My Lost Asylum, Wisdom.
She was tender at heart,
In love with a story book
That contained butterflies,
Gardens, lawns, sheep,
Shepherds and brooks.
Devoting attention fully,
Kept on reading slowly.
Paused, mused and resumed,
While words grew sentences,
And gave birth to paragraphs.
Pages matured day by day,
Until her eyes moistened,
With the very last line ended
On the heavy black tiny spot.
She ran to the first page
In pursuit of her intimates,
But could only find
An aged author bearing
Lines of title glaring.
Flies carried wisdom
To distant virgin gardens.
Shepherds with herds
Migrated into unholy lands.
Lawns merged in brooks,
And got asylum in seas!
poem by Tajudeen Shah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Picture-Books in Winter
Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nature Is
nature
is God's book
and he is
the careful author
whose main
intent
is to please us
with brooks and seas and forests
and landscapes
and birds and
butterflies
and sun and moon
and thousands stars in the heavens
and here we
are his little children
with our
ballpoint pens
scribbling
all his pages
irresponsibly
and possibly guilty
but God smiles
he knows we have fun
and He likes it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: The Flocks Need More Shepherds
Shepherds are turning scarcer, day by day!
Fragmented flocks have lesser sheep in fold;
With many lost, many sheep go astray;
Devils on rampage trouble, young and old.
Meadows have lesser grass that's succulent;
More sheep want better grass, water to drink;
The climes these days are turning turbulent;
The few shepherds are old-aged, on death's brink!
Shepherdless stay some flocks for many days;
They do not know the shepherd or his call!
The shepherd does not know his sheep by face;
From wolves' attack, there is no staff to stall!
Yet, God will find the shepherds in strange ways;
All righteous find their way through earthly maze!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-07-12
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A book called life
You find a book. a book unopened for some time. binding worn, title aged and not legible. you open it to find it dusty and blank. it has sat untouched for a quite a while. this book is the story of you. a story not yet written, but exciting non the less. a story to be one of epic, and legend. a story to be passed down for generations. that will be stamped into the pages of history and inspire forever. we all have a story, we simply need to write it.
poem by Nick Feiner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: God's Warning to Shepherds!
‘My sheep lie scattered and not tended well.
I'll find new shepherds who will do this job;
To ones who failed their duty, ‘twill be hell;
From me, my sheep, no one can ever rob! '
‘Disaster to shepherds who don't take care
Of my loved sheep, who leave my pastures green;
I'll get new shepherds, fearless and will dare,
Preventing sheep, from getting lost from scene! '
‘In prophets, priests, now Godlessness prevails;
They do not preach to people what's God-say;
They tell own versions and their made-up tales,
Deluding people, leading sheep astray! '
‘So, prophesy what comes from Yahweh's mouth.'
The Lord declares, ‘Just speak the Gospel's truth! '
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Pastoral Sung To The King
MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO, SHEPHERDS
MON. Bad are the times. SIL. And worse than they are we.
MON. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree:
The feast of shepherds fail. SIL. None crowns the cup
Of wassail now, or sets the quintel up:
And he, who used to lead the country-round,
Youthful Mirtillo, here he comes, grief-drown'd.
AMBO. Let's cheer him up. SIL. Behold him weeping-ripe.
MIRT. Ah, Amarillis! farewell mirth and pipe;
Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play
To these smooth lawns, my mirthful roundelay.
Dear Amarillis! MON. Hark! SIL. Mark! MIRT. This
earth grew sweet
Where, Amarillis, thou didst set thy feet.
AMBO Poor pitied youth! MIRT. And here the breath
of kine
And sheep grew more sweet by that breath of thine.
This dock of wool, and this rich lock of hair,
This ball of cowslips, these she gave me here.
SIL. Words sweet as love itself. MON. Hark!--
MIRT. This way she came, and this way too she went;
How each thing smells divinely redolent!
Like to a field of beans, when newly blown,
Or like a meadow being lately mown.
MON. A sweet sad passion----
MIRT. In dewy mornings, when she came this way,
Sweet bents would bow, to give my Love the day;
And when at night she folded had her sheep,
Daisies would shut, and closing, sigh and weep.
Besides (Ai me!) since she went hence to dwell,
The Voice's Daughter ne'er spake syllable.
But she is gone. SIL. Mirtillo, tell us whither?
MIRT. Where she and I shall never meet together.
MON. Fore-fend it, Pan! and Pales, do thou please
To give an end... MIRT. To what? SIL. Such griefs
as these.
MIRT. Never, O never! Still I may endure
The wound I suffer, never find a cure.
