away.
I found a little poem that
I wrote twenty odd years ago.
I thought to myself
that is not all that bad.
It shouldn’t stay buried anymore.
Therefore, I dusted it off
and read it through,
nodded my head
and knew what I’d do.
So I typed it up
and read through it again.
I then decided to share it
with all of my friends,
and what was the title of this poem?
Believe it or not, it is called,
Where Have They Gone.
13 August 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smears are not only to be expected but fought. Honor is to be earned, not bought.
quote by Margaret Chase Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let My Record Show
Although I might deal with deceit,
And did some individual wrong.
Just let my record show,
I can still sing my song.
My advice wasn’t always innoxious,
When I was required to be bright.
But let my record show,
I told all what was basically right.
At times I may have told a woman
That her beauty left no doubt.
Still let my record show,
I only tried to ask her out.
Occasionally I may have reaped,
Where someone else had seeded.
However let my record show,
I took no more than what was needed.
It may be through lack of care,
I caused someone terror or pain.
But let my record show,
Never did I, ‘cause in it is no gain.
poem by Albert Price
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No More Shame Or Fear
No one who has read in my poetry
The descriptions of human emotion,
So vivid and so exact in details,
Would doubt that I wrote from my experience.
No one who has read in my poetry
The incidences of love and friendships,
So lively and so real in display,
Would doubt that I wrote my biography.
Seasoned and hardened by the rough journey,
I have come at last shame less and fearless
To record the truths in their nakedness,
To be read by the time I’d be no more.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whitney Houston Tribute
Whitney born in New Jersey in the year of 1963,
she had talent, with her songs she made people happy.
She sang great songs with a long range of chords.
She sang with fire which everyone adored
we are shocked of her passing she can't be ignored,
for she contributed to the 'World of Music'
music that had never been done before.
She sang of Children changing the world,
she had beautiful lyrics that set the record.
May your daughter Bobby Kristina be
comforted in this time of sorrow,
Hope she recovers and has peaceful tomorrows.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on February 14,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The presence of the truly great
Yes yes.. I’ve not forgotten that:
the presence of the great –
when destiny has brought you
to their presence; destiny
brought them, here, now, to you;
how in their presence, duality itself
is magnified: do your palms slightly sweat?
while unity is merely apprehended
as the world grows before your eyes?
Great crooks too – who believe
that the world, the oystered pearl, is theirs;
and those great souls: whose gift
it is, to know the world, and tell;
they show themselves; and you know that
you’re graced – but by the grace which, as they show,
is always there; is always here; and humbled by this show,
in surfeit of this taste of grace, then quietly you leave..
And they recede – or do they? – to
the sternest test: the memory:
a photograph, or record of their voice..
Now: look upon their image, but without regret;
for this, your sternest test; the duty of true unity:
they come to life again; again in you;
you carry them to show the world anew.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whitney Houston Tribute
Whitney born in New Jersey in the year of 1963,
she had talent, with her songs she made people happy.
She sang great songs with a long range of chords.
She sang with fire which everyone adored
we are shocked of her passing she can't be ignored,
for she contributed to the "World of Music"
music that had never been done before.
She sang of Children changing the world,
she had beautiful lyrics that set the record.
May your daughter Bobby Kristina be
comforted in this time of sorrow,
Hope she recovers and has peaceful tomorrows.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on February 14,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some time ago, we went to Asia and took a camera along, and I began to do what I'd done even years ago doing people. I couldn't get interested in it. And I did hundreds of photographs of details of the monuments as sculpture.
The Lust We Fought For
The lust we fought for in now just a pile of ash.
The lust we fought for was a lie to it's very last.
The lust we fought for burns in my memory every night.
The kust we fought for wasn't worth it's own right.
The lust we fought for seemed so out of control.
The lust we fought for only needed us to grab ahold.
So the lust we fought for wasn't lust at all.
Indeed it was love that made our great fall.
The lust we fought for keeps me crying at night.
The lust we fought for has me praying to turn it right.
The lust we fought for makes me miss you more.
The lust we fought for broke my heart to it's core.
The lust we fought for brings out a million tears.
The lust we fought for challenged all of my fears.
So the lust we fought for was the pain i deserved to face.
Indeed it was love from that magically beautiful place.
The lust we fought for is now gone up in flames...
Because I now know that the lust we fought for was real all the same.
poem by Erin Grantham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The End Of The Chapter
Ah, yes, the chapter ends to-day;
We even lay the book away;
But oh, how sweet the moments sped
Before the final page was read!
We tried to read between the lines
The Author's deep-concealed designs;
But scant reward such search secures;
You saw my heart and I saw yours.
The Master,--He who penned the page
And bade us read it,--He is sage:
And what he orders, you and I
Can but obey, nor question why.
We read together and forgot
The world about us. Time was not.
Unheeded and unfelt, it fled.
We read and hardly knew we read.
Until beneath a sadder sun,
We came to know the book was done.
Then, as our minds were but new lit,
It dawned upon us what was writ;
And we were startled. In our eyes,
Looked forth the light of great surprise.
Then as a deep-toned tocsin tolls,
A voice spoke forth: 'Behold your souls!'
I do, I do. I cannot look
Into your eyes: so close the book.
But brought it grief or brought it bliss,
No other page shall read like this!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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