A Terre (being the philosophy of many soldiers)
Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me,-brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.
I tried to peg out soldierly,-no use!
One dies of war like any old disease.
This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
I have my medals?-Discs to make eyes close.
My glorious ribbons?-Ripped from my own back
In scarlet shreds. (That's for your poetry book.)
A short life and a merry one, my buck!
We used to say we'd hate to live dead-old,-
Yet now...I'd willingly be puffy, bald,
And patriotic. Buffers catch from boys
At least the jokes hurled at them. I suppose
Little I'd ever teach a son, but hitting,
Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
Well, that's what I learnt,-that, and making money.
Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
Tell me how long I've got? God! For one year
To help myself to nothing more than air!
One Spring! Is one too good to spare, too long?
Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.
My servant's lamed, but listen how he shouts!
When I'm lugged out, he'll still be good for that.
Here in this mummy-case, you know, I've thought
How well I might have swept his floors for ever.
I'd ask no nights off when the bustle's over,
Enjoying so the dirt. Who's prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan?
I'd love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?
O Life, Life, let me breathe,-a dug-out rat!
Not worse than ours the lives rats lead-
Nosing along at night down some safe rut,
They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death.
Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
'I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone'
Shelley would tell me. Shelley would be stunned:
The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
'Pushing up daisies' is their creed, you know.
To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
For all the usefulness there is in soap.
D'you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
Some day, no doubt, if...Friend, be very sure
I shall be better off with plants that share
More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
Soft rains will touch me,-as they could touch once,
And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
Your guns may crash around me. I'll not hear;
Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.
Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest.
Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here's the thing's best left at home with friends.
My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned
To do without what blood remained these wounds.
poem by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Terre
(Being the philosophy of many Soldiers.)
Sit on the bed; I'm blind, and three parts shell,
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me -- brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.
I tried to peg out soldierly -- no use!
One dies of war like any old disease.
This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
I have my medals? -- Discs to make eyes close.
My glorious ribbons? -- Ripped from my own back
In scarlet shreds. (That's for your poetry book.)
A short life and a merry one, my brick!
We used to say we'd hate to live dead old, --
Yet now . . . I'd willingly be puffy, bald,
And patriotic. Buffers catch from boys
At least the jokes hurled at them. I suppose
Little I'd ever teach a son, but hitting,
Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
Well, that's what I learnt, -- that, and making money.
Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
Tell me how long I've got? God! For one year
To help myself to nothing more than air!
One Spring! Is one too good to spare, too long?
Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.
My servant's lamed, but listen how he shouts!
When I'm lugged out, he'll still be good for that.
Here in this mummy-case, you know, I've thought
How well I might have swept his floors for ever,
I'd ask no night off when the bustle's over,
Enjoying so the dirt. Who's prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan?
I'd love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?
O Life, Life, let me breathe, -- a dug-out rat!
Not worse than ours the existences rats lead --
Nosing along at night down some safe vat,
They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death,
Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
"I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone."
Shelley would tell me. Shelley would be stunned;
The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
"Pushing up daisies," is their creed, you know.
To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
For all the usefulness there is in soap.
D'you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
Some day, no doubt, if . . .
Friend, be very sure
I shall be better off with plants that share
More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
Soft rains will touch me, -- as they could touch once,
And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
Your guns may crash around me. I'll not hear;
Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.
Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest.
Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here the thing's best left at home with friends.
My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned
To do without what blood remained these wounds.
poem by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild with all Regrets
(Another version of "A Terre".)
To Siegfried Sassoon
My arms have mutinied against me -- brutes!
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,
My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.
Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease.
I can't read. There: it's no use. Take your book.
A short life and a merry one, my buck!
We said we'd hate to grow dead old. But now,
Not to live old seems awful: not to renew
My boyhood with my boys, and teach 'em hitting,
Shooting and hunting, -- all the arts of hurting!
-- Well, that's what I learnt. That, and making money.
Your fifty years in store seem none too many;
But I've five minutes. God! For just two years
To help myself to this good air of yours!
One Spring! Is one too hard to spare? Too long?
Spring air would find its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.
Yes, there's the orderly. He'll change the sheets
When I'm lugged out, oh, couldn't I do that?
Here in this coffin of a bed, I've thought
I'd like to kneel and sweep his floors for ever, --
And ask no nights off when the bustle's over,
For I'd enjoy the dirt; who's prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust, --
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn?
