A Week Later
A week later, I said to a friend: I don't
think I could ever write about it.
Maybe in a year I could write something.
There is something in me maybe someday
to be written; now it is folded, and folded,
and folded, like a note in school. And in my dream
someone was playing jacks, and in the air there was a
huge, thrown, tilted jack
on fire. And when I woke up, I found myself
counting the days since I had last seen
my husband-only two years, and some weeks,
and hours. We had signed the papers and come down to the
ground floor of the Chrysler Building,
the intact beauty of its lobby around us
like a king's tomb, on the ceiling the little
painted plane, in the mural, flying. And it
entered my strictured heart, this morning,
slightly, shyly as if warily,
untamed, a greater sense of the sweetness
and plenty of his ongoing life,
unknown to me, unseen by me,
unheard, untouched-but known, seen,
heard, touched. And it came to me,
for moments at a time, moment after moment,
to be glad for him that he is with the one
he feels was meant for him. And I thought of my
mother, minutes from her death, eighty-five
years from her birth, the almost warbler
bones of her shoulder under my hand, the
eggshell skull, as she lay in some peace
in the clean sheets, and I could tell her the best
of my poor, partial love, I could sing her
out with it, I saw the luck
and luxury of that hour.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Chain of love and peace
One moment of love and peace,
Several moments of love and peace, it can make.
Several moments of love and peace,
One minute of love and peace, it can make.
One minute of love and peace,
Several minutes of love and peace, it can make.
Several minutes of love and peace,
One hour of love and peace, it can make.
One hour of love and peace,
Several hours of love and peace, it can make.
One hour of love and peace,
Several hours of love and peace, it can make.
Several hours of love and peace,
One day of love and peace, it can make.
One day of love and peace,
Several days of love and peace, it can make.
Several days of love and peace,
One week of love and peace, it can make.
One week of love and peace,
Several weeks of love and peace, it can make.
Several weeks of love and peace,
One month of love and peace, it can make.
One month of love and peace,
Several months of love and peace, it can make.
Several months of love and peace,
One year of love and peace, it can make
One year of love and peace,
Several years of love and peace, it can make
Several years of love and peace,
One life of love and peace, it can make
One life of love and peace,
Several lives of love and peace, it can make
Several lives of love and peace,
One family of love and peace, it can make
One family of love and peace,
Several families of love and peace, it can make
Several families of love and peace,
One village of love and peace, it can make
One village of love and peace,
Several villages of love and peace, it can make
Several villages of love and peace,
One community of love and peace, it can make
One community of love and peace,
Several communities of love and peace, it can make
Several communities of love and peace,
One country of love and peace, it can make
One country of love and peace,
Several countries of love and peace, it can make
Several countries of love and peace,
One world of love and peace, it can make
One world of love and peace,
One eternity of love and peace, it can make
One moment of love and peace,
One eternity of love and peace, it can make
So, why doesn’t it?
Because this is same for hate and war…
poem by Lino Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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100 Years
I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind
I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy, Time to lose yourself
Within a morning star
15 I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
Half time goes by
Suddenly youre wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...
I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are
15 there's still time for you
22 I feel her too
33 youre on your way
Every day's a new day...
15 there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Overwhelming World Suite
Written by gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
[overwhelming world]
Overwhelming world tied up in a knot
Anything you ask is everything i've got
I can't let go
It's all you need
It's all i know
Tiny little girl wakens in the night
Was it just a dream, will she be alright
It's hard to say
There's so much more
Beyond her door
Hidden in the heart buried in the soul
Everybody's wondering if where they are going, they're going alone
Carried on the wind
Up above the stars alone
A spark from a fire ignited a long time ago
[come back]
Every single moment
Every waking hour
I can see your beauty
Like an open flower
Just like a flower
Won't you come back, come back to me
Won't you come back, come back to me
There with your head in your hands
I sware that you don't understand
That you and i were meant to be
I can feel you breathing
As you lay beside me
Nothing but a memory
That you can't deny me
You can't deny me
Every single moment
Every waking hour
I can feel your beauty
Like an open flower
Just like a flower
Won't you come back, come back to me
Won't you come back, come back to me
[barstow]
Barstow, barstow
Meet you in the morning
Barstow, barstow
As the day is dawning
Sunrise out on the freeway in the morning
Meeting you as the day is dawning
Counting the minutes to go
Barstow (barstow), barstow
Showcase of the southland
Barstow (barstow), barstow
Living hand to mouth and
Somewhere on the horizon in the distance
Seeing you there with no resistance
Counting the seconds to go
Sunrise out on the freeway in the morning
Meeting you as the day is dawning
Counting the seconds to go
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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041611G mom doesn't like way i write
i brought home my papers
with scrambled writing and
folded to look like unknown
bird or boat that really float
i could write my name not
my family name too long
i can't decide which hand
i will use for writing it seems
i can use them both at ease
so i have two gigantic pencil
my mom wasn't please with
so i hide my left hand under
***
i'm writing my recollection about
my mother as a reminder to mom's
that we kids does keep in mind
lots of things concerning our mom's
and of course we remember at
'MOTHER'S DAY'
poem by Manonton Dalan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whatevah
write
till it does not hurt anymore
write
till all the happy moments are consumed.
