Home Is Backpack
Home is
backpack
Travel is
feet
Hands and heart
make poetry
I am my own
federal god
(written on October 26,2008 Hanoi City Vietnam)
poem by Chester Maynes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This is the voice of Vietnam Broadcasting from Hanoi, capitol of the Democratic republic of Vietnam.
quote by Hanoi Hannah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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poem by Phong Nguyen Ngoc
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poem by Nhung Dinh Thi Hong
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Because the GIs were sent massively to South Vietnam, maybe it's a good idea to have a broadcast for them.
quote by Hanoi Hannah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Federal City
OH! the folly, the waste, and the pity! Oh, the time that is flung behind!
They are seeking a site for a city, whose eyes shall be always blind,
Whose love for their ease grows greater, and whose care for their country less—
They are seeking a site for a city—a City of Selfishness.
In ignorance, deafness, blindness, in the cities by the sea,
With waste of time and of money, and with local jealousy;
With Anti-Federal envy, and personal paltriness,
They are seeking a site for a city—while Australia moans in distress.
By the coast with the people crowding, where Australia’s danger lies,
By the hills and the clear, cool rivers, and under the softer skies,
Where the fat shall not melt, and the ranter grow cool in the fresh’ning breeze,
And the dwellers drivel in comfort and the boodlers swindle at ease.
They are seeking a site for a city in the beauty spots of the land,
While I see so plainly, my children, where the Federal towers should stand!
Where the heart of Australia beats strongest and highest in desert air.
Make a site for a Federal City, and build you your capital there!
Where the crowd should be drawn from the coast line to the great bush that cradled the race,
Where the bush might be armed and directed should the seaboard be lost for a space;
Where the waste should be watered and gardened, in the drought-land of Never Despair,
There build you your Federal City, and make you a paradise there.
It shall be a world-wide object-lesson; it shall stand while a bushman is true,
And I tell you the bushmen will build it to show what a nation can do;
And there shall Australia sit queenly, and there shall her children be schooled,
For, I say, from the heart of Australia shall the whole of Australia be ruled.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Egoism of Poets
We don’t write poetry,
Poetry writes us.
How can we make poetry,
If we are part of poetry.
The world around us is poetry.
Poetry is already defined.
Calling ourselves poets.
Selfishness in every line.
Egoism in every word.
Stealing poetry from the world.
That already exists in every form.
It’s written in every mist,
Every tree, every bliss.
Who are we to write?
Calling ourselves masterminds.
Trapping ourselves in believe
That we are creating something unique
The world at our feet.
Just too full fill our need.
Even this poem is an act
of a selfish deed.
Every letter in ink.
Created through love and sin.
Writing on a paper
But it’s the world’s skin.
Pressing on the surface.
To see blue blood is our purpose.
Thinking poetry is ours.
Poetry devoured
By poets every hour.
Poems all around us.
Turning grey to dust.
Turning brown to rust.
We have captured the most
But there is still so much.
Bleeding away in disaster, poverty
And war.
Ink to us all.
A poet’s only lord.
His only norm, his only home.
His precious and beloved poem.
We should be ashamed.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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We asked Jane Fonda if she would like to meet American pilots in Hanoi, but she refused, she didn't want to.
quote by Hanoi Hannah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Road Leads Me Back To You
Every road leads me back to you.
My destiny is mapped out
for every step I take
and every road I travel
leads me back to you.
Some are guided by the morning sun,
some by the moon and stars at night,
but every road I travel
leads me back to you.
Our home maybe far away
in the snow tipped mountaintops
or under the big city lights.
It does not matter where it lies,
every road I take the end will be the same,
for every road leads me back to you,
and you are there to shelter me
from any given storm.
You lead me away from temptations
that plague my life.
You are always there
when my foes I have to fight.
Each night when I am weary
tis, you I come to at night,
for every road I travel, Lord
always leads me back to you
for my faith to be renewed.
11 August 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Piece Of Heaven
Heaven is where the heart lies
and the heart lies where it calls home
and home is always
where you hang your hat.
So this conclusion is evident
heaven has to be a place
we call our home.
We can travel the world far and wide;
enjoy the places that we visit.
We are always thankful
whenever our travels end
and we are back where we started.
Our piece of heaven
that place we call our home.
13 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Beyond That Sea, There Is A City
backpack in my hand,
throw it down and
getting things ready
things i will need in
way, bread, a peace
of mother-made cheese
some vegetable she's putting on table...
son
where are you going?
What is in your mind?
Who is in your heart?
nobody mother
there is another
city beyond that
sea people in that
city never use
the sunglasses
they don't want to see
World darker than that is
in that city mom,
windows are open
to the dreams and
there are three men
want to go to sun
are you ok son?
No mama i'm not
don't ask me for what
i will be ok
in that city, they
will take me some where
those men want to know
what's going on there
after shedding tears:
alright my dear
don't stay here
go to your place
follow their trace
go and get to that
yellow burning light
i'll stay here, and wish your delight...
poem by Mohamad Rasoul Mohamadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Help Me If You Can (Fun Poem 60)
It all started in October
when I had a series of mini strokes.
Ever since then my brain
has run amok.
At first there seem
nothing had effected me.
Now I see something did happen,
someone has left the tap on
deep inside my head
and the words and poems
just keep pouring out
each and everyday.
Since October 329, written
and they are coming more and more.
Can someone please help me
to turn that damn tap off?
Everywhere I go and everything I see
suggest another poem
that has to be written down.
At the rate, I’m going
no one will be able to read
everything I write.
So please someone help me
to turn this damn tap off tonight.