Dear dust, -- in rooms, on roads, on faces' tan!
I'd love to be a sweep's boy, black as Town;
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?
A flea would do. If one chap wasn't bloody,
Or went stone-cold, I'd find another body.
Which I shan't manage now. Unless it's yours.
I shall stay in you, friend, for some few hours.
You'll feel my heavy spirit chill your chest,
And climb your throat on sobs, until it's chased
On sighs, and wiped from off your lips by wind.
I think on your rich breathing, brother, I'll be weaned
To do without what blood remained me from my wound.
5th December 1917.
poem by Wilfred Owen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tommy's Dead
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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John Robinson
AIR -- "The Drunkard"
Come listen, friends, and hear a song,
It is a doleful one,
About a young man, dead and gone --
He died far away from home.
John Robinson this young man's name,
His age I cannot tell,
And he was loved by all his friends,
And he was known full well.
His father and mother being dead,
It left him an orphan boy,
When he was with his brother
His health failed him, poor boy.
Kind friends they thought 'twould do him good
To travel for his health;
To California he did go
With his Uncle Zera French.
He was not gone but a short time
When a letter his friends received;
It told how homesick Johnny was,
How he for home did grieve.
It said that he was getting worse,
And his money was nearly gone,
And if he did not soon return
Never more would he see home.
It said, "Dear Brother, will you please
Some money to me send,
For I fear I have not got enough
To bring me back again.
The doctor says I must soon return,
If I wish my home to see,
For if I stay my life is short,
For the air disagrees with me."
His brother Will the letter read,
It made his eyes grow dim.
"Dear brother, he shall soon return,
For I will go and fetch him."
This brother dear was very kind;
With money, he went with haste
For to bring him home again,
But Oh! he went too late.
For he was sick, and very bad --
Poor boy, he thought, no doubt,
If he came home in a smoking car
His money would hold out.
He started to come back alone --
He came one-third the way --
One evening in the car alone
His spirit fled away.
No friend was near to speak to him,
Or hear his dying moan;
How sad, how sad it must have been
To die there all alone;
No loving friends to soothe his brow,
Or ease his weary form;
Poor soul, poor soul is now at rest,
For his soul to heaven has gone.
Telegraph dispatch was sent his friends --
How sad were they to hear --
How their loved one died all alone,
In a car with no one near.
The brother brought his body home
To his friends that loved him best.
He's sleeping in their grave yard now
Let peace be e'er his rest.
poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spirit Of Freedom
(realising the new world)
I know instinctively
When something is right
With no one there to save me
You came into my life
The words you whispered
Still echo in my mind
Forget about tomorrow
Forget about time
So good to be alive and touch
The spirit of freedom - in your soul
So good to breathe the air and
Feel that life is worth living
Theres no time to waste in this life
Theres no time at all
So good to see the truth and touch
The spirit of freedom
I never thought that
I could ever feel this way
To see the warmest sunlight
On a cold and rainy day
Dawn wakes the silence
And I know that I cant wait
To hear the words
I wanna say again and again
So good to be alive and touch
The spirit of freedom - in your soul
So good to breathe the air and
Feel that life is worth living
Theres no time to waste in this life
Theres no time at all
Theres no time to waste in this life
Theres no time at all
So good to be alive and touch
The spirit of freedom - in your soul
So good to breathe the air and
Feel that life is worth living
Theres no time to waste in this life
Theres no time at all
So good to be alive and touch
The spirit of freedom - in your soul
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Please Come Home
It must have been about a 100 years
At least a hundred years
I wish you would just come back
Just come back home
The day we met feels like 100 years ago
And Im still waiting with my hand right by the telephone
Yeah maybe where you are you cannot make that call
Or you cant find the pen I know its not your fault
CHORUS
My friends think Im insane
Cause I've turned old and gray
And Im still waiting and I cannot be alone
Please come home (please come home)
I watch the clock hands tick my hours turn to days
And I cant fall asleep cause I don't want to miss that ring
I know that this year your car will park outside
But I can't put my arms around the girl who took my life
REPEAT CHORUS
Its been so long
Its been about 100 years
And a million dreams since the last time
Ive seen your pretty face I would do whatever it takes
I would wait another 100 years
And if that didnt work
Maybe Ill try and see what forever feels like
But until then and I know you hear me
And whatever your doing wherever you are please come home
