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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lovers Prayer
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Just wanna be with my love tonight
I dont want no jive artists calling me on the telephone
Dont wanna watch the carson show all alone
I just wanna lay back, take my rest
With the one I loves head resting on my chest
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Just wanna be with my love tonight
And I dont want my best friends even coming round
cos if they do I might put em down
Carsons over and the lights way down low
And all I got, I got a heart full of soul
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
I said, lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
I said, lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Just wanna be with my love tonight
And its a lovers prayer, oh yes it is
Takes a little time, takes a little care, yeah, yeah, yeah
And when it gets way on in the midnight hour
I just wanna play my guitar
I just wanna see you smile, touch your face
Be with you in my own place
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
I said, lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Lord, lord, lord, lord, lord
Just wanna be with my love tonight
Just wanna be with my love tonight
Just wanna be with my love tonight
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What A Rose Can Say
A rose can say I love you and want you to be mine,
A rose can say I thank you for being so very kind,
A rose can say congratulations, whatever the occasion may be,
A rose can say I miss you and wish you were here with me,
A rose can say I'm sorry if I've hurt you in any way,
A rose can say get well soon, May God bless you today,
A rose can say I wish you happiness, and the best for you each day.
A rose can say farewel when someone goes away,
A rose can say hello, I'm thinking of you today,
There's just so many wonderful things that a rose can say,
A rose can say goodbye when a love one is laid to rest,
No matter what there is to say, a rose can say it best.
poem by Margie Driver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Off to Church
Go with a desire to hear God's word
to lift up your voice and praise the Lord.
To join the congregation and to sing
as to the Lord your worship you bring.
'Come to me' you hear the Lord God say
as there to the church you make your way
and into God's presence you then go
with tears of joy let your praises flow.
Sweet communion with Jesus takes place
as there you meet with Him face to face.
For there is no greater love than this:
Knowing He is yours and you are His.
'It is with great desire, ' Jesus said
To meet with you and to break this bread.
Communing there in fellowship sweet
with the wine to drink and bread to eat.
Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Thanksgiving Prayer to God
Almighty God, to Thee I pray,
And thank Thee for all things this day,
I had received in ample way;
Let glory be to Thee, Aye! Aye!
I am a human being mere;
I sin often and always err;
Forgive me Lord, my God, I plead,
A better life, may I still lead.
This day is almost over, Lord!
I’m sorry if I broke accord;
Without Thine mercy, love O God,
My life gets thrown into discord.
My every want, Thou providest;
My praises, thanks, I offer best;
Ignore my iniquities Lord;
Afill my heart, mind with Thine word.
O let my lips utter good words,
And let my tongue not turn like swords,
And let me labor for Thine sake,
And dispel ignorance and ache.
The good I did all came from Thee
The bad surfaced from within me;
O help me do my duty well,
And always toll the success bell!
O fill this vessel, Lord, I pray,
With gifts that I can share today,
With downtrodden brethren around,
And men and women, poor, unsound.
O bless my solitude always;
Let devils not invade my days;
So bless my deeds and mundane ways,
Miraculously most, in case.
O take away my pride, O Lord;
I long to live in Thine accord;
Rescue me from each temptation
That takes me nearer Damnation.
Provide me Lord, with Thine insight;
Thou art my only way, truth, light;
Let love for Thee burn always bright,
From dawn till dusk, and through the night.
My fallacies are not just mine;
O keep me off women and wine;
This bread will do; my health is fine;
My soul with grace must always shine.
O Lord, now bless this bread I eat;
And keep my body, heart, soul, neat,
And walking in heavenly grace,
With wisdom, piety-filled face.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-17-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Procrastinations Of The Hands
what to do? you know
when to do it? wait a while
there is so much time
unwind, spend more time
to what is unnecessary
loaf like a unleavened
bread
skip the moment
and stare and then record
all the things that you
miss
there's so much undone
but more happiness of the mind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Affirmations(2002-2004)
Today, I will get up before my alarm
Today, I won't close my eyes until dusk
Today, I will not get a speeding ticket
Today, I will count this day as a first
Today, I will enjoy the life that has been left to me
Today, I won't frown over the may-have-beens
Today, I won't cry over the should-have-beens
Today, I won't wonder about the could-have-beens
Today, I'll smile.......Today, I'll Laugh.... Today, I'll relax
Today, I won't feel alone because I don't see you
Today, I'll find something new that wasn't true of you
Today, I won't be afraid to look upon a new face
Today, I'll step up and take my place
Today, I won't think about what I've lost
Today, I'll look forward instead of behind
Today, I'll find some piece of mind
Today, I'll hope.... Today, I'll pray... Today, I'll believe
Today, I'll dream as if I always did
Today, I'll wish on a star the way I used to
Today, I'll reach for the heavens and sigh
Today, My heart will start to heal
Today, the biggest miracle is ME.
