En.Citatepedia^®.ro

An Invitation

Holding with shaking hands a letter from some
Official – high up he says in the Ministry,
I note that I am invited to Birmingham,
There pedagogues to address for a decent fee.
'We like to meet,' he goes on, 'men eminent
In the field of letters each year,' and that's well put,
Though I find his words not wholly relevant
To this red-eyed fellow whose mouth tastes rank as soot.
No doubt what he's thinking of is poetry
When 'Thomas Blackburn' he writes, and not the fuss
A life makes when it has no symmetry,
Though the term 'a poet' being mainly posthumous,
Since I'm no stiff, is inappropriate.
What I can confirm is the struggle that never lets up
Between the horses of Plato beneath my yoke,
One after Light, and for Hell not giving a rap,
The other only keen on infernal smoke.
And poems...? From time to time they commemorate
Some particularly dirty battle between these two;
I put the letter down – what's the right note?
'Dear Sir,' I type, 'how nice to speak to you!'

Submitted by Andrew Mayers

poem by Thomas Blackburn
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The letter says

Words, lingustic signatures

They are on most days irrelevant

But there are many uses for the letter F

On bad days it fires itself

Small pellets

Resonating sounds

Beats an onaematapeic drum

Bouncing from the buccal of the mouth

On to the Flat Fat surface

Of the tongue

A resonating Gun

Listen,

Can you hear it fall quickly?

How one F ing letter

Cracks the sentence?

The daily drudge of making reason sing

In symmetry with time

Hearing nothing then...

But on a bad day, this is ffffffffffffffffffffff ing

Poetry......

So let its 'ruddy hue' replace the 'blush'

Of P'S and Q's and all that 'Fuss! '

yvette m smith dec 08

poem by Yvette Smith
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Hospital For Defectives

By your unnumbered charities
A miracle disclose,
Lord of the Images, whose love
The eyelids and the rose
Takes for a language, and today
Tell to me what is said
By these men in a turnip field
And their unleavened bread.

For all things seem to figure out
The stirrings of your heart,
And two men pick the turnips up
And two men pull the cart;
And yet between the four of them
No word is ever said
Because the yeast was not put in
Which makes the human bread.
But three men stare on vacancy
And one man strokes his knees;
What is the meaning to be found
In such dark vowels as these?

Lord of the Images, whose love
The eyelid and the rose
Takes for a metaphor, today,
Beneath the warder's blows,
The unleavened man did not cry out
Or turn his face away;
Through such men in a turnip field
What is it that you say?

Submitted by Andrew Mayers

poem by Thomas Blackburn
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Album

My father is dead.
I who am look at him
who is not, as once he
went looking for me
in the woman who was.

There are pictures
of the two of them, no
need of a third, hand
in hand, hearts willing
to be one but not three.

What does it mean
life? I am here I am
there. Look! Suddenly
the young tool in their hands
for hurting one another.

And the camera says:
Smile; there is no wound
time gives that is not bandaged
by time. And so they do the
three of them at me who weep.

Submitted by Andrew Mayers

poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
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The Poet Writes Of Poems And Poets And Poetry

THE POET WRITES OF POEMS AND POETS AND POETRY

The poet writes of poems and poets and poetry,
And the world goes by
And nothing is done.

And the sky- the sky.
Is it still above?
And Love and Kindness
Are they still deep in us,
Words or not?

Without Poetry the world does not exist for the poet-
But for others,
Dreams have other names,
And Music plays on,
And singing and laughter
Go on as the Beauty of Light.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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To God Give The Glory (Monchielle)

To God give the glory
Is a treasure to read
Christina R. Jussaume
Is great poet indeed
Her poems vanish gloom

To God give the glory
Her love for Christ is pure
It reflects thru poems
Her words are wise and kind
Uplifts the soul is true

To God give the glory
I'm glad I got a copy
You'll enjoy what you see
She writes witty and nice
Happy her book I read

To God give the glory
Poet tells some funny jokes
She writes of God and life
Of Christ and all she knows
Poet shares loves and strife

November 25,2009

Author's note:

'To God Give The Glory' is a wonderful
and very uplifting poetry book written by
the great poetess Christina R. Jussaume

poem by Dorian Petersen Potter
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Special Delivery

The postman got himself in to a bit of a mess:
And he delivered a letter to the wrong address.
The intended recipient would feel a lot better,
When, in her hand, she was holding the letter.

