The Picture Book
When I was not quite five years old
I first saw the blue picture book,
And Fraulein Spitzenburger told
Stories that sent me hot and cold;
I loathed it, yet I had to look:
It was a German book.
I smiled at first, for she'd begun
With a back-garden broad and green,
And rabbits nibbling there: page one
Turned; and the gardener fired his gun
From the low hedge: he lay unseen
Behind: oh, it was mean!
They're hurt, they can't escape, and so
He stuffs them head-down in a sack,
Not quite dead, wriggling in a row,
And Fraulein laughed, 'Ho, ho! Ho, ho!'
And gave my middle a hard smack,
I wish that I'd hit back.
Then when I cried she laughed again;
On the next page was a dead boy
Murdered by robbers in a lane;
His clothes were red with a big stain
Of blood, he held a broken toy,
The poor, poor little boy!
I had to look: there was a town
Burning where every one got caught,
Then a fish pulled a nigger down
Into the lake and made him drown,
And a man killed his friend; they fought
For money, Fraulein thought.
Old Fraulein laughed, a horrid noise.
'Ho, ho!' Then she explained it all
How robbers kill the little boys
And torture them and break their toys.
Robbers are always big and tall:
I cried: I was so small.
How a man often kills his wife,
How every one dies in the end
By fire, or water or a knife.
If you're not careful in this life,
Even if you can trust your friend,
You won't have long to spend.
I hated it--old Fraulein picked
Her teeth, slowly explaining it.
I had to listen, Fraulein licked
Her fingers several times and flicked
The pages over; in a fit
Of rage I spat at it...
And lying in my bed that night
Hungry, tired out with sobs, I found
A stretch of barren years in sight,
Where right is wrong, but strength is right,
Where weak things must creep underground,
And I could not sleep sound.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
With Love
Its a tedious existence laying your love on the line
Resistance is useless she can leave at any time
I must confess that in my quest I felt depressed and restless
But this casanovas roving days are over more or less
With love
She broke my heart and made me sad
You foolish boy you lost what you had
My mademoiselle I must make my farewell
You see senor I know she dont want me no more
Id like to make that fraulein mine, mein fraulein
So Ill depart sweetheart and leave you with this line
With love
She says she wont be back no more
With love
She says shes leaving for sure
My mademoiselle Ill say farewell
No matter where you are, au revoir
til we meet again, auf wiedersehn
She wrote it on a letter
But it didnt make him feel any better
With love
She says goodbye, adios, farewell
There are those who will spend a lifetime of leisure
til the leisure finally takes control
And theyll spend their life in search of pleasure
Never knowing the treasure that they own
There are those who will spend a lifetime in hard labour
til the labour breaks both body and soul
And they will learn to love their neighbor
And be assured of what they own
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Love
Its a tedious existence laying your love on the line
Resistance is useless she can leave at any time
I must confess that in my quest I felt depressed and restless
But this casanovas roving days are over more or less
With love
She broke my heart and made me sad
You foolish boy you lost what you had
My mademoiselle I must make my farewell
You see senor I know she dont want me no more
Id like to make that fraulein mine, mein fraulein
So Ill depart sweetheart and leave you with this line
With love
She says she wont be back no more
With love
She says shes leaving for sure
My mademoiselle Ill say farewell
No matter where you are, au revoir
til we meet again, auf wiedersehn
She wrote it on a letter
But it didnt make him feel any better
With love
She says goodbye, adios, farewell
There are those who will spend a lifetime of leisure
til the leisure finally takes control
And theyll spend their life in search of pleasure
Never knowing the treasure that they own
There are those who will spend a lifetime in hard labour
til the labour breaks both body and soul
And they will learn to love their neighbor
And be assured of what they own
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Treasure Of The Wise Man
O the night was dark and the night was late,
And the robbers came to rob him;
And they picked the locks of his palace-gate,
The robbers that came to rob him--
They picked the locks of his palace-gate,
Seized his jewels and gems of state,
His coffers of gold and his priceless plate,--
The robbers that came to rob him.
But loud laughed he in the morning red!--
For of what had the robbers robbed him?--
Ho! hidden safe, as he slept in bed,
When the robbers came to rob him,--
They robbed him not of a golden shred
Of the childish dreams in his wise old head--
'And they're welcome to all things else,' he said,
When the robbers came to rob him.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invocation To The Social Muse
Señora, it is true the Greeks are dead.
