Steel Of Dreams
I write to forge thought
to timelessness..
as night gives way to light of day
morning rays transform
gray-scale vision
with magical, gradient, immaculate precision.
I write forging images
cold-rolled dialect
hammered for description
angles I select..
pulled red from the coals
these dreams are annealed
when shape is set,
feelings are revealed.
My anvil and hammer
transform wrought iron vision
with artistic, splendid, immaculate precision!
poem by Robert Scott Cohn
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Related quotes
The Anvil
England's on the anvil--hear the hammers ring--
Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne!
Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King--
England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into line!
England's on the anvil! Heavy are the blows!
(But the work will be a marvel when it's done.)
Little bits of Kingdoms cannot stand against their foes.
England's being hammered hammered, hammered into one!
There shall be one people--it shall serve one Lord--
(Neither Prist nor Baron shall escape!)
It shall have one speech and law, soul and strength and sword.
England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into
shape!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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S7
early morning eyes
fresh from their dreams
the mind recalls
the heart confirms
all the emotions still contained
vivid images in technicolor
the hands summon the fingers
write, write, write
strike while the iron is hot
cliche, cliche
now the thoughts rush like a flood
from the forest mountains
the fingers are adept at all these
one with the mind and heart
and so here we are again
slaves of our art
redeemed risen anew
maybe still cold and perhaps even frozen
thaw
melt only to be solidified again when the sun comes
irony of the mind
paradoxes of the heart
listen
to you i am saying nothing
it is for me
in the labyrinths of my confusions i am trying to find my way out
trapped fly in a bottle
buzzing for its wish for freedom
genie
wanting someone to rub its ancient lamp
if you let me free
you may have four wishes
and that is not just a promise
it is a contract
morning thoughts
tunnels without end lights yet
there is yet no exit
and so you still find me here in my own shadow
fog and mist
trails filled with tall grasses
up there is the house of my intentions
a figure waits but i do not know yet who
surprises surprises
anticipations of life
these are all the reasons
hazy as a refraction of light bending upon a glassy vision
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Can Transform The Planet
YOU CAN TRANSFORM THE PLANET
You can transform the planet with your feelings, thoughts and deeds,
You can transform the planet when your conscious takes the lead.
For you were born into this land to contribute your talents that are very grand.
You can transform the planet with your heart filled with love,
Reaching out to help and touch everyone.
Yes, you can transform the planet
For your presence is needed here,
You can transform the planet for you are very dear.
Copyright 2010 Suzae Chevalier of Chevalier Originals, Inc.
IF PEOPLE WERE MORE LIKE BIRDS
Birds bring you love and light,
They are happy to fly around you day and night,
If people were more like birds,
There would be only loving words.
Yes, birds are as happy as can be,
Singing praise of Mother Earth joyfully
while flying from tree to tree.
How nice it would be if everyone was more
like a bird so happy and carefree and loving
Mother Earth Dearly.
The End.
7/27/2010
10: 26pm by Suzae Chevalier
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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I Am Too Tired To Write A Good Poem
I AM TOO TIRED TO WRITE A GOOD POEM
I am too tired to write a good poem
I am too cold also
I have been out all day in the cold and the rain
I have been doing errands since early in the morning
I babysat for four hours in the afternoon
I went out again in the cold and rain to buy a few groceries
I tried to write and could not
I read and overate a few times
I tried to write
But I could not
I am very tired now
A poem should not be a simple clear description of one’s own mood at the moment
I am too tired to write a good poem
But I try to write
And this is the result
A poor poem indeed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Song About You
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You’re all I can every think about
How you flood my dreams each night
How thinking of you takes my breath away
When I look up to the satellites
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
The long lost butterflies returned
How I hope my number you’ll dial
And how your memory smothers me with smiles
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
You were the only one
Who had enough of me to break my heart
And when love took over my heart
You tore it all apart.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
I would write about how
I gave you my heart
Caught up in the thought
That we were off to a great start
But how you threw a damn dart
Right into the center of my heart
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
About how you crushed my heart
Not bothering to look back.
If I could write a song
I’d write a song about you
poem by Jess Schwarcz
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The White Heat
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door --
Red -- is the Fire's common tint --
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame's conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil's even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs -- within --
Re[f]ining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Untile the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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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
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Song About The Moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
Walk along the craters of the afternoon
When the shadows are deep
And the light is alien
And gravity leaps like a knife off the pavement
And you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then nah nah nah
Presto
Song about about the moon
If you want to write a song about the heart
Think about the moon before you start
Because the heart will howl
Like a dog in the moonlight
And the heart can explode
Like a pistol on a june night
So if you want to write a song about the heart
And its ever-longing for a counterpart
Write a song about the moon
The laughing boy
He laughed so hard
He fell down from his place
The laughing girl
She laughed so hard
The tears rolled down her face
Hey songwriter
If you want to write a song about
A face
Think about a photograph
That you really cant remember
But you cant erase
Wash your hands in dreams and lightning
Cut off your hair
And whatever is frightening
If you want to write a song
About a face
If you want to write a song about
The human race
Write a song about the moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then do it
Write a song about the moon
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Too
I AM TOO TIRED TO WRITE A GOOD POEM
I am too tired to write a good poem
I am too cold also
I have been out all day in the cold and the rain
I have been doing errands since early in the morning
I babysat for four hours in the afternoon
I went out again in the cold and rain to buy a few groceries
I tried to write and could not
I read and overate a few times
I tried to write
But I could not
I am very tired now
A poem should not be a simple clear description of one’s own mood at the moment
I am too tired to write a good poem
But I try to write
And this is the result
A poor poem indeed.