That day we met feels like 100 years ago
And Im still waiting for you
Baby baby wont you please come home
Please come home
Wont you please come home
Please come home
Wont you please come home (Please come home)
song performed by by Uncle Kracker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Best Friend (feat. M Wians & H Walker & The Love Friendship Crusad Choir)
Puffy] (Mario)
I've seen a lot of things in my life
Been a lot of ups and downs
Made a lot of mistakes
No matter what you've always been by my side
You've always been my best friend
You're the love of my life (oh)
You're everything to me (oh)
You never left my side (you are my best friend)
I love you so much (yes you are)
You're my best friend
[Puffy]
Since the beginning of time
All you did was bless men
Too young to understand but now you're my best friend
How could they doubt you
Never think about you
Don't they know nothing's possible without you
Faith without fear that's how they raised me
Words from man kill but never phase me
Grateful for wisdom that you
But still I'm like dear God I wonder can you save me
Too much sinning gotta be more than plush living
Gotta be more than grabbing nines to buck tenants
Gotta be more than just to lust women
Gotta be more than platinum Rolexes, 600's and crush linen
Praise your name, I know some of them hate to do
Judgment day that no one can escape your crew
I'm just trying to live right and pray you take me through
And with this song I dedicate to you my Lord
1 - [Mario Winans]
Lord you mean the world to me
Before I was born you chose me
You always hear me when I'm calling
Even catch me when I'm falling
You're the closest one to me
I surrender all to the
I want the whole wide world to see
That we've always been and we'll always will be best friends
[Puffy]
Sometimes I reminisce and wonder how I made it this far
Because of you, I'm me, so you the real star
Your high in sight, the time is right to get my mind tight
Then give it to you and let it shine bright
My best friend only know how to teach the truth
Plant the seeds of life and let them eat the fruit
Can't you see that He spread love for you
Shed blood for you, cry for and die for you
Willies with mac millies know how you get down
We know the drama you bring whenever you hit town
Just remember when you pray, God is love
Gracious, merciful, forgive even the hardest thugs
Life as we know it, it all begins with Him
Life as we know it, it all ends with Him
If I was you I would never try to pretend with Him
He might spaz and blow it I'm best friends with him
Repeat 1
[Puffy]
Been two and a half years since my man Big passed
Been two and a half years since my world crashed
I needed help God gave me the power
Gave me the strength to go face to face with my darkest hour
Look me in the eyes and ask "What you doing happy?"
"Don't you know why I'm here?" and started shooting at me
Back to the war is my faith gonna play out
Never waving once, any no way out
You're time to die don't even stress the date
You're coming with me, your soul I'm next to take
I told him "I'm too much blessed with faith"
"And living for Christ" and then he said "Manifest the great"
All of a sudden, what I'm remembering
Ground started to shake, everything trembling
The power of the truth is shooting through my Timberlands
There was my Lord Jesus Christ, my best friend again, come on
Repeat 1 till end (with Puffy ad-libs)
[Puffy]
You mean everything to me
You've been with me since day one
Even when I thought nobody's was there
You were there
You're my best friend
I love you like no other
There is no feeling like this in the world
If you can relate to what I'm feeling
Put your hands in the air for me
Let me see you
Naw, matter of fact clap your hands for me
Clap your hands, come on
Thank you Jesus
You always hear me when I'm calling
Always catch me when I fall, yeah
I surrender all to the
I want the whole world to see
That you've always been, you'll always be
My best friend
I love you Jesus
Thank you, forgive me for my trespasses
As I forgive those who trespass against me
Thank you
song performed by by Puff Daddy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In
In her eyes, I see a warm light
In my arms, I'll make her feel right
In her hand, I'll feel so strong
In my hand, I'll hold her so long
In her touch, she'll make me break
In my touch, I'll let her sleep till shes awake
In her heart, I'll gain a place
In my heart, All I see is her face
In her soul is a caring girl
In my soul, she makes up my world
In my life, I'll show her no wrong
In her life, I'll care about her for a time thats long
She'll never know what to do with me
It wont be a concern, cuz I wont leave
I'll make her smile
I'll make her giggle
I'll be her knight with a smile
I'll show her a good life, always big, never little
Bring Me to Life
How can you see into my eyes
Like open doors.
Leading you down into my core
Where I’ve become so numb.
Without a soul
My spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home.
Wake me up inside.
I can’t wake up.
Wake me up inside.
Save me.
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Wake me up.
Bid my blood to run.