It is true also that we here are Americans:
That we use the machines: that a sight of the god is unusual:
That more people have more thoughts: that there are
Progress and science and tractors and revolutions and
Marx and the wars more antiseptic and murderous
And music in every home: there is also Hoover.
Does the lady suggest we should write it out in The Word?
Does Madame recall our responsibilities? We are
Whores, Fräulein: poets, Fräulein, are persons of
Known vocation following troops: they must sleep with
Stragglers from either prince and of both views.
The rules permit them to further the business of neither.
It is also strictly forbidden to mix in maneuvers.
Those that infringe are inflated with praise on the plazas—
Their bones are resultantly afterwards found under newspapers.
Preferring life with the sons to death with the fathers,
We also doubt on the record whether the sons
Will still be shouting around with the same huzzas—
For we hope Lady to live to lie with the youngest.
There are only a handful of things a man likes,
Generation to generation, hungry or
Well fed: the earth’s one: life’s
One: Mister Morgan is not one.
There is nothing worse for our trade than to be in style.
He that goes naked goes further at last than another.
Wrap the bard in a flag or a school and they’ll jimmy his
Door down and be thick in his bed—for a month:
(Who recalls the address now of the Imagists?)
But the naked man has always his own nakedness.
People remember forever his live limbs.
They may drive him out of the camps but one will take him.
They may stop his tongue on his teeth with a rope’s argument—
He will lie in a house and be warm when they are shaking.
Besides, Tovarishch, how to embrace an army?
How to take to one’s chamber a million souls?
How to conceive in the name of a column of marchers?
The things of the poet are done to a man alone
As the things of love are done—or of death when he hears the
Step withdraw on the stair and the clock tick only.
Neither his class nor his kind nor his trade may come near him
There where he lies on his left arm and will die,
Nor his class nor his kind nor his trade when the blood is jeering
And his knee’s in the soft of the bed where his love lies.
I remind you, Barinya, the life of the poet is hard—
A hardy life with a boot as quick as a fiver:
Is it just to demand of us also to bear arms?
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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The Man And The Robbers
A MAN HAD GONE TO HIS BANK AND WITHDREW A LARGE SUM OF MONEY, AND ON HIS WAY BACK, HE SUDDENLY HAPPENED UPON A CREW OF ROBBERS AND HE TURNED BACK AND RAN AWAY AS FAST AS HIS LEGS COULD RUN!
AS HE RAN AWAY, HE SUDDENLY RAN INTO A CREW OF NIGERIAN POLICEMEN! AND THE MAN WAS FLABBERGASTED, HE DIDN'T KNOW WHICH WAY TO RUN ANYMORE AND HE SUDDENLY TURNED BACK AND BEGAN TO RUN TOWARDS THE ROBBERS AND HE SHOUTED AS HE RAN, WAIT MR ROBBER! WAIT!
THE SURPRISED ROBBERS STOOD WHILE HE CAME TO THEM AND HUMBLY HANDED THE MONEY OVER TO THEM, AND ONE OF THEM ASKED, WHY DID YOU RETURN TO GIVE US THE MONEY WE WANTED TO ROB YOU OF? AND HE REPLIED, OH, AS I RAN AWAY FROM YOU, I RAN INTO A CREW OF NIGERIAN POLICEMEN! AND I DECIDED TO COME BACK AND GIVE YOU ROBBERS THE MONEY INSTEAD!
A CURIOUS ROBBER ASKED, WHY DID YOU PREFER TO GIVE US THE MONEY? AND THE MAN SAID, OH, WELL, YOU ROBBERS WOULD ROB ME AND LEAVE ME ALIVE, BUT THE NIGERIAN POLICEMEN WOULD ROB ME, THEN SHOOT ME DEAD AND TELL THE WORLD THAT I WAS THE ROBBER! STATED THE MAN TO THE ASTONISHED ROBBERS
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Matters Of Observation
it is me lying on a bench
reading a book halfway through
the pages
for a break i close the book
earmark a page
and look at the jack fruit treetop
just beside the house
i am on the second floor
and no one is in the house
my wife is visiting a friend
who just arrived from the U.S.
there is no other creature except
a white butterfly hovering
on a sampaguita flower
in the small garden
the tree has more leaves
but it is not bearing any fruit
at all
i am reminded of those years
joys forgotten and now i am reading
a book about some shadows
of doubts
there is this systems that works
of patronage
refunds
i am situated in a plateau
and my Jesuit professor who dropped by
last night with a
'how are you? ' through the YM
must have understood that an
introvert like me has no
place outside
the books
i understand and frankly
i do not have to tell him how i feel about it
inside the pages
the stories are too many
my hero is dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reading Bukowski's Poem.
