Walking Into You
Tonight
the nectar will be spread
to tame a random tormentor.
Black and white,
I never saw my father weeping.
Lonely he was.
I am
my own creation today
weather beaten. Confession to -
confession, unread. When the-
storm was tethered,
there was flooding and neck deep-
you were in tears. Am cannibalizing
my own poems, to write a new line.
It was a midnight moon.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
I Confess
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
When I feel I have a need,
And I please My Father...
With deeds I attempt,
And some not successfully...
My Father decides,
To then surprise.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
When I pray each day,
And express my gratefulness...
I don't take for granted,
Those blessings from My Father...
I know from Him I get.
When I find I struggle,
And I am wet with sweat...
I am comforted by My Father,
Who then allows...
My peace and rest.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
Before Him I place no 'thing' I value more.
Before My Father,
I profess a love for him that is adored.
My loyalty and devotion,
Is given without thought.
And My Father and I...
Tackle those obstacles,
He assists me to abort.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
And nothing do I have do I take for granted.
I know from 'WHOM' my gifts have come.
I know from 'WHOM' has 'allowed' this to be done!
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Confession??? -Yun Dong-Ju
파란 녹이 낀 구리 거울 속에
내 얼굴이 남아 있는 것은
어느 왕조(王朝) 의 유물(遺物) 이기에
이다지도 욕될까.
O what shame it is
to see my face still intact
in this rusted-green bronze mirror
What dynasty's heritage this is,
I wonder!
나는 나의 참회(懺悔) 의 글을 한 줄에 줄이자.
― 만 이십 사년(滿 二十 四年일 개월(一個月) 을
무슨 기쁨을 바라 살아 왔던가.
Let me sum up this record of my confession
-24 years and one month of my life
for what joy have I lived?
내일이나 모레나 그 어느 즐거운 날에
나는 또 한 줄의 참회록(懺悔錄) 을 써야 한다.
― 그때 그 젊은 나이에
왜 그런 부끄런 고백을 했던가.
Tomorrow or the day after one of these days
I might have to write another line of confession...
Why did I have to write such a shameful confession
at that young age?
밤이면 밤마다 나의 거울을
손바닥으로 발바닥으로 닦아 보자.
Let me wipe the mirror night after night
with my palm and sole.
그러면 어느 운석(隕石) 밑으로 홀로 걸어가는
슬픈 사람의 뒷모양이
거울 속에 나타나온다.
Then I see a lone sad figure
walking alone under a meteorite
in this mirror
< 시집, ‘하늘과 바람과 별과 시' (1948) >
poem by Sangnam Nam
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Flooding
Flooding
Posting volumes
Of several poems
Covers the page
Blocks other choices
And fences other writers
Yet is no guarantee
That flooding is read
For all the poetry
For the myriad words said
Remains suspended
Unread
Unread
Unread
Dead.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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I Wrote My Poems Today
I WROTE MY POEMS TODAY
I wrote my poems today-
I should rest
But unrest is in me
And perhaps only Poetry
Will make me calm.
It is after all easier
To live with the error
in one small poem
Easier to discard it
Than in trying to confront and correct
A long work of the past.
With a few lines
I escape and pretend
I am doing something worthwhile-
So if my poetry is a poetry of confession
Today it is perhaps a confession
of my cowardice and irresponsibility.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Poems Are My Confession
MY POEMS ARE MY CONFESSION
My poems are my confession
No one else need read -
And yet without their readers
What can my poems mean?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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At The Confessional Box...
there is this boy
who looks like me when i was once a boy like him
who as taught by the priests
of the catholic schools have to be on a regular confession
inside that box where the priests
listens....