When she opened that letter, intended for her,
Emotions inside her would soon start to stir.
The letter had travelled across many a mile;
To her face, it would bring a great big smile.

The letter was from a soldier in Afghanistan:
Maybe it bore news from her beloved man?
I am sure that she cried when he was deployed.
Receiving the letter, she would be so overjoyed.

The light blue letter had travelled all that way;
I was sure it would make the young lady's day.
From her boyfriend she would be dying to hear;
Receiving his letter would bring her much cheer.

I imagined the message written from his heart,
Helping to bridge the gap, during their time apart.
I pictured him writing, while rockets flew overhead.
She would re-read many times, all that he had said.

Holding that letter, made me stop and think:
With that soldier, I felt a strange kind of link.
Looking at the envelope, I held in my hands,
Her emotions, I suddenly began to understand.

I thought about the couple's mix of emotions,
During their time, parted by the mighty oceans.
I thought about how he would wish he was here,
And how they had both shed some secret tears.

Hearing from him, she would cry tears of relief.
I bet he signed his name with kisses underneath.
To her, the letter would be a wonderful sight,
And she would sleep well in her bed that night.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Wicked Postman

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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An Autumn Letter

I want to write a letter to someone in the autumn
In the Autumn, I see lonely fountain streamed from a deep valley
And want to wet the lonely heart
I write a letter in the autumn night but knowing that cannot be sent in the morning
Now there is a postman who delivers letters in the air in the days and nights
So I am sending letters
I regret but the unsent letters always cry
I send the thread tied letters in the air without stamps
The letters of the poet opens its eyes with holding their breaths

poem by Kyungdae Min
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Wish You Were Here

I sent you a postcard
Thought it would be funny
Would have sent a souvenir
But they took all my money
It's pretty warm down here but it ain't sunny
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I tried to call you
I tried to call you
Long distance operators that only stall you
Besides the damn rates are so high
They just appall you
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
It started out a nice vacation
Left the station right on time
Can't get a ticket to get me home, dear
They just don't have too many flights from twilight zone, dear
So don't forget to feed my cats
Spot and Jerome, dear
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
Having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
Having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
Seeing all the sights here
I'm getting lonely
I'd show you all the film I took if they would only
Let me go home
Dear, sincerely
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dear John Letter

The greatest fear of a military man
Wasn’t fighting the enemy on their land.
But a dear john letter from the states
Saying that his girl couldn’t wait.

This makes him less attentive
to what’s going around
That he doesn’t pay attention
To what’s on the ground.
He won’t see that mine
That is laying there, and if he does
He just doesn’t care.

As a soldier in a war zone
You must realize that your not alone.
Your fellow soldiers depend upon you
To help see them through.

You must take care of each other
For they are your sisters and brothers.
They are there when you need a friend
And will be there to the end.

Would you prefer to receive that letter?
Or to find out that she stepped out on you?
It is a decision that is hard to do.

Your life is worth much more than a letter
And once out of the war zone things will be better.
Confide in your fellow soldiers as they confide
In you, and they will help you see it through.

When you get back to the states, then you
Can look her in the eye, and then tell her
It’s goodbye, but until then, take that letter
And tear it apart- the way she tore up your heart.

poem by Louis Rams
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Letter To A Young Poet Revised

Letter to a young Poet

Dear Raman, so you want me to read your poem and state my opinion.
Well, you are fond of words and you are stacking them up in your poem.
That is a good thing; clearly you are a man who reads a lot.
So you want to be a poet, poetry is self indulgent pass time it doesn’t
change anything, no one reads it, other than cranky people. Should
a poet writes something nationalistic that resonance with, a nation’s
pride, like: “my country is the best in the world.” He will get a medal.

