Related quotes: I HAVE SPENT MY LIFE...

I Have Spent My Life

I HAVE SPENT MY LIFE

I have spent my life
Walking
And Thinking
And Writing Poems.

A happy life
A blessed life
I thank God for it

As I now too
write these late afternoon lines
At Sunset
In a Jerusalem garden
Where the light breeze
And green intermingle.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Day Long/I Have Been Walking And Thinking

ALL DAY LONG / I HAVE BEEN WALKING AND THINKING

All day long
I have been walking and thinking
Trying to write a poem.

And the lines are not lines
And the poem is not a poem
And the poet is not a poet.

And as the Jerusalem winter wind
Quickens my soul
And the sun flashes at me
The beauty of this world,
I know I have wasted my life
On what was beyond me.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Notes From The Night

Rilke once said
if he spent all of his life
studying and working
he hoped to
be able to write
four good lines of poetry

think i'll quit writing
grow a big garden,
cut and stack wood
for all who are cold
save as many stray dogs
as i can
spend a lot of time
playing with and listening to
small children
and sit with as many
old people left alone
to die as i can

read Rilke daily,
and drink a lot of
black coffee
and hope like hell
that just before i die
i can write one good line
of poetry
i'd be happy with that!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If I Can Go On Writing Poems

IF I CAN GO ON WRITING POEMS

If I can go on writing poems
I will be happy-

If I cannot go on
I will lose something of myself-

I wonder how long I will be able to go on
Days? Years? How long exactly?

I write happily now
A poem I know I can post-
Without that I might be less happy about it-

If I can go on writing poems
This will be a sign I still have hope in life-

When I am stopped or stop
Will it mean I am finished
As a person also?

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life's Dance

In truth, I could live without you,
But that wouldn't be a life worth living.
Since you've been away,
My head went astray,
And I don't know what to do.
I can't sleep at night,
Getting up doesn't feel right,
Because I know I won't see you.
There is no promise of tomorrow,
But there is the promise of today,
Which will not be spent in sorrow or wishing my life away.
Instead it will be spent thinking,
Thinking about if I get the chance,
How I will spend tomorrow,
Dancing with life's dance.

poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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Life

Thinking is a boring life
Laughing is a irresponsible life
Joking is a funny life
Questioning is irritating life
Walking without objective is a wondering life
To love someone is lousy life
Hate with someone is jealous life
Being angry is a loser life
Being happy nothing is decided in life

poem by Ainan Ahmad
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Walk Away

Nothing seems to surprise me
You spent your life driving
Nothing seems to amuse me
She fell asleep crying today
Coz her life's lost and changed its ways
And through this time you lost a friend
All good things come to an end

So you trust in something in someone
You spent your life
Thinking and trying and finding
It's never right

You want it all your own sad way
You pushed him down
Then left to say "Can you just help me one last time?"
She's got you now she'll feed you lies

It's all right it's ok
Life moves on to better days
It's all right it's ok
Life moves on just walk away

So what can I do?
To get it all back now

It's all right it's ok
Life moves on to better days
It's all right it's ok
Life moves on just walk away

song performed by by Near Miss from The Gentle Art Of Making Enemies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Did I Know

Little did I know forty-two years ago
when I put pen to paper
after getting off a fairground ride
at sunset that day.
That what I was about to write
would be a crowning achievement
in my writing life.
That what I wrote would be read and used
in all the four corners of the world.
It would be used to compliment
photos, painting, and memorials
to those who had passed away.
A piece of writing
which would evoke so much in many.
For everyone who reads it
get their own impressions from within it.
Little did I know
more than any other of my work,
it would make my name.
Although I have written poems
for one reason or another
that have become favourites of mine,
Just Beyond The Sunset is a dream
and beyond that sunset
my dreams have come true
in a lot more ways than one.
For little did I know
what I was writing then.

21 April 2008

poem by David Harris
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare

AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE

An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-

Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-

Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.

There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Good to write poems

I want everyone in theworld
To write poems
Poems is the best to happy writing
Anger sad and pain
Which you write it in poems
Heal faster and better
Than any medicine in theworld
Because I know I write
In anger sad pain and much joy
Romance exotic and love
Society reality and life
Religion GOD and fantasia
I write what I feel and heard
Peaceful within, no more hurt or sad
Anger all to happiness and
Forgiveness you find
Solution you get
The joy the fulfillment
The happy feeling and heal
I can’t felt it until each poem I write

poem by See Fee Lee
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Late In The Afternoon

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON

Late in the afternoon
Late in life
Lyric poetry is still possible.

It is quieter of course
And calmer of course
And its passion is subdued of course
But it is still possible.

Love does not die in old age
It simply sings softer.

Even now towards the end of this happy day
The light has its own sad song.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Is There A Poem Of The Afternoon?

IS THERE A POEM OF THE AFTERNOON?

Is there a poem of the afternoon?
Sadness at so little having been done in the morning
I have spent a life escaping
And today too I escaped
Learning studying reading
Other worlds other people other minds
Far from practical problems.