write
till all the aches are justified
write
till all your revenge is dissipated
write
till all angles are examined
write and keep on writing
till all of you is hidden, till all of you is folded back
write and keep on writing still
because you are your writer and there is no one who knows you well
except yourself, and what they know shall only be
skin deep
because you want it so,
you are the king in the jungle of your uncertainties
the Tarzan hitting his chest before Jane came and ruined it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've Tried That...
sleeping with a broken heart,
for days, weeks, years,
waking up everyday
on a self
still intact,
unbroken like the constancy
of my days,
week,
& years,
a morning coffee
sipped
without any thought
of having
tasted any
coffeeness at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Morning
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing left to give
Nothing more in you
Nothing else to have or hold
Nothing left, but time to go
Time to go
Years go by
Didn't really say that much at all
And moments just fly
Didn't ever really touch at all
Weeks always run down
Didn't really get that close at all
And days, days fall out
Didn't ever really know at all
And then we're here in a room too clean and too bright
She stares at you for an hour
You stare into the light
For one last hour in the room
So mean and so white
I stare at her in this room as she stares into the night
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing left to ask
Nothing more of you
Nothing else to share or show
Nothing left but time to go
In his eyes as we turn no eternity of life
In his eyes as we turn no infinity of why
In his eyes as we turn no beautiful goodbye
In his eyes as we turn...nothing but tears
In his eyes as we turn...nothing but tears
(spoken:) I couldn't understand too much of what was being said
In a matter of minutes
Peacefully so slow
I had to think to breathe
My heart burst
We moved in silence really slowly away from the world
As we drove a strange silence
That moment
Nothing will ever be the same
Nothing will ever be the same
Nothing will ever be the same
Days fall out
Weeks always run down
Moments just fly
Weeks go by
And then we're here
And then we're here in a room too clean and too bright
I stare at you for an hour
You stare into the light
For one last hour in the room so mean and so white
You stare at me in this room as I stare into the night
Nothing left to feel
Nothing more to do
Nothing more to take
Nothing more from you
Nothing else to need or know
There's nothing left at all...but time to go
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dream Of Always
I dream.
I am a peaceful, serene man.
I know so little,
But I care so much.
In my dream
I write some,
And realize I have wronged some,
I try to right my wrongs with my writing;
And thereby, I find deep joy
In a gentle moment in nature
Speaking with a beautiful solitary flower,
My deepest thoughts I feel no need to describe or defend,
As I talk calmly with this my true friend.
In my dream
God sits happily with me,
Quietly we converse.
Together we write, together we read,
I listen, He reads me.
Such deep joy we here know.
In these mystic moments
It is good,
It is as it should.
It is natural.
Time is unnatural.
Time is illusion.
Eternal peace, serene joy, deep divinity
Is reality,
God is here......
So am I,
In my dream.
In my dream
We are always, always together.
Always, we shall be.
... time awakens...
I never will, I am in my dream.
