Where are they?
Rare are those who die with thirst unmet.
Rare are those who die with hunger unmet.
Rare are those who die with power unmet.
Where are they who die with sex fairly met?
25.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Rare Friend
I will be your rare friend;
Spend many hours meditating on your success.
I will be your rare friend;
Be there for you when you are not at your best.
I will be your rare friend;
One who will take you home when your legs tire.
I will be your rare friend;
And will be beside you when go through the fire.
I will be your rare friend;
When others abandon you and laugh at you.
I will be your rare friend;
Not caring the color of your skin or what you do.
I will be your rare friend;
I will be your rare friend because its true, I am you.
poem by Saint Eule
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A Thirst
The desert is dry
So is the hot blue sky,
Rain would all renew
Yet, not a cloud is in view.
Desolation rises and falls
Leaving the thirst of discontent,
As the needs of the heart
So dryly go unmet.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Days to Come
IN DAYS TO COME
In days to come when, dumb, I’ll strum no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest unblessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.
My memory, wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
may shadow search vain answers to Life’s game.
20 May 2005 revised 16 November 2006 and 25 March 2009
robi03_1257_robi03_0000 SXX_DIZ
for previous versions see below variant of Unjaded Sparkle 6 July 1991
In Days to Come
In days to come when, dumb, I’ll bear no more
to Time rhymed witness, world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest twice blessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections one would pour
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ score
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Within oneself is found the fatal flaw.
My memory - wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
while others, vain, search answers to Life’s game.
20 May 2005 and 16 November 2006 revised 23 November 2008
- for previous versions see below
In Days to Come
In days to come when I may bear no more
to Time rhymed witness, world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest twice blessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel a cent more poor?
For most wor[l]d-wise, ignoring one demise,
Life bright or boring as before, - here lies
our irony, reflections one would pour
in [l]ink think on the pixel pages’ score
fade with ambitions, one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget their first surprise.
Within oneself is found the fatal flaw.
My memory - wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
while others, vain, search answers to Life’s game.
20 May 2005 and 16 November 2006
for previous version see below
In Days to Come
In days to come when I may bear no more
to Time fair witness, world where butterflies
aloft dance marbled patterns in the skies -
next May, when I’ll have sunk to rest before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel a cent more poor?
Life will appear to who these verses buys
as bright or boring as before, - here lies
the irony, reflections one would pour
in ink upon the pixel pages’ score.
Ambitions fade, and libido, too, sighs
when hopes unmet one cannot realize, -
within oneself is found the fatal flaw.
Life will for me be candle lost to flame,
for others, search for answers to its game.
20 May 2005
© Jonathan Robin
poem by Jonathan Robin
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If some longing goes unmet, don't be astonished. We call that Life.
quote by Anna Freud
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After a century of striving, after a year of debate, after a historic vote, health care reform is no longer an unmet promise. It is the law of the land.
quote by Barack Obama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Luscious Fog
I had jumped over time itself to find you
To the delicious tinkle of dice being rolled
Your lips caressed me like a luscious wet fog
As you draped words over me like a rich cloth
You opened the very gates of your mysterious world
And enticed me in to sit at your feet in wonder
As I yearned for some sign of who I was to be
But suddenly I was lost with no clues nor lines
You were like a rare and delicate precious flower
And foolishly, I gripped what I could not have
But was the delicacy just an illusion, obscured by the fog?
Your beauty beguiled and seduced, merciless in desire
But the promise of the silent mist lay unmet
And smiling, I walked away, unrequited yet somehow content
Time had lured us, then suddenly abandoned us
And now all was unwound in a mysterious puzzle
The silence of my going was sudden and quick
Yet was there any other way to rewind again?
Are all puzzles meant to be solved or left alone?
But time builds heat and the fog always comes
poem by Kevin Patrick Brown
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Rare Meat.
Rare meat.
The blackbird seem to sing.
And though I spluttered
'I am vegetarian'
Rare Meat, rare meat!
And my neighbour
Talked of the importance of
'Being in harness again'
Then I realised,
The bird was much nearer to understanding
The kind of species I am!
Rare meat!
And cannon fodder for the cowboys
And manipulators,
All the same!
For my heart
Will always stray to the unheard tune.