You ran your finger
along the spine
of books on your bookshelf
and took down
Betting on the Muse
by Charles Bukowski
and opened it
at random
reading the stories
and poem after poem
then having
nothing better to do
you got to page 292
and a poem titled
the good soul
and laughed out loud
like a dog barking
in dead of night
and your shoulders shook
and your wife said
What's so funny?
and you said
Oh just words
and she turned over
and back to sleep
and you put down
the book
beside the bed
and turned out
the light
laughing at the poem
inside your head.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A German Soldier and a Jewish Girl (re-written)
You love my tender Swastikas
And my Gestapo kiss,
But tell me, little Fraulein,
Whatever brought you to this?
It would enrage the Leader
That I'm sleeping with a Jew,
But he doesn't know how I need her,
I'm so in love with you!
Your panties are a little damp
Which really turns me on,
I'd save you from that deadly camp
Where all your friends have gone.
They could shoot me in the morning
For breaking all the rules,
They've given me a warning,
The stupid, heartless fools,
You've given me the forbidden thrill
Of sleeping with a Jew,
How could they ever want to kill
Someone as innocent as you?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cloony The Clown
I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, 'Go back to bed!'
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, 'I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown.'
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With 'Hah-Hah-Hahs' and 'Hee-Hee-Hees.'
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,'THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT.'
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Corporal Schnapps
Mine heart ish proken into little pits,
I tells you, friend, what for;
Mine schweetheart, von coot patriotic kirl,
She trives me off mit der war.
I fights for her der pattles of te flag --
I schtrikes so prave as I can;
Put now long time she nix remempers me,
And coes mit another man.
Ah! mine fraulein! You ish so ferry unkind!
You coes mit Hans to Zhermany to live,
And leaves poor Schnapps pehind,
Leaves poor Schnapps pehind.
I march all tay, no matter if der schtorm
Pe worse ash Moses' flood;
I lays all night, mine head upon a schtump,
And "sinks to sleep" in der mud.
Der nightmare comes -- I catch him ferry pad --
I treams I schleeps mit der Ghost;
I wakes next morning frusen in der cround,
So schtiff as von schtone post.
They kives me hart-pread, tougher as a rock --
It almost preaks mine shaw;
I schplite him sometimes mit an iron wedge,
And cuts him up mit a saw.
They kives me peef, as ferry, ferry salt,
Like Sodom's wife, you know;
I surely dinks they put him in der prine
Von hundred years aco.
Py'n py we take von city in der South --
We schtays there von whole year;
I kite me sourcrout much as I can eat,
And plenty loqcar pier.
I meets von lady repel in der street,
So handsome offer I see;
I makes to her von ferry callant pow --
Put ah! she schpits on me.
"Hard times!" you say, "what for you volunteer!"
I todt you friend, what for;
Mine schweetheart, von coot patriotic kirl,
She trove me off mit der war.
Alas! alas! mine pretty little von
Will schmile no more on me;
Put schtill I fights der pattle of te flag
To set mine countries free.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Courts
She had been caught stealing bottles of perfume
and was a regular customer in her local Boots
the magistrate called her a professional thief
but she swore and said she didn't give two hoots.
He was known in the paper as the crazy Arsonist
as for some reason he liked to set fire to a school
when the Judge said he was a menace to the community
he just laughed at him and called him an old fool.
The paper had called her'a lady of the night'
as she liked to ply her trade on the street
it said she was a single mother of six kids
and she only did it to make ends meet.
Three armed robbers were sentenced in the Court
and they had all received Ten years apiece
but they'd lived the high life whilst on the run
and had property in Majorca, Ibiza, and Nice.
His charge was one of drink driving
but he claimed that he'd only had one or two
the Policeman said he was unsteady and slurring
but the defendant replied that was because he had Flu.
It said he'd been a member of the church for years
but the vicar had caught him in bed with his wife
the reverend said he was sorry he'd lost self control
but was accused of chasing the naked man with a knife.
