Twilight
Tonal poem
set to a slow waltz
written by God
for his elegiacal ballet
cast in the autumnal glow
of muted colours
faded reds and burnished golds
soft as the forest's
fading light drifting to black
God welcomed back
his son.
poem by Vince Gullaci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autumn In Bright
Cast in autumnal glow
all muted colours
faded reds and burnished golds
leaves
soft as the fading light
drifting to black.
poem by Vince Gullaci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For a Lost Poem
Dedicated to the poem 'Moon Light' that was written a few years back.
For a Lost Poem
A poem written long ago –
disappeared on the face of the earth
as if it never existed – but somewhere
beyond this skyline it did;
where the moon sits, and shines its light –
this poem has been erased from history,
from where it was put into storage.
Oh poem, I feel a loss for you!
Where have you gone? Oh where have you gone?
Moon Light, once many people read,
and praised me for such delicacy,
now she is gone too.
As if death has to come with:
the darkening sky, oh ye poem –
ye selfless poem come back and
let the light shine upon you.
A poem has gone, but where?
poem by Celine Berghmans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is My Poem
This is my poem of ______. (date)
This is my poem, written by myself.
This is my first poem never written.
This is my last poem now to be written.
This is the poem I would have written
if I had lived yesterday what I lived today.
This is my poem changing white light
into gold-leaf
and blue into violet.
This is my poem like a heaven twisting
and turning inside of me
all night long.
This is my poem of opening a window
to show what was always inside.
This is my poem encompassing everything
hope can bestow or chance agree with.
This is my poem of open-ended freedom.
This is my poem breathing life into motion.
This is my poem written as I wrote it
a living being.
And this is my poem ending;
but only for today..
poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yellow
She loved yellows,
pinks and golds
and we thought
she'd live forever
so when we saw
her fading
and her colours
they were jading
we planted
daffodils.
They're all bobbing
in the garden,
pretty headed
flowers
but her light
has gone forever,
deep beneath
the gold corn hills
Perhaps by chance
she sees them still.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black And Red
Black and Red
The colours of dead
Black and Red
The colours of my bed.
Black and Red
swirling in my head
Black and Red
Killing my brov Ted.
BLACK AND RED
Black and Red
Colours that spread
Black and Red
The patterned thread.
Black and Red
The voices said
Black and Red
I Iove eating bread
Black and Red
My favourite colours till the end.
poem by Carniz Fatema
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem
THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-
I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-
The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-
A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written
THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can A Poem Be Written
CAN A POEM BE WRITTEN
Can a Poem be written
In Anger Frustration Fear Disappointment?
Can it be written
In Failure?
Can a Poem be written
When no light shines
And the middle of the night is longer
Than life itself?
Can a Poem be written now
When old afraid sad angry foolish failure me
Cannot even dream?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In This Poem
when it rains for days
we damn the weather
we blame the gods
we for once do not like
the smell of water.....but then...
when the rain is gone
and there is no sign of a black cloud that it is coming ever again
we again complain
hating the sun, disgusting the feel of light
the warmth of days
we damn the gods
for not hearing us
our pleas all written in the
that empty space
in that drifting air
but the gods, gods as they are
have known our hearts
and minds
and they are never damned at all
in one lightning gear
striking us all
we become nothing
perishing
as we so deserve
it is written, so written
in this poem....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Alabama Waltz
Written and recorded by hank williams
Capo on 2nd fret
I was [a] sad and blue, I was [d] down-hearted, too
It [a] seemed like the [e] whole world was [a] lost [e]
And [a] I took a chance, and we [d] happened to dance
To the [a] tune of the [e] alabama [a] waltz.
Chorus
[d] waltz, waltz, the [a] alabama waltz
[b] there all my fears and [e] tears were lost [e7]
[a] there in your arms, with [d] all of your charms
We [a] danced to the [e] alabama [a] waltz.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alabama Waltz
Written and recorded by hank williams
Capo on 2nd fret
I was [a] sad and blue, I was [d] down-hearted, too
It [a] seemed like the [e] whole world was [a] lost [e]
And [a] I took a chance, and we [d] happened to dance
To the [a] tune of the [e] alabama [a] waltz.
Chorus
[d] waltz, waltz, the [a] alabama waltz
[b] there all my fears and [e] tears were lost [e7]
[a] there in your arms, with [d] all of your charms
We [a] danced to the [e] alabama [a] waltz.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem That Is About To Be Written
THE POEM THAT IS ABOUT TO BE WRITTEN
The poem that is about to be written
Will form itself slowly,
Line by line,
Will make of itself a meaning
It does not know.
Will be beyond
All that it could have thought to be – beforehand.