The sun is strong today and the summer come early
And the days will be long now with the clock changed
I have tried to focus on Poetry this year
But I have not really gone back to re-read the Poems of my life

War threatens for a change
It may be that our city will be on fire and our neighborhood burn as never before
We pray somehow for a miracle of survival without war and destruction

They hate us and they hate us and they hate us
One – fifth of mankind cannot bear two- tenths of one percent of us

Pesach will be here in two weeks time
I have written only a small fraction of all that is in me
And even that is far too much for me to ever reread

Life goes on for now
I am still alive
It is a beautiful sunny afternoon in Yerushalyim
I have been here for thirty- four years now

There should be somehow one decisive concluding line
That brings this poem together
And makes it worthwhile

How happy I am in my old age now loving life so much
G-d has been so good to me through all these years
What a beautiful beautiful day to look out at from inside.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Happy ending

She spent her life worrying over everyone
She spent her days trying to get her kids the life they wanted
She spent her nights trying to convince her husband not to leave
She tried everything
But it never worked
Her worries never went away
Her kids ended up with dead-end lives
Her husband ended up with a 23 year old blonde
And all she wanted was a happy ending

poem by Tiffany Fawcett
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written

The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Joy of a Lifetime

The joy of a lifetime
Is the success one makes of life.
Success is the result of handwork and luck.
Three stages there are in life.
Comes first the prime of life,
When on bubble with life and enthusiasm.
And boils with youthful exuberance..
Next comes mid age, age for reasoning,
When one through life is half spent.
Last comes old age, age of experience,
When one is close to the grave.
Success can be attained at anytime.
But nothing can equal he prime of life,
When one still has so many years ahead.
And when at this time success smiles on you,
Then to the Almighty be the glory,
The gratitude and appreciation,
For a life well spent and full of success.

poem by Mac Araromi
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Dear Friend

i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,

i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests

and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence

as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)

there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,

please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:

write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Death Of A Good Man.....(A Tribute To President Attah Mills)

A place of tears and sorrow life is.......
A frightening and passing dream life is....
A tear dropp in the eye of infinity life is...
A borrowed gift life is....

Death is a sun smiling down on men,
Men has no choice than to smile back at the sun,
men are nothing but dust and ashes,
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,
Men are nothing but flowers which blossoms at sunrise,
But fades at sunset.

I never knew he would begone that day,
I never knew i won't see him again,
Why will our lives be borrowed?
Only to be taken away at the lenders will,
Why will the good ones always die?
Why are the mighty always falling?
Why is life such a place of agony?
Does this life worth one good man's life?

Farewell my president to the great beyond,
Farewell to the afterlife,
farewell to a place of rest,
I pray the ferryman gives you a safe trip across the river of dead,
I pray you pay your two gold coin debt you owe him.

No more shall life make mockery of your manhood,
No more shall the burdens of life pull you down,
No more shall you suffer from the cruel hands whips of life,
No more shall you sweat under the mid-day sun,
No more shall you walk through the crest of waves,
No more shall you walk through the babbling of breeze,
For now you have gone to place of rest,
A place away from the problems of mankind.

Would money buy life? i would have spent my last coin,
Would poems and monuments bring you back?
i would have exhaust my pen in writing,
Would tears bring you back? i would have shed my last drop,
But now all i could do is nothing but remember you.

Your life was well spent in kindness to everyone around you,
My president, a selfless servant of his people,
A man of dignity and integrity is gone,
The good man lives on,
Goodbye my lord....... goodbye.

I will see you again but not soon, never soon,
For am still sailing the seas of life,
Am still at the shores of distant oceans,
Am still writing a book in your name,
A book that would sell for thousands of years to come,
I am etching your name on the pillars of history,
Your actions will echo across the century,
Strangers will hear your name,
They will wonder who you are?
How bravely you fought,
How fiercely you love,

If they ever tell my story,
Let them say i lived in the time of Attah Mill,
Let them say i lived with the tamer of horses,
Let them say i once walked with a giant,
Farewell Attah Mill........ farewell my friend.

poem by Livinus weeping poet Okechukwu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Meets The Eye

You have all known me from what I have written
But know I am different
I have learned to live life a different way
To see life in a different perspective

When I was in that hospital
I saw so many people come and go
For so many different reasons

When I first went in
I was scared and didn’t know
What was going to happen
But now I know that life is worth living

There is more to life that meets the eye
You have to look at life more carefully
Its like judging people
You shouldn’t judge a person by their looks
You need to get to know them

Life is just like that
You can’t judge life
Because if you do
Then life is going to be very rocky
Just like mine is right know
But I am trying to get through it

When I first started writing
I wrote deep and dark
I wrote about death and hurting myself
I still do here and there but I am trying to move on
And write about things that I am looking forward to

So I am moving on into a better life
A life I have never had before
A life where I can control what I do
And actually be happy

But its going to take time
So I am going to take it day by day
And see where life is going to take me

poem by Katie Huntress
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Life Goes Away