Today, Yesterday's problems ceased to be
Today, the rain has stopped and the sun has returned
Today, the breath of kindness is found in words
Today, I wonder.... Today, I am a child.
poem by Lillian B. Rose
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the steps of Rumi 88: Metaphor
Simile – what looks like something else –
that’s a fun game for the senses,
for the mind: oh look Dad,
there’s a scarecrow in that field
that looks just like a man, does it
really scare crows?
Oh look Dad, there’s a beggar in the street
who looks just like a scarecrow,
I wonder if the same crows
see him too?
But metaphor – ah, that’s something else:
explanations don’t quite explain it:
you see something; it brings to mind
something very different; maybe
you just forget it, pass on; maybe
you’re a poet, and you think,
that other thing casts a subtle light
on this first thing, I’ll see if others
find the same.. and, sometimes they do,
sometimes they don’t…
Metaphor brings the whole universe,
world upon world, to the mind:
you could write a poem full of metaphor
as long as the circumference of the world,
and when you’d written it out, you’d find yourself
right here again just where you were.. but
what a lot you’d seen on the way…
We’re so used to some metaphors
because by now, they’re shared,
written into language (lucky the people
who inherit languages such as these,
they’re born into poetry…) :
take ‘bread’: you walk past the baker’s shop
in the early morning when the air is clear –
or better, go in to buy your breakfast rolls:
the smell couldn’t be more wonderful,
more promising.. the bread’s so delicious,
and best eaten today..
ah yes, ‘daily bread’ – that becomes a metaphor
for all that each and every day brings –
waking up, new thoughts, new experiences,
all that brings life to life…
that covers so many subtle things…
where does it all come from?
that’s for you to say…
Sometimes it seems that the whole world
is a metaphor for something…
for what? For its own unity,
for its very creation,
for that which we call God,
for our very self?
that’s for you to say…
Metaphor. When you meet it,
does it make you think of
English class, another boring
poem, another boring question
to answer as you chew your pen –
‘What does the poet mean when
he speaks of, lies like oyster shells
to be penknifed for their pearls? ’…
or - does it fill your heart with joy
as if someone had given you
a golden key to a secret garden
which is all you ever hoped for;
more than you could ever imagine…
and yet you recognise
it’s all really just yourself? …
In the corner of your room
there's a little girl curled up
in a large armchair, reading a book.
Don't disturb her.
The book she reads with all her self today,
may never read again, doesn't need to -
is a metaphor for
all she needs to know today
about the world, about herself;
she finishes the book,
closes it thoughtfully,
looks up at you;
she knows herself
a little more today.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Field
You lie so unfolded
In a love field
With your contempt for any modesty
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
You yield with your lips still sealed
In a love field
Lost in a sea of imaginary women
Everything youd want
From the dawn to the dimming
Breath comes sharp and heart beats faster
In a love field
Cold ground for a pillow
Under a blanket of stars
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Headlights that startled
This embrace of hours
In a love field
In a crooked house
Where things can be arranged
You think youre different from the rest
But you dont see how youve changed
Under an archway
On a road of white linen
In a love field
Feel the anxious rhythm of a functional stranger
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Shes so tense but its never mentioned
In a love field
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Of A Poet
Laid now on his smooth bed
For the last time, watching dully
Through heavy eyelids the day's colour
Widow the sky, what can he say
Worthy of record, the books all open,
Pens ready, the faces, sad,
Waiting gravely for the tired lips
To move once -- what can he say?
His tongue wrestles to force one word
Past the thick phlegm; no speech, no phrases
For the day's news, just the one word ‘sorry';
Sorry for the lies, for the long failure
In the poet's war; that he preferred
The easier rhythms of the heart
To the mind's scansion; that now he dies
Intestate, having nothing to leave
But a few songs, cold as stones
In the thin hands that asked for bread.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To be a mom....
To be a mom takes guts, fortitude and patience
It takes courage, love and strength
Some times being a mom means carrying a child behind your heart
Some times being a mom means carrying somebody in your heart
Its a spiritual birth meant for those who have learned to love
Sometimes its given to those who've found this strength
Some people think motherhood is a physical action. I don't
To be a REAL mom takes heartfelt action and sometimes inaction
Lord, help me be a better mom today. Help me be involved, loving and responsive to the needs of my child.
Today I want to thank the moms out there who have been there for me in my own process and growth.
poem by Kimberly Anderson
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Pondering upon the Rose on a Sunday Morning......