And the song of the bird,
Comforted the taut nerves
Of a weary owl.
Who`s been round the clock,
But still does not like the carousel!
poem by Peter Vealey
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Rare, Precious & Gone
Cry baby boy, not tears of joy
The one you held is no longer your toy
Shes got her new boots and her make up on
You can call her your friend
But not your lover again
Shes made it clear as air that this affair is at an end
So what are you doing holding on?
Dont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
She was soft in your hands, now shes shattered your plans
Im sympathetic but youve got to understand
You tried to squeeze her somewhere
She just dont belong
She was being sincere when she breathed in your ear
As long as there were stars in the night sky shed be near
Even angels get it wrong!
Wont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Its a subtle trap
Seeding guilt in her mind
But she aint taking your crap
This time
Boy youre out on a line...
Shes a queen among women, a child among queens
The finest thing that your lovesick eyes have ever seen
Shes a rose without a thorn
Shes a peach, shes a prize
A gift in disguise
Shes graceful and colourful and when she grows
Shell be wise
But most of all my friend, shes gone
Gone, gone gone!
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Rare, precious and shes gone
Yes, shes rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Gone, gone gone...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We have a responsibility as a state to protect our most vulnerable citizens: our children, seniors, people with disabilities. That is our moral obligation. But there is an economic justification too - we all pay when the basic needs of our citizens are unmet.
quote by John Lynch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Itch
Who understands the logic
Behind the desire
That flurries up nausea and breasts' itch,
Unmet, fret frown as birthmark
What's me made-hunger raw obsession,
Through blood cord,
Sip, what's mother chew drip
Whose juice taste of gardens
Arrested in autumn scent
Voluptuous with citron, myrtle, jasmine
Alive with bees buzz.
I sense all fruit sap
As current of our blood...
The green flooding into the red.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode To Sister Greta
My sister is beautiful
pale like a rare dawn
she sheds light that is sometimes difficult
because though people claim they want illumination
they fear those rays of daylight
that may expose
scars born of the night
Like a rare dawn my sister brings
song
on delicate wings
And strong tea to paint smiles on yawning lips.
Pale like a rare dawn
that wakes the wolf
and stirs the fawn.
My sister is beautiful.
Pale like a rare dawn.
poem by Sonja Cienfuegos
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Feeble Friendship
Unseen, unmet, yet
We're friendies
And
Friendship trendy this
Friendly dewlike
As
Remain, retain some
Only shorttime
And
Remain retain short
Somesites also
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The amateur is very rare in French literature - as rare as he is common in our own.
quote by Lytton Strachey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Burn
My spender rinses me as I have spent,
The real ferocity makes me cement;
The deed has done my face, has seen me last,
I cast a spell, and be somewhat aghast.
My buying and this lying can concern,
But this time that design does spend a burn;
The cavern dozes and deserves music,
Unmet, unworked, like sport and metallic.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Her Unmet Need
Her unmet need
Perhaps the seed
Of hidden Anger
Destroying her.
Her need for care
At Home, not there -
Lived in a cage
To birth her Rage.
Pity the victim
Of vile persona
Erosion within -
A lifetime dilemma.
Pity the source
And hope she may
Reverse her course
For her sake, I pray.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Rarest of the rare
Man here is the
Rarest of the rare
And wonder to care.
No ideas no hazards
No search no research
Man is not mare.
Man destroy man
Man hate man
Man has ample power.
Man the rarest of the rare
Need utmost love
Utmost care.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Vale of Tears
She walks along an avenue
some call the Vale of Tears.
Her sorrow sheds a dropp of dew,
from eyes that vail a tear.
She whiles alone, her gaze unmet,
behind a veil of tears.
But can she flee from sadness, yet
with no avail of tears?
In time, the Rue of No Regrets
will countervail her tears.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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I Did Not Become A Priest
i did not become a
priest
and God must have been
so angry
i have taken the road
least traveled
a family cross
with my wife in Calvary
the people laugh at me
my friends deserted me
society detest me
i am a simple man
stoned by every man
i am crucified
on daily needs unmet
i am hit by this spear
of your indifference
the wrath is here
everyday i die
and everyday
i resurrect my self
now in these few lines
of my poetry
poem by Antonio Liao
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