MON. Love, for thy sake, will bring her to these hills
And dales again. MIRT. No, I will languish still;
And all the while my part shall be to weep;
And with my sighs call home my bleating sheep;
And in the rind of every comely tree
I'll carve thy name, and in that name kiss thee.
MON. Set with the sun, thy woes! SIL. The day
grows old;
And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold.
CHOR. The shades grow great; but greater grows
our sorrow:--
But let's go steep
Our eyes in sleep;
And meet to weep
To-morrow.
poem by Robert Herrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Read The Book
Dolce said to read the book.
Don’t skip any pages though,
Lizzy; I want you to read it
From cover to cover. Ok lover,
You said and examined the
Book’s covers; the hard leather,
The well sewn pages. You knew
He wrote it without his name on
The spine with the title. It was
As he spoke, the words flowing
Across the page, the meaning
Carried on and over and into
Your head. You stopped on page
Nine; he’d written about the night
He’d screwed you five times, although
No name was mentioned, you knew
It was you. Even the bed and room
Were as it had been, written right
Down to the creaking springs and
The man next door banging on the
Wall with his darn shoe. You read on
Carrying that image with you, the way
He’d caught it all with the right words,
Hammered that night right home like
Some crucified butterfly onto the page
And into your head. You paused at page
Twelve. Some paragraph about some
Lark in the bushes in the park after dark.
That didn’t ring true, at least not with you.
Who was the woman? Who was the screw?
You closed up the book; refused to look
Or read anymore; you wondered who it
Was he’d had that night in the bushes
Beneath the moonlight. Maybe it was just
Poetic licence made up to make it sell well
And the cash machines ring loud and true.
But the bitch in the bushes wasn’t you.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hissing Of Summer Lawns
He bought her a diamond for her throat
He put her in a ranch house on a hill
She could see the valley barbecues
From her window sill
See the blue pools in the squinting sun
Hear the hissing of summer lawns
He put up a barbed wire fence
To keep out the unknown
And on every metal thorn
Just a little blood of his own
She patrols that fence of his
To a latin drum
And the hissing of summer lawns
Darkness
Wonder makes it easy
Darkness
With a joyful mask
Darkness
Tubes gone, darkness, darkness, darkness
No color no contrast
A diamond dog
Carrying a cup and a cane
Looking through a double glass
Looking at too much pride and too much shame
Theres a black fly buzzing
Theres a heat wave burning in her masters voice
Hissing summer lawns
He gave her his darkness to regret
And good reason to quit him
He gave her a roomful of chippendale
That nobody sits in
Still she stays with a love of some kind
Its the ladys choice
The hissing of summer lawns
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Poem and The Thesis
While reading and thinking
From somewhere else
Disturbs me
You come to me
Behind words
Between spaces of sentences
Blossoming up and erases the read paragraph
You insist me to open a blank page
I forget all
I sleep with you
Whole the day in happy
Write not what I want
Write what I like
Line by line fill up flowing like a stream
Finding an undreamed end
Body and mind bathe and lighten
Like a pregnant mother delivered
Reading from up to down
To name laughing and crying baby
In the sleeping time
When I start to read and think
To go to the aim
To cure my headache
Again it slowly wakes up
Through the lines of spaces
It is an irresistible rise
But aim is also unavoidable
When find a sleeping time
Extra things to be done
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Between the pages
Between the pages
~
between the pages
we line ourselves in verse
where we play out a story
of our own making
the turns and twists
brought through words
etched upon the page
ink flows to its own beat
like a raging heart
pouring out before the eyes
a world becomes forgotten
lost in the celebration
between pages
each line shared
written
in its own breath
creation begins
time lapses
into our verse
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Coloring Book
Each picture is heartbreakingly banal,
a kitten and a ball of yarn,
a dog and bone.
The paper is cheap, easily torn.
A coloring book's authority is derived
from its heavy black lines
as unalterable as the ten commandments
within which minor decisions are possible:
the dog black and white,
the kitten gray.
Under the picture we find a few words,
a title, perhaps a narrative,
a psalm or sermon.
But nowhere do we come upon
a blank page where we might justify
the careless way we scribbled
when we were tired and sad
and could bear no more.
poem by Connie Wanek
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mom, The One Who Never Gave Up!
