One Week On: Differing Ethics
about 2 post
several quake
poems soon
thought it
appropriate
2 wait a week
yes it would
have been
in bad taste
2 do
anything
straight away?
time has differing
periods of culturally
appropriate responses
tragedy is a path
of scattered raw egg shells
easily trod upon
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Oh The Poems And More Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE MORE POEMS
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems I am writing all the time
God has given me this gift
And when I wait in the right way
And when I listen to myself properly
The poems come in ways I could never have thought of or imagined before
They come as mysteries as gifts as surprises
As wonderful to me as perhaps to you their possible readers
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems God has given me
And the light of this day and so many other days, also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Old Age The Poems Come More Easily
IN OLD AGE THE POEMS COME MORE EASILY THE POEMS COME MORE EASILY IN OLD AGE
In old age the poems come more easily-
What is there to lose now
By just being oneself?
‘Oneself' is going to be lost
Whatever one does.
What others say and think
Or do not say and think
Means a bit less.
An old tough codger
Stands his ground
And sings his song.
What does it matter
If only the wind listens?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moments Of Writing Poetry
Draft poems sometimes like
loose ripped off pieces of paper
to be drafted out roughly upon.
Draft poems hang around
in the strangest places waiting
to be written out one day.
Draft poems wait for a poet
to wake at the beginning of day
to be written out, in any
seized moments, sacrificed.
This is now time, shower time, eating time,
reflective time, conversation time, work time;
t.v. time, driving time, riding motorcycle time,
going to sleep time, cooking time, or any time.
Draft poems can only be written
in spared moments of seized time.
Draft poems can only be written today,
they will not wait for fair weather like hay,
which lays around waiting to be harvested.
Draft poems will not wait for a clear sunny day to dawn,
and then mature slowly, over a perfect golden summer.
Draft poems are ever now or never
if they are ever to be swiftly written.
A draft may possibly be perfected
upon any future day of favoured writing;
but a draft never written is a poem
never written, never completed, never known.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nutella. I dig my spoon in and eat it straight out of the jar. I can easily go through one a week.
quote by Malin Akerman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For my poems, written so early
For my poems, written so early
That I didn't even know I was a poet,
Hurled like drops from a fountain,
Like sparks from rockets,
That burst like tiny devils,
Into the sanctuary of sleep and incense,
For my poems about youth and death
-- For my unread poems!
Scattered in dusty bookstores,
Where no one ever buys them!
For my poems, like precious wines,
A time will come.
poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wait And See
There you go looking cool,
Writing rules
For your theories of romance.
I know that you doubt me,
But without me
You'd be tearing off your one chance.
Wait and see,
This could be the last time for me.
Baby, just wait and see.
All the times
I came running back
Down the path of the least resistance.
I felt my body
Was just a hobby
For your heart's indifference.
Wait and see,
This could be the last time for me.
Now baby, can't you wait and see?
Just you wait and see.
Just you wait and see.
Wait and see.
I've been trapped by your innocence,
Haven't seen you since
You caught me, baby.
Shot down by the one I love,
Now I'm taking off
With the things you taught me.
Wait and see,
This could be the last time for me.
Now baby, can't you wait and see?
Just you wait and see.
Just you wait and see.
Wait and see.
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wait & See
There you go looking cool,
Writing rules
For your theories of romance.
I know that you doubt me,
But without me
Youd be tearing off your one chance.
Wait and see,
This could be the last time for me.
Baby, just wait and see.
All the times
I came running back
Down the path of the least resistance.
I felt my body
Was just a hobby
For your hearts indifference.
Wait and see,
This could be the last time for me.
Now baby, cant you wait and see?
Just you wait and see.
Just you wait and see.
Wait and see.
Ive been trapped by your innocence,
Havent seen you since
You caught me, baby.
Shot down by the one I love,
Now Im taking off
With the things you taught me.
Wait and see,
This could be the last time for me.
Now baby, cant you wait and see?
Just you wait and see.
Just you wait and see.
Wait and see.