The symbol of love
When giving in love a rose speaks for itself
The beauty is picturesque
The scent it gives lasting for ever
The rose never seen without her thorns
Still who can not feel happiness when a rose is seen or given?
Even for a brief minute, a second the rose brings a smile
Or perhaps a small sigh of delight
If one were to think upon a rose…
The thorns… the beauty…
The petals that carry the essence…
That lingers even after it is withered
If one were compare to our Lord…
He held thorns upon his precious head; the head of the rose is above the thorns
His love was known for its beauty and compassion, the rose noted for love
His words and Spirit lingers for eternity much like the scent of the rose
My Lord created the Rose
Perhaps he created it for remembrance of His son
Looking upon the rose I see it all so clearly
The meaning of love
The beauty
An essence that shall always be with me
poem by Patricia Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Only Can They Squeeze Blood From a Turnip
When a society's entire financial structure,
Is based upon a failing system...
Already built upon the hidden talents,
Of those gifted with deceit.
And those institutions are given cartoon names,
Such as Freddie and Fannie...
There are going to be problems.
Ones without realistic solutions faced.
At least not honest ones.
And now trillions of dollars will be borrowed,
To pay for their failures.
If a society is already suffering from an economic crunch...
At who's expense are these fresh lies being told?
Those embittered by an abrupt awakening,
From their delusions?
Or those sold on the bottomless pockets,
Fed on having 'great' aspirations?
My mother once said to me...
'Boy, I ain't got no money!
What do you think I am?
A turnip?
You can't squeeze blood from a turnip.
Nor is there a money tree outside!
I do not have money for you and your sister,
To have lunch today!
And you will get over it! '
I wish my mother was alive today!
She would be amazed to see...
The things being done,
At DisneyWorld!
They are creating remarkable fantasies.
And...
The people leave the grounds totally conditioned,
To accept anything they are told!
'Mama,
If you can hear me,
Not only can they squeeze blood from a turnip today...
A dollar can be produced from thin air!
I haven't seen that yet.
But that's the latest rumor.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sami
Your love is shared with the passions of its muse and,
I will bring you the sweet fruits of my love for you always;
For your mind shared on this love is like,
The bird and the nectar up high on a tree top.
Churches and Assembles are around you like war!
And like the Passover Feast of the unleavened bread;
But blessed are your eyes on this sweet love,
For you are all that the muse of this sweet river brought to me.
The legacy of life and time is like you and i on this river,
Enjoying the stimulations of the drama that it takes;
And like the legacy of the care of one's love!
For the flume brickbats are with riposted acts and,
The heart of the poet is very complex to understand at times.
Share this tradition and share this view of mine,
And like the beautiful mind of love on a coast like this;
But with gift of Sami to gladden my heart,
And you are always part of the share from this love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pretty Pink Rose
Shes just been to russia and theyre dying their faces
Theyre dying over there
A pretty pink rose
That rnr lady takes a space-ship ride shes out of this world
A pretty pink rose
And were living for you my love, were living for you
And were dying for you my love
Pretty pink rose
She tore down paris on the tall of thom paine
But the left wings broken the right insane
A pretty pink rose
Have a nice day, its a killer, turn a cheek
Its a christian code
A pretty pink rose
And were living for you my love, were living for you
And were dying for you my love
Pretty pink rose
Shes the poor mans gold shes the anarchist crucible
Flying in the face of the despot cannible
Shes a pretty pink rose
Never let it rain, never let it rain on the heart of the pretty pink rose
Pretty pink rose
And were living for you my love, were living for you
And were dying for you my love, pretty pink rose
Get me thru the pain, thru the pain of the thorn on the pretty pink rose
Never let it rain, never rain never rain, the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart, of the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart, of the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart,, of the pretty pink rose
Take me to the heart, to the heart, to the heart
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2 kinds of Murder which is worst? (Dark diary
Twist a knife in a heart
Pull the trigger with one finger
And you have committed a sin
But there are more terrible things
Not only with our hands we kill a rose
There is another kind of murder
That goes unpaid maybe worst
It was envy and jealousy
That sucked the love out of an angel
And tuned him to an evil demon
It takes one bad apple to spoil a few
It takes betray and deceit
One sour taste of love
Is all it takes, to kill a rose
It's also a form of murder!
Please note I am a writer not a murderer
I dont kill, so please....
29 August...Eyan Desir 2009
thanks for reading
poem by Eyan Desir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am
He spoke, “I am who I am”, Said the Creator of all men.
Yes, He is the very Word, that all have read and heard.
Jesus Christ is God, friend; the Beginning and The End.
