Curvature
The visible was most
invisible.
Watching the moon
through veil.
A bomb explodes
in your hands.
The poem wavers-
and then falls on dew.
This was not bone-green;
original,
not a fake cloud –
to kiss the feet
of a burning god.
It was natural conjugation
between enemies.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Behind Every Gross Appearance Has Invisible Subtle!
Isn't it true
neither moon nor universe, not
even I or you are visible without the
invisible in us.
Visible all are, only because of
that more invisible in us! Behind every visible gross
appearance, there is more
invisible subtle appearance,
When we look at the picture,
We usually forget the canvas,
When watching a TV program, usually we can't see how
invisible electrons produce the
image.
I cannot see my own face,
just as God hides his face to us...
Therefore, could it be that we
have one and the same face?
our face is one of His face,
Yet as he can look at his other
faces using one that he can't see,
We are looking at our other faces
using this one, That we can't see,
This is the truth that The God
uses this face to look at other
faces! Yet we visible to that invisible,
And we are visible only due to
that invisible ground on which
whole world play,
World itself is visible face of that
invisible face, Every life become visible only
because of that who hides is face
behind beauty and ugly faces
alike!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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A Poem Is A Cluster Bomb
A poem assemble ideas,
Concentrates experience
Await its time, place
For its own release
A Poem is a cluster bomb
A Poem explodes
Particle by particle
Projectile by projectile
Piece by piece,
Varying impact on the way
A poem is a cluster bomb
Out of a poem come wails
Out of a poem come hails
Out of a poem comes repair
Out of a poem comes despair
A Poem is a cluster bomb
It spreads in ripples
It travels like a storm
It is fashioned in riddles
It can pour painful scorn
A poem is a cluster bomb!
Friday,17th July,2009
Liverpool, UK
poem by Isaac Maliya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Cornfield
I see the young green buds
and smell the rain falling on fruitful ground
somewhere in the distance there are thunderbolts
that every now and then falls, explodes and branch.
A long forgotten summer still stays with me
and the glow of your bright blue eyes
where in the shade of a big old oak tree
we had a picnic next to this cornfield,
the rain that suddenly falls from a cloudless sky,
lightning bolts that ominous get closer and closer
and you and me running like elated children
in the cornfield
to the shelter of the shed
and like naughty children
embrace against each other
but here life has also passed me
and what I have of you, is only memories,
a grave where I sometimes put flowers
and sometimes it’s as if you
are still invisible keeping near to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Shapeshifter Poems
1
the legend is whispered
in the women's tent
how the moon when she rises
full
follows some men into themselves
and changes them there
the season is short
but dreadful shapeshifters
they wear strange hands
they walk through the houses
at night their daughters
do not know them
2
who is there to protect her
from the hands of the father
not the windows which see and
say nothing not the moon
that awful eye not the woman
she will become with her
scarred tongue who who who the owl
laments into the evening who
will protect her this prettylittlegirl
3
if the little girl lies
still enough
shut enough
hard enough
shapeshifter may not
walk tonight
the full moon may not
find him here
the hair on him
bristling
rising
up
4
the poem at the end of the world
is the poem the little girl breathes
into her pillow the one
she cannot tell the one
there is no one to hear this poem
is a political poem is a war poem is a
universal poem but is not about
these things this poem
is about one human heart this poem
is the poem at the end of the world
poem by Lucille Clifton
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A Monument
Wanting to feel your breath
in this room, in half-light, my hands
opened the window to let him in,
the green moon.
For so much violence in everyday life.
let’s break a poem and sqeeze its honey
and carve only feet, of invisible fear.