I AM GRATEFUL FOR THE PARENTS I HAD AND HAVE
I am grateful for the parents I had and have
They are still with me
I miss them
Sometimes they appear in my dreams
When I am walking I think of them
I see them at various ages of their lives
My father young tall strong
My mother smiling kind warm in strong middle age
My father bent on his way to the senior citizens
My mother in a wheelchair no longer even half herself
Or in the pictures of them in their youth
As I never saw them in life
I think of them and miss them
Their dreams their loves are in me
Yesterday I was with a great – grandchild of theirs
Who they never have seen or will see
How happy that smiling calm child would have made them
Life is difficult and long and filled with loss and blessing
How I will love and miss my parents always
How they still live in me
And hopefully in what comes after me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
365
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door—
Red—is the Fire's common tint—
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame's conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil's even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs—within—
Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Diamond In The Rough
The rock is unearthed.
A diamond is born.
Unclear and jagged,
What it will become,
Is what it already is.
It just doesn't know it yet.
Handled delicately, and finely crafted,
It begins to take shape.
It does not transform on it's own,
But at the hands of another.
Someone who see it's potential,
And knows all along, what it truly is.
When it is done,
It shines for the world to see.
Once, just a vision, now real.
It took the one that believed in it,
To shape it, to polish it,
And show it what it was all along.
He believed in the diamond in the rough.
As I believe in you.
For I know you have what it takes,
To one day, shine brighter than the rest.
You are the diamond in the rough.
Shine on!
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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To A Snowflake
What heart could have thought you? --
Past our devisal
(O filigree petal!)
Fashioned so purely,
Fragilely, surely,
From what Paradisal
Imagineless metal,
Too costly for cost?
Who hammered you, wrought you,
From argentine vapor? --
"God was my shaper.
Passing surmisal,
He hammered, He wrought me,
From curled silver vapor,
To lust of His mind --
Thou could'st not have thought me!
So purely, so palely,
Tinily, surely,
Mightily, frailly,
Insculped and embossed,
With His hammer of wind,
And His graver of frost."
poem by Francis Thompson
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The Corner Of My Eye
Out of the corner of my eye
I cannot see full vision.
So sometimes my eyes play tricks on me
And I blink to get precision.
The windows of the world, these eyes of mine
Sometimes don't like what they see.
Then, out of the corner of my eye there'll be
a vision that's so lovely.
All I can do is stop and stare
and hope that it will stay,
Never fading into the background,
Never to go away.
Yes visions like these that beautify
can almost make me cry.
And I wish I could make them remain
at least in the corner of my eye.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Was it a dream or a vision
In my lonely thoughts i saw,
A woman of purity and tenderness,
Walking towards me with precision,
Holding my right hand with descretion,
Was it a dream or a vision?
My heart skipped a beat,
My eye skipped a blink,
I lost my concentration,
Her beauty none can describe,
Her modesty i honoured,
Her skin so soft and tender,
Was it you or another,
A dream or vision?
Her lips i reached,
The vanillia of my saliva,
The smell of love was in the air,
The distance knew us not,
Was it you my love,
Was it a dream or a vision
She took me by the hand,
Whispered she loved me,
My ears could not contain,
I shivered with amusement,
The sight of beauty beyond doubt,
Uncovering her destiny to me,
I think it was you my love,
But my thoughts never knew,
Was it a dream or a vision
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only A Vision
I cant see you when I look at you
Only see you in my memory
When I find you its just outside my sight line
Between experience and fantasy
Dont bear up to close inspection
Close inspection of the cold hard facts
Blow in and out of my life like a spirit
My eye cant see you but my mind reacts
Only a vision in the corner of my eye
Only a vision that I see out of the corner of my eye
Only a vision
Said you loved me
Heard that plain as day
I should lose this
Vision fade away
Whats holding on to me
Just some state of mind
Feelings coming on
One more time
Close inspection
Ive checked this out again and again
And it wont respond to cold hard facts
Then you blow in and out of my life like a spirit
My mind knows better but my heart reacts
Only a vision in the corner of my eye
Only a vision that I see out of the corner of my eye
Only a vision girl
I wish that vision that Im seeing was real
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sniper
Moves in the rocks with inching fingers.
We among the feathery banana trees
Imagine for him his aim: the steel helmet
And English face filling the backsight's V.
Again as it was last time, that spurting noise,
Thud, and the writhing figure in long grass.
until we match precision with precision:
We move ten men to one and have him then.
I saw the sniper in the afternoon. The rifle
Lay there beside him neatly like his shooting,
The grass twined all about his cap.
He had killed neatly but we had set
Ten men about him to write death in jags
Cutting and spoiling on his face and broken body.
poem by Bernard Gutteridge
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Why I Write?
I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Wasp
I wanna tell you 'bout texas radio and the big beat
Comes out of the virginia swamps
Cool and slow with plenty of precision
With a back beat narrow and hard to master
Some call it heavenly in it's brilliance
Others, mean and ruthful of the western dream
I love the friends i have gathered together on this thin raft
We have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping
This is the land where the pharaoh died
The negroes in the forest brightly feathered
They are saying, "forget the night
Live with us in forests of azure
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned - immaculate."
Listen to this, and i'll tell you 'bout the heartache
I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the lose of god
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
The meager food for souls forgot
I'll tell you 'bout the maiden with raw iron soul
I'll tell you this
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn
I'll tell you 'bout texas radio and the big beat
Soft drivin', slow and mad, like some new language
Now, listen to this, and i'll tell you 'bout the texas
I'll tell you 'bout the texas radio
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
Wandering the western dream
Tell you 'bout the maiden with raw iron soul
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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