I can’t wake up.
Before I come undone.
Save me.
Save me from the nothing I’ve become.
Now that I know what I’m without
You can’t just leave me.
Breathe into me and make me real
Bring me to life.
Bring me to life.
I’ve been living a lie
There’s nothing inside.
Bring me to life.
Frozen inside without your touch,
Without your love, darling.
Only you are the life among the dead.
All of this sight
I can’t believe I couldn’t see
Kept in the dark
But you were there in front of me
I’ve been sleeping a 1000 years it seems.
I’ve got to open my eyes to everything.
Without a thought
Without a voice
Without a soul
Don’t let me die here
There must be something wrong.
Bring me to life.
Bring me to life.
I’ve been living a lie
There’s nothing inside.
Bring me to life
(from Evanescence)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freedom
so I'm gone close my eyes(my eyes)
and I'm gone live my life(my life)
despite what you think Im'a be free, cause Im'a be me.(x2)
see i aint never think that i would have a situation
where the people around me just envy I must replace them
see I always thought the people that watch me grow
would want to see me blow fa'sho but little did I know
they ain't never really wanna see me smiling.
they couldn't take the fact that I was really shining
and in my heart I knew they was wishing I was stop
cause they don't me to rise and be on top.
and all that jealousy and hate
can be right in front of your face
and it's gone hurt for you to see
but it ain't your fault just let it be
so I'm gone close my eyes
and I'm gone live my life
despite what you think Im'a be free cause Im'a be me.(x2)
See everybody wanna have something to talk about
so they pointing their fingers and always running their mouths.
no matter how you try to satisfy someone else
giving so much of yourself your love
but it's never enough.
the more you give the more want they ain't happy
and they don't see all you do to make em happy
they don't appreciate it till you walk away
but you don't want to hear by now it's too late.
and all that jealousy and hate
can be right in front of your face
and it's gone hurt for you to see
but it ain't your fault just let it be.
so I'm gone close my eyes
and I'm gone live my life
despite what you think Im'a be free cause Im'a be me.(x2)
What they don't understand is that Im'a keep livin my life and surviving
Im'a keep pushing and striving and climbing and grinding
cause aint no time to be cry'n, i've been through alot
witnessed strenght, to carry my weight
and Im'a be ok cause I'm gone live my life my way
you can say what you wanna say,you wont effect the way im living
im worried 'bout being free again
so I'm gone close my eyes
and I'm gone live my life
despite what you think Im'a be free cause Im'a be me.(x2)
song performed by by Ashanti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back Home Again
This song appears on fifteen albums, and was first released on the back home again album, and has also been released on the favourites, the greatest hits vol 2, voice of america, john denver (it
), the very best of john denver (double cd), the rocky mountain collection, the country roads collection and country classics albums. live versions appear on the live in london, the live at the
Y opera house, the wildlife concert and the best of john denver live albums. an updated studio version also appears on the love again and a celebration of life albums.
Theres a storm across the valley, clouds are rollin in
The afternoon is heavy on your shoulders
Theres a truck out on the four lane a mile or more away
The whinin of his wheels just makes it colder
Hes an hour away from ridin on your prayers up in the sky
And ten days on the road are barely gone
Theres a fire softly burnin, suppers on the stove
But its the light in your eyes that makes him warm
Hey its good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Yes n hey, its good to be back home again
Theres all the news to tell him, howd you spend your time
Whats the latest thing the neighbors say
And your mother called last friday, sunshine made her cry
You felt the baby move just yesterday
Hey its good to be back home again - yes it is
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Yes n hey, its good to be back home again
Oh the time that I can lay this tired old body down
Feel your fingers feather soft upon me
The kisses that I live for, the love that lights my way
The happiness that that livin with you brings me
Its the sweetest thing I know of, just spending time with you
Its the little things that make a house a home
Like a fire softly burnin supper on the stove
The light in your eyes that makes me warm
Hey its good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Yes n hey, its good to be back home again
Hey its good to be back home again - you know it is
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long-lost friend
Hey, its good to be back home again
I said hey its good to be back home again
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Germ Chaser
I knew a careful lady once
Who read a book by Dr. Bunce,
A wise authority on wogs
That roam about in dust and fogs;
Indeed, he pointed out, all air,
However pure, held germs somewhere;
They clung to door-knobs, crawled on floors,
Inhabited small change in scores.