So why don’t you become an engineer or failing that, a cook. The world
doesn’t need, anymore academic poets who forever repeat what poets
of yore have said. For the common man a poet is regarded as a figure of
fun who spends valuable time putting useless words together to make
sense of a world he doesn’t understand. As my father said, when my first
poem was published: “How much did they pay you? ” If my words have
not scared you off, you’re a poet. The only tool you’ll need is honesty.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Letter In The Last Day Of '2008

first word is 'hello'
that it writes me
the following are so mellow
so sad, so heartily
at first it greets me warm
but hardly I smile
then it writes 'thank you'
and I say mine too
it tells of our beginning
I start recollecting
memory, oh memory
gathers around me
tears and laughter
we've shared together
from one, two, three, four, five,
until three hundred sixty five
a lot of thing we've divided
between ourselves and loved it
as I reach to the middle
I begin to sniffle
I hold myself not to sob
sadness in me run amuck
this letter so clear
tells of what I hate to hear
it tells that it will leave
at this time tonight, it will
it speaks of what I fear
my eyes in tears
it says we won't ever meet
and it says 'sorry'
its time is coming
truth I'm denying
days we're together
I thought it'd be forever
no, no, no it's not
not a storyline or a plot
five minutes to midnight
I finish reading it
tears break free from me,
knowing we won't ever meet
we're friends for long
our memory are so profound
our memory are worth the time
that 'memory' I won't ever find
but I'll lock in my heart always
until I die someday
twelve fifty eight
I beg the 'time' to wait
let me feel its presence
that fades and weakens
at the exact midnight
my body lose its might
I start to falter
and again read the letter
I lost a fellow
now a little hollow
tears then follow
to my cold pillow
the last word is 'good bye'
good bye too, my friend
and that memory I'll never find
again...

P.S.: in my opinion, new year not only is the time to be jubilant, but also sad to be left by a friend that has accompanied us in a whole year, 'the 2008' itself..

poem by Kite Remedy
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Watch For Me At Midnight

A long time ago, I kissed her
on the step of our front door
then marched away with other men
off to a foreign country
to fight in a distant war.

At first the letters came frequently
slowly diminishing to a few,
which got me thinking and worried
that in my long absence
I was slowly losing you.

Then I got a letter from your brother
that explained things to me
you were sick in hospital
and I should not worry
about our son and you.

The letters then stopped coming
each mail run I looked on in despair
that there were never any letters
from your brother or you
and my heart felt so heavy.

Then in the next summer
that dreaded letter came.
You had passed into God’s hands
in that early spring
leaving one last message for me.

When you come home my dear
I will not be here
I leave in your trust our son
may he grow up to be
a man just like you.

Fear not you will see me again
if you go down to the fairy wood
and find the circle where the fairies play
and watch for me at midnight
under the haze of the moon.

3 March 2011

poem by David Harris
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One Last Letter

writing one last letter...
not sure who it's to
- dont think it matters!

the words are composed of
the things i've done... both
good and bad.

the commas are for my mistakes,
-Lord, we're gonna have a lot of commas!
mistakes both of omission,
and commission...

the periods are for the times
i gave up, quit trying,
lost my way...

but the body of the letter
is filled with hope....
hope that sees things as
they are, and still believes...

i dont have to sign this letter,
it looks, smells, and tastes
like me...

i'll put this letter in the mailbox,
addressed to occupant,
to whomever gets it...

address unknown!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pink Letter

Dear Father,
To thee this letter
Is written with a child’s wonder.

Pink ink
On a fancy paper almost pink
Like a blush on a maiden’s cheek
Like rose abloom in mountain’s peak.

Pink letter in the hands of a child
Bears words innocent and mild
Glorifying the father who made all –
tame and wild.

Pink letter with heavenly scent
Pink ink that stays, not evanescent
Lasts in the heart of the child who writes
Too innocent to name wrong from right.