It's the final end of night,
And the start of all new days,
I have entered - with God -
Into the always, of our dream.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Hands Are Folded
My Hands Are Folded
my hands are folded in supplication
I need your help, i need to relax
i need calm, rest, light, peace
courage, forgiveness
my hands are folded
i bow down to my only Saviour
my anchor of safety
my harbor of protection
my heaven of peace
my eyes look up to you
with confidence, with hope
i come as one sick
to his physician
as one poor and needy
to the Lord of heaven and earth
grant that i may see you
in all things
in good and ill health
in joy as in sorrow
grant me oh Lord
the grace to accept with patience
the monotony of daily tasks
to embrace with resignation
the fatigue and exhaustion
of days too long and too full
for my physical strength
grant me the ability to be relaxed
and be calm in the thought of your love
to find rest in the assurance
that you are with me
always and forever...Amen
poem by Meggie Gultiano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In February
Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn,
Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers,
And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers;
A poet's face asleep in this grey morn.
Now in the midst of the old world forlorn
A mystic child is set in these still hours.
I keep this time, even before the flowers,
Sacred to all the young and the unborn.
To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat,
And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal,
And to the future of my own young art,
And, among all these things, to you, my sweet,
My friend, to your calm face and the immortal
Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart.
poem by Alice Meynell
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The poem and her poet
Death once told poor life defeated by life:
Life's no life if lived on the edge of knife,
No more a struggle, nor is full of strife,
Do ye know how many deaths is Death rife?
Death's all death; the same is not true of life,
Life tries to knot her up snaps when death's knife,
But I've heard a man asking on death bed,
Pray, tell me Death, how long ere I'm all dead?
To him, said death, straightening up his head,
Moments might when look like minutes of dread,
Minutes stretch and stretch into hours, instead,
When hours take days, and days, years, you are dead.
Remember, life's lived moment to moment,
‘Tis measured too in a moving moment,
Forget not: Death alone is permanent,
I dwell in life from birth, live life dormant;
There's no freedom in life, nor should death call,
Death changes but the bricks of prison wall,
All quarrels ‘tween life and death, big and small,
Settled are, death when proves him far too tall.
Life is a small piece, but a paragraph
Of my poem, said Death, metre nor measure but in half,
Life may decide every new beginning,
But ‘tis me that knows the length, knows ending.
Eons pass sans measure for endless time,
While no clocks tick, nor dare their hours to chime,
Boulders of rocks break down whilst time stands still,
O grinding into grains of sands sans will.
While life is stuck with my poem's first rhyme,
Death challenged life to dare the worst she can,
I'm the Absolute trouser wearing man1,
I wonder how relative would tick time!
_____________________________________________ ___________
1. Death muses himself to be the male principle, the purusha.
The poem stands for life and prakriti. The piece here depicts
a dialogue between Life, or the matter, the poem and her
creator poet, the Death. In Indic philosophy, purusha is the
presiding deity, the atman or soul, which is eternal and body
is made of prakriti, the material nature, which is death-bound.
_____________________________________________ __________________
- Musings | 12.08.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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zPt #1 Birth of a New Day
All is still and silent now
The world is at peace with man
The terrors of day are quiet now
Peace reigns throughout the land
Thin shades of night come creeping
slowly over the earth
Now in awesome stillness Earth lies
Like a woman awaiting the moment of birth
Remembering now, in fleeting moments last
too soon forgotten lessons
of a day almost past
If it were possible she’d sigh
‘Perhaps ‘tis best this way’
Dark battles for one last moment
... then the birth of a new day!
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was ten years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon
Reflection have decided to post some on this sit. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting.
poem by Mary Havran
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The Quiescence here like his deep poems!
'Here you come to New South Wales'
The board by the roadside glitters!
And I got down from the bus
A limousine for the first time in my life?
O it's an unusual quietness in this burial grounds
Situated in a small town perhaps his birth place?
At last after roaming around
I found his humble tomb!
I touched and it's cold
Like frozen death,
Suddenly I woke up!
But I was not certain
Whether it's morning
Or still it's night and where I have been
With my teary eyes?
*[He sent me his two poetry books 'Poems that bloom in my garden & The ancient poet', few weeks before he dies and this was written on the back with his mischievous hand writing and the friendly signature! .................To Nimal, my brother & friend thank you for being who you are.-Paddy Martin]
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Go to See the World
I long to see the world
Where should I go first?