In fact, there scarcely was a thing
To which some foul germ did not cling,
Ready to leap and work its will
To some poor luckless human's ill.
The lady closed the book and sighed,
And all content within her died.
This pleasant earth for her became
The haunt of wogs, and life a game
Of hide and seek. She joined the band
Of grim germ-chasers in the land.
She scoured and scrubbed, examined food -
Which, thus far, was all to the good -
But when she strove to disinfect
Her home, 'twas worse than mild neglect;
No hospital smelled half so bad,
And then, I fear, she went quite mad.
Her eye took on a maniac glare;
She saw germs lurking everywhere.
She hung up mottoes such as this:
'Ten thousand germs in every kiss.'
She would not handle coins or take
Another's hand for friendship's sake;
Scarce dared to eat or draw a breath
For fear she might imbibe her death.
She sprayed her husband, heels to head,
With crude carbolic till he fled;
But, since she had means of her own,
She much preferred to live alone.
When going into town one day,
Wrapped up and muzzled in a way
Quite microbe-proof, from foot to crown,
A passing motor knocked her down.
And where she's sleeping soundly now
The germs have got her, anyhow…
The point of this sad tale is here:
Better be dead than live in fear;
Better live like a Stone Age man
Before germ-consciousness began;
Better take chances, seems to me,
Than try to dodge what you can't see.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Alright
They want your mind and your body
But they don't understand
And don't care much about it
Gotta work for your country
Society's built on concrete and money
If this room was to vanish
And the toys of man turned to civilized dust
There'd still be you and me, honey
With our history gone
But the spirit lives on
Build those highways, build those cars
On a planet full of scrap metal
There'd better be life on mars
Chorus:
It's alright, it's alright
If you don't think about it
It's alright
If you don't look at it, it's alright
How time slips away
Live by the good book
That's what the wise men say
But where does it leave us
Were they right or were they wrong
Gotta have hope, gotta carry on
It's alright, it's alright
It's alright, it's alright
They want your soul and your spirit
Make them understand
These things they never can have
Gotta work for your family
A community built on trust, not money
If this town was to vanish
And the office blocks were just turned into ashes
They'd be you and me, honey
With the will to survive
And the spirit lives on
Build those factories
Plants and cars
On a planet so desecrated
There'd better be life on mars
Chorus
How time slips away
Live by the good book
That's what the wise men say
But where does it leave us
Were they right or were they wrong
Gotta have hope
Gotta carry on
It's alright, it's alright
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wicked
I only have so long to make a safe place for you
I can twist my fingers in and build another one
Look through this face and find it
Let the hands of the Man guide it
When I put you through this...
When I put you through this you'll need me
Oh, suffer to be mine
I wanna be cruel to be kind
I'll get inside your head
Live so hard you'll wish you were dead, yeah
A touch of the WICKED
I can't help living for you, I wish I could climb inside you
Slip you on like a second skin and be another one
You'll live forever with me
You can have another soul and rape me
When I step into this...
When I step into this you'll be me
Oh, suffer to be mine
I wanna be cruel to be kind
I'll get inside your head
Live so hard you'll wish you were dead, yeah
A touch of the WICKED
You feel so tight around me- I don't wanna be the man I must be
I raise my arms and grip my head- cuz I'm seein' RED
I'll take good care of you, love
I could never ever love you enough
When I get to use this...
When I get to use this, it's OVER!!
Oh, suffer to be mine
I wanna be cruel to be kind
I'll get inside your head
Live so hard you'll wish you were dead, yeah
A touch of the WICKED
Wicked!!!
song performed by by Stone Sour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
Poetry is the air I breathe
Poetry is the words that feed
My soul
To make me whole
Poetry is what makes me blossom
In the middle of spring
Poetry is what grows my garden
And makes it flourish with nature
Beauty
Poetry Is
My magical whim's that supply all my
Fantasy and fills my hopes and dreams
Poetry is the strong desire that keep the
Flames of love burning
In the midst of the hour
And lights up the sky
With beautiful hues of colours
Spreads from one globe to
Another
To swim the ocean deep
Just because of love
Poetry is that and more, which I
Hate to carry this on and on
But
Poetry is the love of our life that visit
Us in our dreams
Poetry is
Me and the worlds that wakes every
Morning to bloom and blossom
Even after the death has played it last
Song that breaks our hearts
Poetry is tears and moans
Grief and pain that Hunt's the
Soul
Poetry is the rain crying from
The sky
The sun the moon with the golden
Light
Poetry is a child laughter at play
The tears a child shreds in sadness
They cry
Poetry is just a book of songs you
And I write down in our journal
Each and every day
We
Mix them together again and again
That is poetry
Poetry is life woes
Life happiness
Poetry is life
Here now and after
Poetry is you and I
poem by Carolyn Sears
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Friendship
A soul to talk to,
Share secrets;
A soul who walks you
Through life’s stress…
A soul to laugh with,
and to cry;
Someone who makes
your tears go dry...