(Father i have sinned, i have not gone to confession
for a week and these are my sins...repeat, repeat, repeat,
and the priest, perhaps tired and
bored says...
my little son, say three hail marys, five our fathers, and 2 glory bes
and if you have time
write a poem) .
and so the poems since then were written.
the boy did not stop to live within that confessional box
the priest died
earlier than expected.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Like Father Like Son
He was raised in the english way
His daddy taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
They sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone elses rule
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
He read letters from home at night in his bed
And got this uneasy feeling when his father said
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
He bought his daddys car and he learned to drive
And when he left school he got a nine to five
He met the girl and he got his spouse
And they had the child and they got the house
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
He loved his son and he helped him build walls and fronts
He knew hed heard it before
Someone had said it once
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
He raised his son in the english way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone elses rules
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns a pattern he wont break the chain
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise the next boy
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confession
Listen up
This is confession
This machine motion is sure to break my heart
Listen up
This is confession
Recorded music sticks in the throat of god.
I o u, you dont own me
I o u, you dont own me
Party time, one mor night, everybodys affected
Listen up
This is confession
You are a poison that flows into my veins.
Listen up
This is confession
Ive never been so scared of letting you down.
You know me, so come closer
You know me, so come closer
Party time, one more town, everybodys affected.
I know you, you dont need me
I know you, you dont need me
Party time, one more girl, everybodys affected
Listen up
This is confession
They tell me heaven just has to be somewhere
Listen up
This is confession
Id lie to God if I could make him believe.
You owe me, and I need you
You owe me, and I need you
Party time, one more game, everybodys affected
This is my confession
This is my confession
Party time, one more lie, everybodys affected
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dark writing....
Dark shadows sneak under the door
As I keep writing these dark lyrics more
Of a nature that's not evil or unkind
Rather of disturbing thoughts in my mind.
They say for everything bad it's found
Something good it has to come around
The weather wouldn't be pleasant if wasn't for the rain
These feelings wouldn't exist if it wasn't for the pain.
I'm doing a storm in a cup of water to prepare
Meanwhile around people don't even care
I pray for my life to not end before these stanzas
But mindlessly I write and write looking for the answers.
My cold dark poems are everywhere
Floating around in the midnight air
Listen, closely you have no choice
These dark words, my deep voice.
Where the world is falling apart,
There lies a dark poem of the heart
Dark poems tell the darkest lines
They make you hear their shrieking cries.
Hold dearly onto your ravaged soul;
Don't find you've let life take its toll
Youll find my dark poems are everywhere
Read them, like them, if you dare….
I am the shadow hiding in the dark
The evil sounds that wake you in the night
I'm a shadow lurking in the dark
Because still it always feels so right
So I write my shadowy poems line by line
But I'm constantly over looked
My brain is fried down to the spine
And my broken heart is cooked
I'm left only with part of a heart
That will never again beat
I'm the one person
No one has to meet
I am a shadow lurking in the dark
Writing my poems so deep
Whispering my words so stark
Pray your soul to keep…
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Indian Wedding
(orbison)
There once was an indian brave by the name of yellow hand
He fell in love with a maiden know as white sands
They vowed their love would last forever more
Then came the day that they had waited for.
Yellow hand brought her a golden feather
White sands said a prayer for good weather
The ceremonial dance grew loud and strong
Then yellow hand began their wedding song.
Oooooh oooooh oooh ooooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh
Tonight, tonight, we will be one
Well walk in the land of the midnight sun
Oh white sands, come hold my lonely hand.
Then they left the warmth of the raging fire
And rode into the hills climbing higher
And suddenly the snow came swirling down
They were lost the trail could not be found.
Oooooh oooooh oooh ooooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh
Tonight, tonight we will be one
Well walk in the land of the midnight sun
Oh white sands, come hold my lonely hand.
They never returned from paradise
They went to their places in the sky
And the old ones still say when the snowflakes fly
If youll listen close youll hear him cry:
Oooooh oooooh oooh ooooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh
Tonight, tonight we will be one
Well walk in the land of the midnight sun
Oh white sands, come hold my lonely hand.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Know There Are Other Kinds Of Poetry
I know there are other kinds of Poetry-
I know for many a confession cannot be a poem-
But for me my confession is my poem
And my writing what I most intensely think and feel
And need to say-
It may not be Poetry for you
And it may not speak to you at all,
I don't want you to waste your time
With what is meaningless for you-
But if the poetry of Confession
And mine in particular
Can be poetry for you,
Thank you for giving my lines
Some time and attention.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My poems are stored
My poems are stored
In a funeral box
Kept beside the bed
They go unread
Similar objects are kept
Locked in my heart and head
They go unread
The habitation of my poems
Is bonded red
They go unread
All poems are offerings
To the god that can not read
For poems are only human
Made things
The bees do not care for them
Neither does the birds
Or the trees with better
Things to do then
Take note of them.