In The Courts is in the local paper every day
and you can see why it's such a popular page
like when the Judge asked him why did he do it?
he replied because he thought looting was all the rage!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Betrayed!
Giselle and I had been toughing it out,
With arguments every day,
She loved to spend, and I was the bank
To the point that I said, ‘No way! '
Then she pouted, much as she'd always done
And she dragged me into her bed,
That was the weapon she always used
When trying to turn my head.
She spent it faster than I could earn
Though I'd had a win on the gee's,
A seeming broken-down six year old
A gelding with rickety knees,
I knew the horse was a stayer, though
In a field of sprinting mares,
And after the twenty-five hundred mark
Went rocketing past them there.
I'd dropped a grand, two hundred to one,
The bookies had thought me mad,
But I was rolling in bags of cash
That evening, back at my pad.
Giselle had snaffled a grand or two,
The rest went into the bank,
I wanted to buy a house and land
And I had that horse to thank.
Giselle just wanted to spend and spend
And I finally told her ‘No! '
It was more important to save than splash
On clothes or a picture show,
She'd disappear for days on end
Then come back, looking for cash,
And every time that I told her no
She'd use her tongue, like a lash!
I got a call on a Thursday night
To meet her up in the town,
She wanted to meet in the basement
Of a car-park, underground,
I thought I should, I could meet her there
And finally call it quits,
There wasn't a whole lot of love to share,
That part had fallen to bits.
I parked the car and I saw her there
But she stood, and waited for me,
Close to a concrete pillar, then
A shadow was all I could see,
A guy came out and pointed a gun
And Giselle said, ‘Go on, shoot! '
I heard the retort, two bullets fired
As they tore through my business suit.
I don't recall there was too much pain
Just the echoing sound of the shots,
I swayed and crumpled, my knees gave way
I thought I was dead on the spot.
I lay unable to move while she
Rifled my pockets through,
Took my passbook, spat in my face,
Said: ‘That's what I think of you! '
They found me there in a pool of blood,
I don't remember the rest,
The police were sat by my hospital bed,
They said they'd made an arrest.
They'd picked the guy and had matched the gun
When Giselle had put him in,
And he must have emptied my bank account,
She said - It was all just spin!
They thought they'd left me for dead out there,
Had freaked when I was alive,
Giselle thought she could cover herself
By telling a thousand lies,
She'd been ‘an innocent bystander',
She said, was scared by the gun,
She'd wanted to meet me there, she said,
Hit the town, and have some fun.
She came to visit and sat by the bed,
Looked sick and she cried a lot,
She asked me what I remembered, and
I said, ‘Not even a jot! '
I could have had her arrested then,
Made a statement based on fact,
But I had my very own vengeful thoughts,
And that would put paid to that.
The shooter they found dead in his cell,
Strung up with a blue striped tie,
He just couldn't face a life in jail
While Giselle stayed high and dry.
They'd seen each other behind my back
She'd sucked him in for the kill,
I hid my total contempt for her
But it called for an iron will.
It took three months and she moved back in,
She was finally over her fear,
But needed to cover herself, I knew
She'd leave, when the coast was clear!
She had my money, all stashed away,
In a locker at Central Park,
I'd found the key in her underwear
As I roamed around in the dark.
One night I said we should take the train,
Go down and take in a show,
We got to the end of the platform, and
I hustled her down below,
Down and into the tunnel, said:
‘We're taking a shorter way! '
Revenge is a dish served cold, I thought,
I was cold as cold that day.
We came to an iron grating that
I lifted, to hustle her down,
Down on a rusty ladder to
The sewers, run under the town.
I cuffed her there to a water pipe
While she screamed and kicked and spat,
When I left her stood in the sewage there
I could see the first grey rat!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Five Years
Pushing through the market square
So many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much, his face was wet, then I knew, he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favorite melodies
I saw boys, toys, electric irons and tvs
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store, everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought Id need so many people
A girl of my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadnt a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm
Fixed his stare to the wheels of a cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest
And a queer threw up at the sight of that
I think I saw you in an icecream parlour
Drinking milkshakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine
I dont think you knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it raind, so I felt like an actor
And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, youre beautiful, I want you to walk
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes, weve got five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot, weve got five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years...
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fraulein
Well my fraulein done told me
When I was in goosesteps.