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do Not Post Your Poem Here
Do not post your poem here
Unless you've something worth a say!
You must not waste a space like this,
For space can waste away!
Do not post your poem here
With words which make no sense!
Be careful when you post it here
That you use the proper tense!
Do not post your poem here
Just to fill a space with words!
A poem should be well thought out,
Was it meant to be absurd?
Do not post your poem here
If in cliches you would write.
A poem should be fresh, yes sharp -
You'll know when it's just right!
Do not post your poem here
Just to see yourself in print.
You're wasting others time you know
With such, self centred stints!
I wil not post my poem here,
This one does not exist,
But did I tell you at the start
That I'm a nihilist?
poem by Joe Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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October the Post Office Cat
Some thought she was a stray
That had come for scraps along the way
That might be left from the lunch
Of the post office staff; a kindly bunch.
But others knew her for what she was,
October the Post Office Cat.
She had a duty like any employee
To be on time and serve the public daily
And as any other as all know,
Had an official position just so.
October the Post Office Cat.
As soon as the walks were swept
And the doors were opened for the daily visits,
She found her space upon the walk
A bit removed so that none would balk
As they came to do their task or mail whatever.
October the Post Office Cat.
She often times was given the duty
Of minding some child whose custodian
Had business to attend
In dealing with the letters or packages within,
So she laid there carefully in the sun
Till end of day when her work was done.
October the Post Office Cat.
She was known by all who came along that way
Parking carefully throughout the day
Making sure that she was not disturbed
As she, her duties did perform.
Watching and listening to the sounds of pleasure
That only can be bestowed on one to treasure.
Yet adults knew not how to measure.
October the Post Office Cat.
On the post across the way
A yellow sign was placed on display
By the lady who ran the insurance office
Who wanted to be sure that others notice
That this was the path taken each day
As the cat came to begin her official stay.
October the Post Office Cat.
There came a time when she did not appear
And it was certainly a time to fear
That something had befallen this special one
Who worked so hard to please everyone
And the sign was removed so that all would know
That she wouldn't be there anymore.
October the Post Office Cat.
Then mysteriously the sign reappeared
On the post for all to read
Which proclaimed that this was the crossing
Reserved for the cat that all were missing.
And it's said that she comes each day
Although never seen by adults on their way
But the children know that she is there.
October the Post Office Cat.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like a Kitten Left By The Road
Each time I first post
a newly written poem
I feel deep regret
that I’ve done it in haste
As if I’ve dropped off
An unwanted kitten
On a lonely country road
To fend for it’s self
Through a strange alien world
I’ve never truly dropped off a kitten
But if I ever did, I’m sure
After sixty seconds I’d be
Turning around and driving like an idiot
With a tear on my cheek, yelling
“ I’m comin’ to get you lil' kitty. I’m so sorry! ”
Well, that’s the way I am with my poems
Thirty seconds after I post them
I feel so sorry for them
Somewhere out there in hyperspace
All alone…so pitiful
Even the one’s that
I don’t like much myself!
Maybe all the other poems
Welcome it to the web
I sure hope so!
I really do worry about the little guys
One minute nestled in my warm little brain
And the next kicked out in the cold
Well Hell! Godspeed little poems and odes
And like God, I’m goin’ to look in you
From time to time
to make sure you’re doing OK
And If you’re not, then I’ll delet you
And bring you back home
Am I the only whackjob that feels this way?
Nah! I don’t think so.
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Disasters
Disasters strike upon the land, some by God and some by man.
The disasters of a natural force, they come from God of course.
Some however are wicked plans, found in the evil heart of man.
Both will have the same result, moving men into deeper thought.
At times a quiet earth may quake, leaving destruction in its wake.
Such times are the finger of God, touching the earth that we trod.
Disasters will strike any nation, leaving behind much devastation.
Such disasters are truly unkind, leaving pain and suffering behind.
Many people escape the wrath, being far from the disasters path.
But it should not be ignored, as they need to reflect on The Lord.
Many disasters sure to come, were predicted by God’s own Son.
Some by God are meant to be, signs pointing all men to Eternity.