When I had run after a dream
the frills of your gown caught fire;
at the door a music stopped
to listen to rustling of a caged bird
longing for the green flight of a silent
morning joining a procession of a recent
mythical hurt.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Sign O The Times
Oh yeah
In france a skinny man
Died of a big disease with a litte name
By chance his girlfriend came across a needle
And soon she did the same
At homethere are seventeen-year-old boys
And their idea of fun
Is being in a gang called the disciples
High on crack, totin a machine gun
Time time
Hurricane annie ripped the ceiling off a church
And killed everyone inside
You turn on the telly and every other story
Is tellin you somebody died
Sister killed here baby cuz she could affort to feed it
And were sending people to the moon
In september my cousin tried reefer for the very first time
Now hes doing horse, its june
Time time
Its silly, no? when a rocket ship explodes
And everybody still wants to fly
Some say a man aint happy
Unless a man truly dies
Oh why
Time time
Baby make a speech, star wars fly
Neighbours just shine it on
But if a night falls and a bomb falls
Will anybody see the dawn
Time time
Its silly, no? when a rocket ship explodes
And everybody still wants to fly
Some say a man aint happy
Unless a man truly dies
Oh why
Time time
Sign o the times mess with your mind
Hurry before its too late
Lets fall in love, get married, have a baby
Well call him hate...if its a boy
Time times
Time time
song performed by by Simple Minds, music by Prince (1987)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Love Explodes
My love explodes all over the world for you, yeah you
My love explodes in diamonds and pearls for you, just you
When the straight plastic bowler men
Grab your soul and pull you down down down
Call my name on your dream telephone
Catch a saucer and Ill be around
Blow em out of town
My love explodes
My love explodes like the stars up in space for you, yeah you
My love explodes with the whole human race for you, just you
When the walls are all closing in
And your paradise goes wrong wrong wrong
Spell my name on your pillow tonight
Catch a rainbow and Ill be along
Singing coloured songs
My love explodes
Ive got people billions of people
Waiting here for bliss
All it takes to free these people
Is the power of a kiss, my love explodes
My love explodes all over the world for you, yeah you
My love explodes in diamonds and pearls for you, just you
My love explodes
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Against The Times
Lipped-wet,
Counterfeits.
Fakes neither audible
nor visible.
The moment dies
in our hands.
It was a non-
happening.
Silence booms
destroying the palace,
of dreams. I should have
become the scissors.
This poem is not charitable
gnawing at the underlip
of an orphaned
moon.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Air
O' tricky children of the sphere
Mass of gasses and vapour dittoing to flare
Trickling through my nostrils to swear
That my life ever is you compounded air
O' smart invisible blare
Invisible, yet sun, moon, all twinkling to glare
Elated my eyes to swear
That my life ever is you compounded air
O' invisible solitaire
Of zephyr and thunder a melody you bear
Merry my ears swear
That my life ever is you compounded air
O' invisible painter
Of azure and 'bow an aesthetic you bear
Blown my mind enthralled to swear
That my life ever is you compounded air
Visible, audible, sensible for us everywhere
Of yourself are you aware
That scary too, now a smoky, toxic ware
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Most Visible Mask
you have loved the most visible mask i have
my face
everyday, this face, tomorrow this face, yesterday
this face
you are proud of my nose, and you tell all your friends about
it
aquiline, conquest of a nose, occupying almost all parts
of your territory
not even the hands but this face
the mouth that eats you
the eyes that close when
i kiss you
the tongue that maps out
what has to be found when lost
this face, the most visible mask
inside
is the real face, the face of my mind
it is thinking something else
all these years
the invisible mask is silent
tomorrow shall be the scorn
you must bear it,
you are fond of the most visible
though not really enduring.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clockwork Creep
Im a clockwork creep
And I cant get to sleep
They wind me up and let me go
And I cant unwind
Going out of my mind
My time is coming soon you know
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Im a jumbo jet
With a brand new set
Of passengers and bags and crew
Ill spread my wings -
Do a thousand things
To prove how good I am to you
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Meanwhile in the cargo of escargot
The temperature is rising
Advertising that our time is running
Down, down, down, down, down
Oh with just one minute to live
Oh, no youll never get me up in one of these again
'cos what goes up must come
Down, down, down, down, down
Down, down, down, down, down
Oh, the gravity of the situation
Its only my willpower
That keeps this thing in operation
But were gonna crash thats for certain
The pilot is too busy flirtin
And he aint aware
That theres a bomb down there
And if he dont do something its curtains
Now just hold on,
Said the little bomb,
If you were just to hold my hands
Then time would stop
The plot would flop
And jumbo would be safe to land
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
My landings are the envy
Of sabena and pan am
From chattanooga to japan
I taxi through the airways -
What a swell little plane
What a fine little plane
What a great little plane
I am
Hang on one sec
Im a clockwork wreck
And though my fuse is burning slow
Must keep my date to detonate
Goodbye, ta ta, and cheerio
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a tick a time bomb
Tick a.........