Dear Father,
To thee this letter
Is written with a child’s wonder.

poem by Geraldine Fernandez
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The Love Letter

She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her

She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing

She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come

He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written

Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.

She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events

The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress

poem by Terry Collett
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Please Sign Your Letters

(sylvester / clarke / hicks)
Please sign your letters
Please dont make me blue
Please sign your letters,
And then Ill know its you
Cant stop thinking of you
Youre always on my mind
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind
I read your letter
I read most every line
You said you loved me,
Said you would be mine
My heart was jumping
Something shook my mind
I found your letter was left unsigned
Chorus
Your letter said wed met some time ago
Id like to see you,
But somehow you just wont show
I just dont know which way to go
Repeat
Chorus
Please sign your letters
Please dont be unkind

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My poems is not Poetry

My Poems are not Poetry
Poetry rhythm is essential part
Communicative act of rhythms
Where words created music
An effect on the reader’s and listener
Words beginning with the same letter
And achieve a poetically effect.

My Poems has no rhythms
For the first time I don’t know
What to say and how to show.
Many words is not my style
Let me say, I like your smile
I don’t think I should like you,
Unfortunately I do.

I'm not sure now how to write
I lost my idea how, where words
Are used in away similar
Creating Music, where you find
Languages of rhymes

I write Prose but not Poetry
Using a regular rhythm
Where vast majority
Of languages spoken and written.

I try to be a barn, the muses were believed and inspire
I try to hard without success,
you already know, I guess.
Anyhow, it doesn’t matter
Usually I do not write
Things like this, I never tried,
for the first time I don’t know
what these lines should say or show.

Allegory, metaphor equated
Meaning lie outside the narrative
Acrostic phase when read together
Alliteration words same letter for poetical effect
Satire is a form of humour
Limerick is a short humorous poem.
And Honestly, I don’t regret
Things I did and words I said.

7. January 2008

poem by Mary Wismer
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Shall I Miss You?

the port sits there
the waves of the sea begin its travel
you are on the trough
and the ups and downs of the tides
shall take you away from me
you are in the foams
and i am in the mist of the mornings
the fog of my doubts
has given me
what certainties i need to
make me strong

once i wrote you a letter
when letters were the trend of those
lonely day: dear beloved, i miss you
but i guess that letter (which i somehow
regret having written
signed by another foolish pen)
must not have reached your
faithfulness because your
patience has not afforded
it the dignity
or concern of an answer

time is kind
it makes us forget and even forget
and forgo and
teach us to live
with a purpose saying: go on, move forward
that is the only choice

now, i have this pc,
i have your email address
i want to tell you: dear miss sue
i must honestly tell you
that i am happier now
without you.

i did not send it.
coz it does not really matter.
i have my own life now, and i am
this fat, contented cow
grazing on the green fields
of my endeavor.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Ain't Nothing But A Four Letter Word

She was waiting alone at the station praying for her train to arrive
Thinking bout her destination, the tattered bag had all she had in life
She turned her back on her family, she turned her back on her friends
She turned her back on a married man when she took off that wedding band
She said, Im giving up, silver clouds have turned to grey
Had enough, theres got to be a better way
Giving up, you know youve gotta walk
Theres some things in life still worth fighting for
Aint no big secret so forget all you heard
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
For some its for better, for some its for worse
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing
This time he said was the last time, last time he said just the same
In your heart you know that theyll be a next time
That your battered bones would have to explain
Givin up, nothings changing but the score
Had enough, every night love turns to war
Give it up, gave it all and wanted more
It aint nothing worth dying for
Its no big secret so forget all you heard
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
For some its a blessing, for some its a curse
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing
Forget your mamas rosary beads to get you through this time of need
You know you gotta cross that line
You take it one day at a time
Had enough, the silver clouds all turning grey
Im heading for a better day
No big secret so forget all you heard
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
For some its for better, for some its for worse
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing (it aint nothing now, baby)
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing (nothing now, baby)
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing...
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word

song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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