Jesus said about Abraham, “before he was born, I am! ”
“I Am the Bread of Life”, were the words of Jesus Christ.
The true manna from above, sent by the Father’s Love.
He said “I am the Living Bread”, giving life to the dead.
I’m God’s and He is mine, in Christ’s love that is divine.
Jesus said “I am The Light”, to draw men from the night.
The Light of the world friend; The Light that has no end.
You’ll be in dark no more, as you follow Christ as Lord.
Christ said ”I am the vine”, and in Christ we must abide.
Jesus said “I am The Way”, and that’s what He is today.
The Way, Truth and the Life; found only in Jesus Christ.
Come, for “I Am the Door”, were the words of The Lord.
The Only Door to Eternal Life, is The Son Jesus Christ.
“I am The Good Shepherd”, and Savior of the wayward.
Even many that are scattered, by Jesus will be gathered.
“I am The Resurrection”; Christ is hope for every nation.
His victory over the grave, gives hope to those He saves.
He is all this and much more, if you know Christ as Lord.
The Alpha and Omega friend, the beginning and the end.
Just believe in Jesus Christ, and you receive Eternal Life.
What He said don’t dismiss, for He is, who He said He is.
09/2005
The language of flowers
The language of flowers was born in the East
and today this tradition still persist.
Having a lack of communication,
being unable to show it on their faces
the women of East created the language of flowers,
it could show their love power,
it could show their mood,
it helped them to be understood.
Once it had appeared as the language of communication
it turned into the method of admiration,
it turned into an art,
this language has become so smart.
In the Victorian epoch
the language of flowers was used
to express the secret feeling,
each flower, each color had a certain meaning.
The language of flowers still exists today.
The one who presents a red rose wants to say:
I love you so much,
I need more than a touch.
My heart is on fire,
I have a fervent desire.
The one who presents a white rose wants to say:
You are my love,
you are my dove,
you are as pure as the first white snow,
I wish our love to grow.
My love is sincere,
I want you to be always near.
My love is stronger than a passion,
a tender kiss will make a good ration.
Can’t help being enchanted by your modesty,
can’t help admiring your purity.
Red and white roses together
say much more than any weather forecast.
That one wants to say:
You are my other half,
you are in my heart,
you are my gift from God.
And if that one hears the answer:
You are my Lord,
Then he is the happiest man in the world.
If someone presents you bluebells,
it tells he wants to know for sure
if your love is pure,
if your love will remain,
until you meet again.
If you are not sure of your love
and suddenly get cornflowers,
it means your love has a real power.
There are so many flowers on the Land
and they all make us understand life
that there is no need for a strife.
Even with fast pace,
and unnecessary races
our modern life on the Earth is worth living
with the Greatest feeling of Love.
Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Rose...
gift you a rose, ,
gift you my rose....
but my rose to you, is not like any rose in this world...
a rose drunk from my tears...
a rose that i take care about it by my soul...
a rose gave it a water by my blood...
and perfumed it by my love....
my rose to you, is not like an roses...
its color not like any colors...
its not a red...
and its not a white...
even not a yellow...
its color pick up from the suns` yellow color..
and mix from the seas` blue color...
and from my bloods` drops..
and from my tears...
so.. its color was mixed with my sadness and my love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
its perfume is not like any perfume..
its a mix between a loves` nectar...
and many of kindness, and honesty love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
raised inside my heart...
and takes a warm light, from my eyes` light...
and its food, from the hope, that we always wish...
and from our future, which will gather us to each others one day...
so please accept and take my rose...
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Poetry as bread - In the spirit of Rumi 28
Poetry is like bread – daily bread,
like ‘Irish’ soda bread, best eaten on its day:
In the bakery of the heart and mind,
the baker’s woken early before dawn,
refreshed and clear of purpose, full of the day’s promise;
brings air to flour, moulds and shapes;
as the sun rises, so the bread.
Here it is, warm from the heart,
smell it – this is the smell of goodness, isn’t it?
Touch it, both crisp and soft by turns;
taste its goodness, beauty, truth, its very being;
this is not yesterday’s bread, with which you toy
while waiting between courses, your head’s straying mind
in a thousand other places; this is here and now;
coming warm from the heart; eat it with your heart;
this is the heart’s nourishment; tomorrow it may serve
tomorrow’s mind; today, it is your daily bread,
your nourishment – this poem, warm from heart to heart.
And when you've eaten it - the bread has disappeared -
only your satisfaction remains, beyond all sense;
as these words, already staling on the page,
exposed to all the wanderings of the mind;
only the love that they were made with, still remains;
this, is your daily bread.
[from a metaphor in Rumi's writings]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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