The poem that is being written
Has no name,
No face,
No beauty,
No light,
It is just the poem that is coming to be in the silence,
Where I am alone with my own Seeming.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life will live and love will win
The sunrise above the curtains shines through the window
lighting up the darkness and chasing away the demons to
the back of your mind, let the light shine bright as it glistens
on the streets as the colours grow, showing the wonder of
what the darkness hides, just another day and another world
that shines so bright, another animal in the vast sunlight waiting
for the darkness to come, the light heats up the streets as the
colours shine out of the ground, delicate and soft with the world
below and above never ending, the myths of the future misting
the past into a bright blur that swirls in the back of your mind,
the soft colours come forward as the harsh we forgive and
forget, with a light that shines never ending swirls, as it moves
through the sky, as the light goes by, causing the life to move in
never ending circles, the light burning and swirling never touching,
glimpse of faith to the light, all until the darkness takes over once
again, and we all lie in wait for the light.
poem by HannahJane Brazier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Every Poem Knows Its Own Name
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS ITS OWN NAME
Not every poem knows its own name
Or can have itself be written easily-
Not every poem lives in the light
There are dark poems also.
We, possessed of poetry
Often do not know where we are.
We would like to believe
That the light of our soul
And the light of our words
Are one-
But we know deep down
There is one poem somewhere
And another poem somewhere else
And whoever we truly are
Cannot be wholly found in either.
No poem is us completely
And we are not complete Poetry either.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drifting Away
(orbison/dees)
Sadness slips into the room
On silent steps of sorrow
Stealing sleep and all my dreams
Where will we be tomorrow?
Lying with you, crying with you, drifting
Talking till dawn yet we go on, drifting
Dont understand where we began just drifting apart
Drifting apart feeling alone drifting away
We cant seem to work it out
Drifting from day to day
Wasnt it all about, drifting away
Drifting away, drifting away
Losing the feeling
And now the music of the song is almost gone
That we used to play
From sweet surrender from drifting away, drifting
Two lovers lost two rivers crossed, drifting
Two bridges burned, no lesson learned, drifting
Lonely together, hurting each other
Still we cant say that its over
Can we bring back yesterday?
Will we be forever, forever drifting away
Drifting, drifting away
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Woman
You are the delicate petals of my flower
The joyous sun at waking hour.
You saturate my soul
Like april shower,
And you glow
Like a sunset sinking,
Winking,
A fond goodnight.
A waterfall,
You teem in silver cascade.
I sit and watch
Through sun kissed forest glade
- As you bloom
With colours of Autumnal morning
And perfume of a new day dawning.
I drink it in
With bated breath
Holding it until death
Or until you say
You are my woman.
That day
- When vanilla skies
With azure spray
Will melt us away to heaven.
poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Can Be Written Too Early
A POEM CAN BE WRITTEN SO EARLY
A poem can be written so early
That even the morning light
Won’t see it.
A poem can be written too soon.
A poem can be written before it exists
And so never be
Despite the fact that it is.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Which Makes No Reference To Poetry
A POEM WHICH MAKES NO REFERENCE TO POETRY
A poem which makes no reference to poetry
And does not wonder who and what the poet is-
A poem that makes meanings of life outside the world of its own self- reflection-
A poem that is what life is
In some far and different way-
That poem
Waiting elsewhere
Written by someone else
So great in its beauty
And so powerful in its light
That poem written by someone else
About something I know nothing about
In a way I never dreamed or imagined
That poem is not written by me
And never will be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drifting
Drifting, drifting, drifting away.
I got myself a mansion, then I gave it away.
It's not the world that's heavy, just the things that you save.
And I'm drifting, drifting away.
Drifting, drifting, drifting along.
I rid myself of worries, and the worries were gone.
I only run when I want to and I sleep like a dog.
I'm just drifting, drifting along.
The suitcoats say, "There is money to be made."
They get so damn excited, but I guess it's their way.
My road it may be lonely just because it's not paved.
It's good for drifting, drifting away.
The suitcoats say, "There is money to be made."
They get so damn excited, nothing gets in their way
My road it may be lonely just because it's not paved.
It's good for drifting, drifting away.
Drifting, drifting, drifting, uh huh.
I feel like going back there, but never for long.
I sometimes wonder if they know that I'm gone.
I'm just drifting, drifting along.
Drifting, drifting along. Drifting, drifting along.
Merry Christmas...
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing..
This poem is not about love..
This poem is not about pain..
This poem is not about the things i have learned...
This poem is not for the broken hearted..
This poem is not for the ones seeking help..
This poem is not for the depressed...
This poem is for no one,
Because no one can contain nothing...
This poem is not filled with wisdom..
This poem was not written with love...
This poem was not written for a lover nor a brother...
This poem was nothing special...
Not quite remarkable....
But it is nothing because that what it was...
Nothing and it will never be anything...
poem by Jenna Marie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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