Anybody can give birth but it takes someone with as much integrity and hope, someone with as caring a heart and the amount of strength in which you have shown through out your life to be a real awsome and good enough mother to bring up beautiful girls of which you gave birth to and many other children in which you did not give birth! we thank you soooooooooo much mom and i gauruntee you that god smiles when he turns pages in the book of life and sees only you on one of the pages this page being titled 'The One mother who never gave up! '
poem by Sarah Stetler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Today... 'God my Maker
I was intricately woven upon His heavenly loom
As He carefully knit me together in my mothers womb
In that most secret of places when my conception took place
Ready at the time of my birth to enter the human race
Before the first moment of my earthly existence began
God had written in His book my inmost being and life plan
Each syllable penned and words in calligraphy composed
There sentences were handwritten and the paragraphs disclosed,
From the first chapter of my birth to the last one of my death
Each had been thoughtfully written before I'd taken a breath
I praise God that I am fearfully and wonderfully made
The handiwork of My Great Creator is in me displayed
Living letters turned into syllables and then became words.
These words began to form phrases and the sentences emerged.
Chapters made out of many paragraphs were arranged with care
each carefully written by the in the book of my life there.
For my life is now that book to be read by everyone
because it speaks of His Grace and the wonders Jesus has done.
For in His mercy before the world was made and time began
He had included Roy Allen in His great Salvation plan.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
Apology to a Dandelion
Dressed in luxuriant yellow
You can find her everywhere.
She crops up in green meadows
And well-manicured lawns
In picayune cracks of aged walls
Or along concrete sidewalks
In the heart of downtown
‘Dent de lion' the lion's tooth.
Some call her Wild Endive.
An admirable and humble flower
In spring her strong taproots
Send up through naked stems
Dazzling bright and intrepid blossoms
And white botanical lactic juice.
Kind, gentle and beautiful Dandelion
She is spiritual and eccentric
A celibate perennial wild plant
That has refused to live a sex life.
Her ovaries produce fertile seeds
Without having to be pollinated.
Her yellow flowers slowly turn
Into silvery white puffballs
Fitted with tufts that fly in the wind
Like a myriad of tiny parachutes.
Why are we so cruel to her?
She is so peaceful, tender and charming
A marvel of nature, tonic and stimulant
The medicinal plant ‘taraxacum officinale'.
She promotes health and removes poisons
And can be turned
Into fabulous salad greens
Or even into tea and wine.
So why do we hate her so much?
Why do we kill her in our gardens?
Why do we poison her
With deadly chemicals
Which harm Mother Earth and Us?
O, gracious dandelion
I ask for your forgiveness and apologize.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Catholic Priesthood and ‘Year of the Priests’
‘The sheep are calling;
The flocks are swelling;
Good shepherds are a dearth,
Upon the mighty earth! ’
All sheep need good shepherds;
Sans shepherds good, they are mere herds,
That cannot find the pastures green,
With grass that’s fit on global scene.
Good shepherds know each sheep by name;
They do not work for pay or fame;
They know the wolf’s, many a game;
Their staff protects the sheep that’s lame!
Priests are the good shepherds of God;
They woo the souls away from rod;
They serve by being celibate,
And show humanity, God’s Gate.
They say the Holy Mass each day;
They preach and fast, fervently pray;
They drive the devils out, away,
Suffer for Jesus, come what may!
They change bread to body of Christ;
They change the wine to blood of Christ;
They forgive sins like Jesus Lord;
They tell the world the Divine Word.
Priesthood is one of sacraments;
Priests know the Old, New Testaments;
Their work is worth more than all gold;
They bring more souls unto God’s fold!
This is the ‘Year of Catholic priest’.
Lord Jesus waits with His great Feast;
Happy are souls, even the least;
God saves all sinners from the Beast.
Priests take vows for a divine role –
To lead souls to God’s Abode – goal.
Those worldly ones are merely fools!
God chooses priests to be pure souls.
‘Priesthood is passion great for Christ –
The profession that’s one highest;
The goal of men who are wisest –
Who live for Jesus’ sake, diest.’
Dedicated to all Catholic Priests world-over,
On behalf of ‘Holy Family Church Parish, Perundurai, TN, India.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-6-2009
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Theatre Of The Absurd
All of us are born ignorant and some
Of us remain that way I’m sad to say.
The knowledgeable flourish and become
The shepherds, the dumb just piddle away
Their lives like sheep in a grassy pasture.
The ignorance in our society
Exists through our own design I am sure
To guarantee an apt propriety.
Without the sheep there can be no shepherds
Therefore a symbiotic relation
Plays in the theater of the absurd.
There's no appropriate explanation.
Don’t even attempt to state a notion.
Our roles are predetermined one by one.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From The Heart
I know you've been heard these words a houndred other times before
And you've been hurt and so your heart has chose to close the door
love brooks your heart and brought you lies
look in my eyes
you'll see a love that's deep and true
tender and strong and all for you
you can trust this love
honest
song performed by by Another Level
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!