A soul dependable,
Who consoles;
A soul, you’re proud of,
And who cares…
A soul who’s priceless,
More than wealth;
Someone who keeps you
In good health…
A soul who affords
timely help;
Someone who gives you
right advice…
A soul with mind,
almost like yours’;
Someone who feels
like how you would…
A well-wisher;
A comforter;
A body-part
like your own heart…
A selfless soul,
Who keeps you whole;
A part of life
You dare not part…
And rarely friends too
blunders make;
And make you cry
More than your foes!
Good friends;
Thick friends;
Fine friends;
Best friend…
And that’s what friendship’s
all about;
Friends share your hardships,
joys, no doubt!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-29-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dont Cut Me Down
(olivia newton-john)
Im tall I need room to grow
I need the sun in my eyes
My home is the earth below
One day I know I will touch the sky
Dont cut me down
For I am innocent
Dont cut me down
I am your friend
I sigh when the four winds blow
I cry when the cool rains fall
I shine in the moonlights glow
I am a home for the great and small
Dont cut me down
For I am innocent
Dont cut me down
I am your friend
Give me a year
A year another year
It takes me time for new life to appear
You cut me down
Quicker than I can regrow
Give me a chance
I am the air you breathe
Imagine what life would be without me
I have been here
Longer than you have you know
Harvest the seeds you sow
Dont cut me down
For I am innocent
Dont cut me down
I am your friend
Im tall I need room to grow
I need the sun in my eyes
My home is the earth below
One day I know I will touch the sky
Dont cut me down
For I am innocent
Dont cut me down
I am your friend
For I will never mend
Dont cut me down
I am your friend
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Isa in Heaven
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven! — Young.
Where is she now?
Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?
If death has laid his hand upon thy brow,
Has he not touched my heart?
Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,
And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!
If thou were dead,
I would not ask thee to reply;
But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled
To heaven, where it can never die!
Then why not come to me? Return—return
And comfort me, for I have much to mourn!
I sigh all day!
I mourn for thee the livelong night!
And when the next night comes, thou art away,
And so is absent my delight!
Oh! as the lone dove for his absent mate,
So is my soul for thee disconsolate!
I long for death—
For any thing—to be with thee!
I did inhale, alas! thy dying breath,
That it might have some power on me
To make me what thou art!—but, thou art dead!
And I am here!—it strengthened me instead!
Joy there is none—
It went into the grave with thee!
And grief, because my spirit is alone,
Is all that comes to comfort me!
The very air I breathe is turned to sighs,
And all mine soul is melting from mine eyes!
I hear, at even,
The liquid carol of birds;
Their music makes me think of thee in heaven,
It is so much like thy sweet words.
The brooklet whispers, as it runs along,
Our first love-story with its liquid tongue.
Wake, Isa! wake!
And come back in this world again!
Oh! come down to me, for my soul's dear sake,
And cure me of this trying pain!
I would give all that earth to man can be,
If thou wert only in this world with me!
Day after day
I seek thee, but thou art not near!
I sit down on thy grave in the cold clay,
And listen for thy soul!—oh! dear!
And when some withered leaf falls from the tree,
I start as if thy soul had spoke to me!
And so it is,
And so it ever more must ever be
To him, who has been robbed of all the bliss
He ever knew, by loving thee!
For misery, in thine absence, is my wife!
What joy had been, hadst thou remained in life!
It is now even;
The birds have sung themselves to sleep;
And all the stars seem coming out of heaven,
As if to look upon me weep!—
Oh! let me not look up to thee in vain,
But come back to me in this world again!
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1842)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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An Essay on Death and a Prison
A prison is in all things like a grave,
Where we no better priviledges have
Then dead men, nor so good. The soul once fled
Lives freer now, then when she was cloystered
In walls of flesh; and though she organs want
To act her swift designs, yet all will grant
Her faculties more clear, now separate,
Then if the same conjunction, which of late
Did marry her to earth, had stood in force,
Uncapable of death, or of divorce:
But an imprison'd mind, though living, dies,
And at one time feels two captivities;
A narrow dungeon which her body holds,
But narrower body which her self enfolds.