poem by David E. Patton
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Do It
make your confession alone
before yourself
'in front of a mirror
you man weak
with the will, and the act,
do it
make your confession alone
before yourself
without the priest
put the candle
and beside mirror
even rather small
clean your conscience
more lightly
for you will be
to die...
every your thought
direct
to God
not to people
and stop
already deluding yourself
don't search
at other
consciences
one's you put away
where? I don't know
try to find
make your confession alone
before yourself
in front of a mirror
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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Gotta Weather The Storm
Friend fell into alcoholic maze
the kind who never ceases to amaze
leaving me with only words to say
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
Here's clue, he's got woman trouble
guess easy to say he's seen double
so I'm gonna lay it down again
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
Working hard all this year long
he can't tell right from wrong
so I'll ring it from day one
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
Swore aloud how he's thinking suicide
thinking aloud bout rising river tide
so I'll sing it from day two anew
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
Booze has turned his head around
think he's suicidal devil road bound
so I'll play it from day three
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
So I'm laying truth down the line
listen to these blues yours and mine
listen catch hold my repeated lines
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
Think it's worth sown in your mind
making black white stop you been blind
so I'll ring sing the twelve bar blues
sometimes man you gotta weather the storm.
Repeat sometimes man you, gotta weather the storm.
poem by Wayne Falconer
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Black Clouds
This is making me crazy
These black clouds following me
So I look for signs of light
But rarely I see them
I return to my shelter
And I crawl in a bottle
I'm losing my will for this
So over emotional
Black clouds
They rain down but
They can't kill the sun
Confession of depression
This life I'm second-guessing
Like ashes to ashes
I always seem to fall down
I'm tired of running
It's time to face my demons
Confession of depression
This life I'm second-guessing
My emotions are storming
And tears fall just like rain
Pain strikes like lightning
Despair is becoming my friend
I'm pushing myself to a point of self-destruction
Black clouds
They rain down but
They can't kill the son inside
song performed by by Papa Roach from Lovehatetragedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confession of errors is like a broom which sweeps away the dirt and leaves the surface brighter and clearer. I feel stronger for confession.
quote by Mohandas Gandhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True confessions
In my youth I was often told
That confession is good,
good for the soul.
In a darkened wooden booth
I was expected to tell the truth.
First a good act of contrition,
Confession and then absolution
Penance would be meted out
Thus expiation came about.
Nowadays that’s thought
Old fashioned.
My local barkeep
hears my confession.
Of course he grants no absolution,
He pours Absinthe
and shows compassion.
And I may or may not
Tell the truth
While contemplating
The Absolute.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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I don't write poems
I don't write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don't write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don't write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don't write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
26th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Confession of a friend
Somewhere from within the air,
Somewhere from above the clouds,
From somewhere…
Over the woods, brown and bare,
Over the fields of foggy swares,
Silent, soft and slow,
Descends the white snow.
And,
Land with its snow, glows apar.
By the fascination of white snow fell,
Rise the confession of ground heart fell,
It was my fault I didn’t realise,
But now it is a different tale,
I wish a wish to have a friend like you,
Lucky enough to have,
Hope to have company of yours,
That’s my confession heart fell.
poem by Anurag Kumar
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Can A Sick Man Write A Morning Poem?
CAN A SICK MAN WRITE A MORNING POEM?
Can a sick man write a morning poem?
Can a man short of breath write anything?
I try-
My own banal reflections on my own condition are the poem-
A small confession of where I am today –
I have the strength -
I have written these lines -
Perhaps the morning light today
Is real after all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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