She said I would gas them
And now Im a big man
Filling up autos
That beep at me often
I drop what Im doing
And wait on them cheerfullv
Some choose the big pump
And others the small
Its a small small world
And I hear dem autos call
Well Im a big time pumper
And I pumpem full of my gas
And if you give me static
Ill tell ya blow it up your ass
My station is pretty
I keep it in top shape
The customers dig me
cause I got the answers
To all of their auto needs
I fix em up often
And relieve their tension
cause no one wants an auto
That threatens to lose it
The autos come crawlin
Into my station
They beep at me always
I stop what Im doing
And greet them with smiles
I call fill er up?
They yell back $1.00
I wipe all the dead bugs
And dirt off their windshield
And connect my big hose
Up to their gas tank
The gas hums as it enters
And fulls up their empty tank
I do two at a time now
Ive developed a technique
My timing is very good
If not always precise
I give them a fair deal
They drive off satisfied
We need each others business
Without which we could not survive
We like to trade money-
Because /t means honor,
Not like those people
Who are sick and cant touch it
Because theyre unhealthy,
They leave me cold.
I help who I can help
And feel nothing for those who
Dont come to my station
For Ill only tow those who
Show me their honor
I cant help evervbody
And Im not my brothers keeper
We huddle together
And those who come to me
We huddle together
And despite the weather
We find strength in our circle
Im very important
To the big and the little guy
We all need each other
To keep ourselves going
Their autos all need me
My pumps need their empty tanks and
If the good lord is willing
We shall be here to the end
Pumping-each-other
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Song
I wrote a song
It's called 'my life'
I tried my best to make it a good one
I'd never written a song
Twas indeed my first
I had an eraser
I couldn't clean my mistakes though
It turned out to be a long song
A hundred and twenty pages worth
A page a year
I made a mess of it
Blue pen made a mark
As depression took a quarter of it
Yellow pen made an entrance
I decided it was better than blue
Red pen tried to hurt me
As all anger was kept inside
Green pen whispered a note
I wished I had my neighbour's song
So many colours on just one song
Twenty-five pages were dark
I knew not which way to go
I tried to turn a page but couldn't
I basked in pages gone
Hence left several pages blank
Twenty-five pages were wet
As tears serenaded my heart, it did the pages
Too much pain in one song
Tried to change the words
The things I thought all made the song
On a scale of good to bad, bad stole the day
I searched and found other songs titled 'my life'
I wrote my song the way they had
My song was like a painting
One in utter disharmony
One drawn by a clueless artist
But an artist whose passion burned his painting
I set my heart on fire on page 35
There had to be more
And more I had
On page 120, my eyes were dim and hands tired
Since pages couldn't be turned
My mind sat, and looked back
What had I done?
I'd been mountain high
I'd been valley low
I'd been good
I'd been bad
I'd been....
I lay my head on my song
Took my last breath
But before I did
I held a girl
Who had a song called 'my life'
She read my song
And shed a tear
And said I had written....a masterpiece.
poem by Jenim Dibie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Five Years
Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and t.v.s
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought Id need so many people
A girl my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadnt a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that
I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour, drinking milk shakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine, dont think
You knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor
And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, youre beautiful, I want you to walk
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Five years
Five years
Five years
Five years
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart of Glass
What would it take,
To make you believe?
My life's an open book.
My glass heart on my sleeve.
But it keeps getting broken,
And I keep getting hurt.
Your knife cuts very deep,
And you treat me like dirt.
My heart it has changed.
A new me was born.
He has given me strength,
And sewn what was torn.
My heart made of glass,
Now shattered and broke.
But again He does fix it,
And He gives me His yoke.
Then he carries my burden,
And takes my glass heart.
Gives it back to me mended.
So again I must start.
I'm here with my heart,
To give her once more.
And the heart made of glass,
She smashed on the floor.
And then He returns.
He gathered the shards.
I can't do it again.
The pain is too hard.
But he puts it together.
He makes me return.
I ask, “How many times more? ”
“Til her love you have earned.”
So back I do go,
Humble and meek.
To fight for my love.
My heart is so weak.
Here it is my love.
Please take my glass heart.
It is yours for the breaking.
You can break it apart.
She took it from me,
And held it so tight.
And she gave me a smile,
That shone very bright.
She gave me a kiss.
Then her heart I did get.
I had earned back her love.
I had paid back my debt
My heart made of glass,
Found the heart made of gold.
I am glad that I listened.
And did just what He told.
I am glad that He told me,
To fight for my friend.