Others simply have their start, in man’s wicked deceptive heart,
Hearts, by Christ, we were told, in the end would only grow cold.
But all the tragedy soon will end, when to the earth Christ is sent.
Man has become so depraved, without Christ none will be saved.
Even the earth groans in pain, eager to be purged from sin’s stain.
As tragic as these disasters are, the end will be much worse by far.
For during the Great Tribulation, wrath will pour upon every nation.
As God’s final Judgment’s poured, on all men who reject The Lord.
09/2005)
The Ascetic
The Narrow, thorny path he trod.
“Enter into My joy,” said God.
The sad ascetic shook his head;
“I’ve lost all taste for joy,” he said.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Dream Miracles God Speaks To Soul Mine
I gave God two more poems today
two perfectly harmonic resonating poems
two poems dream mind writ
two poems never to write out
two poems never to public post
the first fruits the best
I vowed to give God
in awaiting dreams I gift
poems to God is gifted best poems
God smiles I watch heaven’s eyes
across cosmos God’s love is given
across created God space prayer given
love gifted given God’s love shines
dream miracles God speaks to soul mine
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cant Wait
Rush/linde
Cant wait till we get back together
Cant wait, the sooner the better
Its late, I should have told you long ago
I hope that we can set things straight
What Ive got in my heart wont wait
Tomorrow may be too late to apologise to you
Ooh I wish that it was tonight
With our troubles behind us, tonight
Go where no one can find us tonight
With no city to blind us tonight
As I sit here and say oh gee
As the feeling just sweeps over me
Takes me into the night floating free
In a skyward direction
My soul has been freed by your love and affection
Cant wait till we get back together
Cant wait, the sooner the better
Its late, and I still cant taste your kiss
And you know that a love like this
It just cant wait
It cant wait, no no no
It cant wait, no no no
It cant wait, no no no
It cant wait, no no no....
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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[unknown]
Winded is the sailor...drifting by the storm...
Wounded is the organ he left all...bloodied on the shore...
Gorgeous was his savior, sees her...drowning in his wake...
Daily taste the salt of her tears, but...a chance blamed fate...
Little secrets, tremors...turned to quake...
The smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
Ransom paid the Devil...He whispers pleasing words...
Triumphant are the angels if they can...a get there first...
Little secrets tremors...turned to quake...
The smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
I'll decide...take the dive...
Take my time...not my life...
Wait for signs...believe in lies...
To get by...it's divine...whoa...
Oh, you know what it's like...
Turns the bow back towards him...drops the line...
Puts his faith and love in Tremor Christ...
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will I Still Write Poems When I Can No Longer Publish Or Post Them?
Will I still write poems when I can no longer publish or post them?
Of course I will-
I wrote poetry for years
when I knew their only readers were hoped- for ones-
I will write my poems
because they are my soul
my confessiion
my expression of deepest feeling
because they give meaning to my life-
I will write poemw as long as I can-
publish or post or not-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are periods in history when change is necessary, and other periods when it is better to keep everything for the time as it is. The art of life is to be in the rhythm of your age.
quote by Oswald Mosley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetic Intrigues
just leave these
intrigues
the morning
is beautiful
and there are
many other
poems to write
did i tell you
that they still
beg to be written?
did i tel you
that time is too
short of the haggle?
did i tell you
that these poems
cannot wait and
that if you let them
wait
they simply go
away without
any word?
write another one
and if someone
wants to own your
creations
let that be
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Future of Poetry
Poems I thought had good rhythm and Rhyme,
And a moral good at the end of each;
Good Poems I thought should the test of time,
And remained well within the masses’ reach.
Poems I thought had nice music in them,
With apt words placed in right place in each case;
It was a time for Poetry’s Anthem;
Alas, the art is in for a rat-race!
Modern Poetry that is being writ,
From Prose is hard to ever from it sift;
Slang, vulgarities somehow find a place;
’Tis doomsday for poetry at this pace!
Turned has the Wheel of Time almost fully;
’Tis time to draw water with the pulley!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
quote by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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