Whil'st I in prison ly, nothing is free,
Nothing enlarg'd but thought and miserie;
Though e'ry chink be stopt, the doors close barr'd,
Despight of walls and locks, through e'ry ward
These have their issues forth; may take the aire,
Though not for health, but onely to compare
How wretched those men are who freedom want,
By such as never suffer'd a restraint.
In which unquiet travel could I find
Ought that might settle my distemper'd mind,
Or of some comfort make discovery
It were a voyage well imploy'd: but I,
Like our raw travellers that cross the seas
To fetch home fashions or some worse disease,
Instead of quiet a new torture bring
Home t'afflict me, malice and murmuring.
What is't I envy not? no dog nor fly
But my desires prefer, and wish were I;
For they are free, or if they were like me,
They had no sense to know calamitie.
But in the grave no sparks of envy live,
No hot comparisons that causes give
Of quarrel, or that our affections move
Any condition, save their own, to love.
There are no objects there but shades and night,
And yet that darkness better then the light.
There lives a silent harmony, no jar
Or discord can that sweet soft consort mar.
The graves deaf ear is clos'd against all noise
Save that which rocks must hear, the angels voice:
Whose trump shall wake the world, and raise up men
Who in earths bosom slept, bed-rid till then.
What man then would, who on deaths pillow slumbers,
Be re-inspir'd with life, though golden numbers
Of bliss were pour'd into his breast; though he
Were sure in change to gain a Monarchie?
A Monarchs glorious state compar'd with his,
Less safe, less free, less firm, less quiet is.
For nere was any Prince advanc't so high
That he was out of reach of misery:
Never did story yet a law report
To banish fate or sorrow from his Court;
Where ere he moves by land, or through the Main,
These go along sworn members of his train.
But he whom the kind earth hath entertain'd,
Hath in her womb a sanctuary gain'd,
Whose charter and protection arm him so,
That he is priviledg'd from future woe.
The Coffin's a safe harbour, where he rides
Land-bound, below cross windes, or churlish tides.
For grief, sprung up with life, was mans half-brother
Fed by the taste, brought forth by sin, the mother.
And since the first seduction of the wife,
God did decree to grief a lease for life;
Which Patent in full force continue must,
Till man that disobey'd revert to dust.
So that lifes sorrows ratifi'd by God
Cannot expire, or find their period,
Until the soul and body disunite,
And by two diff'rent wayes from each take flight.
But they dissolved once our woes disband,
Th' assurance cancell'd by one fatall hand;
Soon as the passing bell proclaims me dead,
My sorrows sink with me, lye buried
In the same heap of dust, the self-same Urn
Doth them and me alike to nothing turn.
If then of these I might election make
Whether I would refuse, and whether take,
Rather then like a sullen Anchorite
I would live cas'd in stone, and learn to write
A Prisoners story, which might steal some tears
From the sad eyes of him that reads or hears;
Give me a peaceful death, and let me meet
My freedom seal'd up in my winding sheet.
Death is the pledge of rest, and with one bayl
Two Prisons quits, the Body and the Jayl.
poem by Henry King
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Cautious Listener
when i speak to you
i always keep my own eyes
sometimes when i speak to
some sort of people like you
i am afraid that after i have spoken
my eyes are no longer in their sockets
i get blinded
and then i find myself lost in the
labyrinth of our thoughts
and then i tell you that you are such
a cruel chatter
leaving me trembling with my fingers
trying to find my way back
home
and you tell me
where is home my friend? is there a home for you?
basic as what is home? depends on what home is
and then i begin to bite my nails
i shrink
a small child
asking where mom is where dad is
when house and home are gone
when the stairs are too high
when the lights are turned off and i am outside the door
when all the friends are saying their prayers with their moms
and when it begins to rain
and i have nothing to run to
and so now i am careful when you start talking to me
i touch my eyes feel my eyelashes
for a touch of home
my tongue gets twisted before
but now as careful as a cat, my tongue is a rope tied on a tree
the other end open ended
like a fork of the snake
spelling each word correctly
when you speak i listen
and i will not let you know that i do not easily believe you
i have a book in my head
and it is enough
it is good.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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