There's a song called
Go to See GuiLin When You Graduate
A song I loved
When I was still a high school student
For many years the song was unheard
So much time has passed
'It is a lovely place', he said
I could not respond with my heart pounding so fast
Oh my dear friend
I wish there's more I could say at that moment
But what was lived was lived
I wonder if only Jack Welch's life can be lived with no regret
To explore the big world
One should make no haste
As long as one is on the road
There'll always be another rhyme to write
poem by Cathy Shao
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One Mans Ceiling Is Another Mans Floor
Words & music by paul simon
Theres been some hard feelings here
About some words that were said
Been some hard feelings here
And what is more
Theres been a bloody purple nose
And some bloody purple clothes
That were messing up the lobby floor
Its just apartment house rules
So all you partment fools
Remember: one mans ceiling is another mans floor!
One mans ceiling is another mans floor
Theres been some strange goins on
And some folks have come and gone
Like the elevator man dont work no more
I heard a racket in the hall
And I thought I heard a call
But I never opened up my door
Its just apartment house sense
Its like apartment rents
Remember: one mans ceiling is another mans floor!
One mans ceiling is another mans floor!
Theres an alley
In the back of my building
Where some people congregate in shame
I was walking with my dog
And the night was black with smog
When I thought I heard somebody
Call my name
Ah-- remember: one mans ceiling is another mans floor!
One mans ceiling is another mans floor!
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Touched By Time
The hall clock stopped at five past four,
the moment my loving mother died.
She always said it would and it did,
and my dearest mother never lied.
She seemed to know about these things
and often had a supernatural sense.
A few minutes of silence would come over her
and then she’d explain what the silence meant.
When the morning wind blew in a particular way
she said that something was coming soon,
or something unexpected was going to happen
and it would before that very afternoon.
She said that she had been touched by time,
but never explained how and why.
Five past four was when she entered the world
and also the time she died.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire & Rain
This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the poems, prayers & promises album, and has also been released on the changes and reflections: songs of love and life albums.
Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone
Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
I woke up this morning and wrote down this song
I just cant remember who to send it to
Ive seen fire and Ive seen rain
Seen sunny days that I thought would never end
Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought Id see you again
Wont you look down upon me jesus you got to help me make a stand
You just got to see me through another day
My bodys aching, my time is at hand
I just cant make it any other way
Ive seen fire and Ive seen rain
Seen sunny days that I thought would never end
Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought Id see you again
Ive been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned twards the sun
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it will turn your head around
Theres hours of time on the telephone line theyll talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground
Oh, Ive seen fire and Ive seen rain
Seen sunny days that I thought would never end
Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought Id see you one more time again
Words and music by james taylor
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written Somewhere (Mini Biography)
My friends are strangers
My family is the world
At one time, I sought fame
Everyone to know my name
Praise for what I did
But as the years came around
No fame there was to be found
So I turned my back on it all
Feeling crushed and insignificantly small
Years folded into one another
And soon became a score
Still I had no wish to return
To find the fame that I so yearned
But fate had a hand for me to play
It said you still had something more to say
An old school friend from a different time
Was sent one day when I was down
To reconnect and turn my life around
At first it did not dawn on me
That our meeting was meant to be
And my life was to change so dramatically
We talked through emails
About the lives, we had both lead
Suzanne said she had a friend and told me her name
That I should read her poems online
That friend, Melvina Germain, would also become a friend of mine
And set me on a return road of an earlier time
I joined the site where her poems were
And in a few short months, I was overwhelmed
I had something I had always dreamed for
I had a family of the world
The fame I so dearly sought to find
Where friends came along and read the work of mine
It made my heart pump faster and put zest into my life again
I would never want for anything
I had all the friends and fame
I ever wanted and more
16 April 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Assessment
The Assessment
My copy pen fell to the floor I bent down to pick it up
now I feel dizzy. I came to this country, decades ago
to write, many pens have fallen on the floor- although
I do not write with a pen but use a word processor.
A pen is a crutch and to make droll shapes on sheets
of paper; a thousands sheets filled with doodles while
waiting to write something sensible on the processor;
a mad publisher has shown interest in them.
Twenty years feels a very long time, twenty more and
I’ll be ninety bet I will not be able to pick up a pen from
the floor then. Now I wake up in the night and a steady
hum tells me I have wasted my time scrawling, a book
of scribble how is that for an epitaph?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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