Every now and then,
we get on a roll
and the poems keep
popping out of our head.
My problem is this roll I’m on
has been rolling for months
and each day it increases
in its velocity.
First, it was two or three,
and then it went up to four,
now it’s up to seven or more a day.
So please, please help me
to turn this damn tap off
or at least repair it to a normal state.
4 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Poetry?
'what is in poetry? 'sometimes you ask me,
'you can always love me without poetry,
why bother about words?
your kiss is enough,
what is the use of the metaphors?
we can always make love all through the night
and words become all too useless
and images become too superfluous' you ask more that what i can
muster to answer.
And this i say:
'i agree, poetry is is useless but like the monk who was asked
one day about something that he does
like sweeping the floor
like climbing the stairs
like praying and contemplating...'
let me say
'we have poetry because they are there to be written'
my heart smiles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Child
(Im dreaming tonight, Im leaving back home)
Right!
Take me back to a south tallahassee
Down cross the bridge to my sweet sassafrassy
Cant stand up on my feet in the city
Gotta get back to the real nitty gritty
Yes sir, no sir
Dont come close to my
Home sweet home
Cant catch no dose
Of my hot tail poon tang sweetheart
Sweathog ready to make a skilk purse
From a j paul getty and his ear
With her face in the beer
Home sweet home
Get out in the field
Put the mule in the stable
Ma shes a cookin
Put the eats on the table
Hates in the city
And my loves in the meadow
Hands on the plow
And my feets in the getto
Stand up, sit down
Dont do nothing
Aint no good when boss mans
Stuffin down their throats
With paper notes
As babies cry
When youre rockin in the street
Home sweet home
Mama, take me home sweet home
I was the last child
Just a punk in the streets
(repeat)
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My City My Town
Those mighty wheels keep rollinon
On to that crazy place
That still feels like home
The world outside is rushing by
It feels good to take that road
Time after time
I dont know how you feel
My heart is beating fast
It has been way too long
But here I am Im back
Its good to know youre still around
Youd never let me down, in my city
You get my feet back on the ground
Youd never let me down, in my city
No regrets, well just a few
You havent lost a thing
Im still crazy for you
I dont know how you feel
Are you excited too
It has been way too long
Tonight Im back with you
Its good to know youre still around
Youd never let me down, in my city
You get my feet back on the ground
Youd never let me down, in my city
Ive been no stranger
To every corner of your heart
Your dream still lives inside of me
I dont know how you feel
My heart is beating fast
It has been way too long
But here I am Im back
In my city, my town
Deep in my heart, Im so proud
Of my city, my town
Ill never, ever let you down
Its good to know youre still around
Youd never let me down, in my city
You get my feet back on the ground
Youd never let me down, in my city
My city, my town
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vietnam
The runway rushed up at me, I felt the wheels touch down
Stood out on the blacktop, and took a taxi into town
Got off down on Main Street, to see what I recognized
All I seen was strange faces, watching a stranger passin' by
Vietnam, Vietnam, I don't man
Back in Vietnam
Went for my job back at the factory, down at the factory
The only thing I heard from the man at the desk
Is, "Son, understand if it was up to me"
'bout half the town's out of work
Ain't nothin' for you here
From the assembly line to the front-line
But I guess you didn't hear"
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Now don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
Drive down my neighborhood
See the flags out on the porch
So I went to see my old baby
Down at First and Grand
Her mama told me she ran off
With a singer in a rock 'n' roll band
????
I can see me passin' by
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Boy, don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
The runway rushed up at me, I felt the wheels hit down
I stood out on the blacktop, and took a taxi into town
Got off down on Main Street, to see what I could see
All I seen was strangers, watchin' a stranger pass by
And that stranger was me
Vietnam, Vietnam, oh-no man
Vietnam
Went to see my baby, down on First and Grand
To tell her I'd come home from away in Vietnam
Her mama came to the door and told me
Her mama told me she ran away
With a singer in a rock 'n' roll band
She said, "I'm sorry son, but we understand"
You died in Vietnam, you died in Vietnam
Now don't you understand, you died in Vietnam
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the soldiers came home from Vietnam, there were no parades, no celebrations. So they built the Vietnam Memorial for themselves.
quote by William Westmoreland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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PhatLip
The reason there is meaning in dance
The fact of upper N.Y. having more to offer
Calm, cool and collected
She walks talks and minds her every move
Her present is formed from a hardened past
Confusing to the naked eye
Only through understanding
Of her better parts
Would one se the clout as I have
Looking for the energy
Clamoring to it
She found an unknown source
In the least likely of places
Her face cannot be easily read
Her eyes are more than intense
Sometimes the vision does not even make sense
Regardless
The fact in having more in having less
Is something that could only be taught
Through and by
An achiever of survival
CREATED: Sunday, October 05,2008 4: 19: 42 AM
FINALIZED: Saturday, October 11,2008 10: 18: 26 PM
Copyright infringement is the unauthorized use of works under copyright, infringing the copyright holder's 'exclusive rights', such as the right to reproduce, distribute, display or perform the copyrighted work, spread the information contained within copyrighted works, or to make derivative works. It often refers to copying 'intellectual property' without written permission from the copyright holder, which is typically a publisher or other business representing or assigned by the work's creator.
poem by Casa Wilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Definition of Poetry by a 15 yr old
Poetry does not need a meaning or defintion.
Poetry is how the reader reads it,
Poetry is how the poet writes it.
Poetry is real,
Poetry is fake,
Poetry is everything,
Poetry is fate.
Poetry is rythm.
Poetry can ryme.
Poetry is anything, I make it mine.
poem by Eric Graham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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