Because Love conquers all,
And never will end.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Startled Are Those Robbers
Startled are those robbers,
That had came to thieve.
Quite startled are those robbers stunned,
Begging for a forgiveness on bended knees.
And the hiding places,
Where startled robbers had once hid...
Are blocked to stop an entry,
With cracks and crevices from them now sealed.
Startled are those robbers...
Finding no one wants to bother.
No one wants to bother with robbers...
Chased away and startled by the mobs.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Laughed and Laughed and Laughed
I told you I was in love,
But you laughed and
Laughed and laughed.
.
I gave you my love,
But you did not give me yours,
Instead you kept mine, and
Gave yours to another.
.
You laughed at my song,
You laughed at my walk,
Then I danced my magic dance
to the rhythm of the talking
drums pleading.
.
But you shot your eyes, and laughed
And laughed and laughed.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Reckoning
My mother was carried to heaven
On the day that I turned six,
She died of tuberculosis
Spitting blood in a coughing fit,
She'd been so ill for a long long time
That I couldn't recall her smile,
My father, he just grumbled, said:
'Your Ma will be gone for a while.'
'She's gone to sing in a choir up there,
Who knows how long she will be? '
But I saw the coffin that carried her out,
The hearse and the burial tree,
I watched as it sank down into the ground
And my father just left it there,
Went off to visit my 'aunt', he said,
A woman with long, blond hair.
I stayed at home, such a lonely child,
And went to a place in my head,
Where mother was fit and without a care
She laughed at the things I said,
My father left me alone a lot
So mother would tell me, 'Shush! '
We'd laugh and giggle when he went out
But talk in a sort of hush.
I played outside at other times
Where the grass grew long and wild,
I'd catch the skinks as they darted past,
I was always a curious child,
I'd bring the Sleepy Lizards home,
My father didn't mind,
He said I could keep the pets I caught,
I thought he was being kind.
But then one day he came on home
With this 'aunt', who moved right in,
He said they were married now, so I
Should call her 'Mum', not Jen.
I scowled, and went to my room to cry,
My mother was looking sad,
She said, 'just do what your father says,
I'm your Mother, but he's your Dad.'
This Jenny, she was all right at first
She tried to make me smile,
But I was feeling rebellious then,
And turned my back for a while,
I kept my rabbits and guinea pigs
And fed them out in their hutch,
But Jenny came out to look at them,
And she didn't like them much.
I knew, she wrinkled her powdered nose
And said, 'Oh pew! They stink!
We'll have to find you a hobby, one
That's pure and clean, I think.'
I heard her talking to father, say
That she thought I was rather slow,
She wanted the garden tidied up
So my animals had to go.
It was just about that time, I think
That my mother said goodbye,
She couldn't stay in that house, she said,
It was time for her to fly,
She left me alone in a great big world
So I brought a Lizard inside,
And put it under my bedclothes
Thought it a perfect place to hide.
When Jenny made the bed, she screamed
And shook me like a rag,
She went and got a kitchen knife
And a plastic shopping bag,
She made me put the Lizard in
Then she took the bag outside,
And stabbed and stabbed 'til the Lizard bled,
'Til my Lizard friend had died.
'Now bury it! ' she said to me,
'And don't you ever dare
Bring filthy animals into this house,
For if you do, I swear...'
At this she put the knife to my throat
And stood and watched me scream,
I saw the hate in her powdered face
It was like an awful dream!
Whenever my father left the house
She'd always scream and shout,
Knock me around for the slightest thing
Then drag me, throw me out,
Lock the door so I couldn't get in
And give me nothing to eat,
She said if I told my Dad on her
It would only get me beat.
She killed my rabbits, cooked them up
And served them from a pot,
She gave me a crooked, evil grin:
'You'd better eat the lot! '
I found myself in a black, black rage
Inside, at the things she'd done,
And hoped that my father would go on out
And buy himself a gun.
He never knew what she did to me,
I never would dare to say,
I knew that she'd get me on my own
And then there'd be hell to pay,
So I stayed outside in the barren fields
And found me a hessian sack,
Then went for a hunt with a long, forked stick,
It was time to get her back!
I waited until he'd gone away,
Was gone two days or more,
Then bit my tongue as she raved at me,
Spat hate from the kitchen door,
The morning came, and there wasn't a sound
To come from that angry head,
And I will never regret the day
I put a snake in her bed.
10 March 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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