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Full Of Life, Now
FULL of life, now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States,
To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence,
To you, yet unborn, these, seeking you.
When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible;
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me;
Fancying how happy you were, if I could be with you, and become your
comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with
you.)
poem by Walt Whitman
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0377 Should be, but
I should be writing a poem
about those small wisps of white cloud
moving unusually fast across a blue blue sky
on their way to somewhere else
as if they're late for an appointment.
I should be writing a poem
about the way the breeze is so gentle
that it seems to have a secret plan with the sun
and the new green leaves
to do something quite extraordinary.
I should be writing a poem
about the way that the trailing geranium leaves
are giving out a scent more white than green
more heavenly than any thought.
I should be writing a poem
about the way that the purple and blue and yellow and white flowers
seem to say nothing but beauty.
I should be writing a poem
but all I can do is gaze in amazement
at what I've seen before
and never seen before.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Reminiscences
The sludge overtakes the sane
euphoria.A barefoot caravan
of cloud becomes edgy.
The hills have gone green.
The cascading falls
tend to mount on the scattered stones.
Suddenly I go berserk and start
hitting the stars moon by moon,
when night had betrayed the lover.
The collected grief of the lyrics
will answer for the blood
which hunger spread on the lips.
poem by Satish Verma
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Fingers To The Bone
Everything went wrong
Im sorry boys, Ive got to let you go
Weve had some hard times
And the long rain, it didnt show
Hired hands, Ive seen them come and go
But you dont come much better
Todays blue monday
I just got a bad news letter
This day has come
The darkest cloud on our horizon
My hands are tied down
To that promise note I signed upon
Always been this way
Its the poor man who gets hurt
All you ever work for
Is to leave your footprints in the dirt
You work your fingers to the bone
The deed is done
The fruit will fall to someone elses hand
Thats how the land lies
Now we all know where we stand
Youll have to walk away
Dont let them see you running
Todays blue monday
I should have seen it coming
You work your fingers to the bone
If sweat and tears were all it took
To make this valley green
Wed be alright but now its gone
Theyve taken everything
They say its just an act of god
And thats the way ill wind blows
Youve got thirty days to pack your bags
Say goodbye, hit the road
You work your fingers to the bone
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cushions
When my leaders
Sit in the assembly halls,
For legislation,
With fake brains, fake thoughts,
Fake eyes, fake looks,
Fake existence, fake appearance,
Fake education, fake degrees,
They seem to me
Fake, fake beings,
As if
Some one has placed cushions,
On the sofas and chairs;
Cushions stuffed
With rags of worn out jeans
Or old pieces of sacks
Made of jute.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Between Going and Coming
Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
poem by Octavio Paz
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To Green
Oh! my green; Oh! my green
Where are you? Where can be seen?
Up above my chin
You are so thin;
I held you,
Saw you on tiny drops
Shining and shining
After shower found you smiling.
Where are you - going thin and thin
Oh! my green, Oh! my green.
Tempest came;
Came wearing wealthy jackets
Laid the traps showing lollypops.
It took my hands charmed on me
Studded with rubies (like) to fake me
Than I scramble and long for you
Repent my sin
Oh! my green, Oh! my green.
poem by Hrushikesha Mohanty
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