Is It Beautiful to Say I love You
Is it beautiful to say I love you
Even though I haven’t seen you for ten years?
But you once kissed my neck and you are not my aunt.
I still feel you there, and you are behind my eyes.
I look upon you though I haven’t seen you for
All this time.
You said two years ago that I don’t
Really know you, but that was on the telephone.
How come? I want to know
You, and in the language my hands create, I pretend
To know you. I know you! Or I am just foolish
And have never loved.
Stand in front of me and tell me you
Do not love me, and then I will leave you alone,
Though you might follow me if you wish,
With the trail my heart bleeds.
My favorite high school teacher says these
Poems are good, even though they are all about you.
He says get over you, but he also didn’t know
That I could graduate—I say, I don’t need to
Get over you. You are all that I have.
In fact, I need you.... not so much the poems....
And is that all there is when I touch myself
Involuntarily in the night, because I need you there?
Or will you finally come to me, and allow us to
Create for real all that I have hoped
And written.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
More Readers Say Your Poems Are Good
more readers
write you, i like your poems, excellently written
i can feel them,
i can relate to them,
true you tell yourself, how these poems are written with
all simplicity and humility
experience-based years ago and now coming back
in metaphors as a matter of remembering
what happened, how, and
importantly why,
but sometimes he has regrets with some other poems
written and
not so appreciated because they are too deep and
need a lot of deciphering,
too personal,
metaphors too well derived
from some darkness
when he was all alone gripped with fear and trembling
to ghosts that do not exist
a beautiful mind,
the crazy mind he had in the dormitory
in the cemetery, haunting him
his passions on some squeaky beds
and foul rooms
cheap motels having a love affair
with a woman he never loved
but whom he pitied,
makes him feel
so inhuman and he writes them again
with a sense of betrayal
and self
humiliation
they do not like them
people ordinarily do not like
such poems,
bad poems, not relational, but more of
selfish, selfcentered, egotistical
like my mirror,
my walls,
my fences,
my closed windows,
a closed train station where the trains are all grounded
broken wheels
well, he bleeds for all these
but what can he do
they find them irrelevant,
the poems he likes most
are unpopular
the readers junked.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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308
more readers
write you, i like your poems, excellently written
i can feel them,
i can relate to them,
true you tell yourself, how these poems are written with
all simplicity and humility
experience-based years ago and now coming back
in metaphors as a matter of remembering
what happened, how, and
importantly why,
but sometimes he has regrets with some other poems
written and
not so appreciated because they are too deep and
need a lot of deciphering,
too personal,
metaphors too well derived
from some darkness
when he was all alone gripped with fear and trembling
to ghosts that do not exist
a beautiful mind,
the crazy mind he had in the dormitory
in the cemetery, haunting him
his passions on some squeaky beds
and foul rooms
cheap motels having a love affair
with a woman he never loved
but whom he pitied,
makes him feel
so inhuman and he writes them again
with a sense of betrayal
and self
humiliation
they do not like them
people ordinarily do not like
such poems,
bad poems, not relational, but more of
selfish, selfcentered, egotistical
like my mirror,
my walls,
my fences,
my closed windows,
a closed train station where the trains are all grounded
broken wheels
well, he bleeds for all these
but what can he do
they find them irrelevant,
the poems he likes most
are unpopular
the readers junked.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Am i a good Angel
I am here standing in front of you,
Praying, whispering with bended knee,
as good as i can be, only for you.
I surrender my wings and my huge dream.
I follow my heart despite of many obstacles im in.
Give me my deserve, and please take my heart.
Trust me for i trust you so very genuinely.
Am i still a good angel if i hated you very deeply?
Am i still a good angel if i turn back time,
and dump you in front of many?
Am i still a good angel if i cry in front of many,
to make you feel guilty?
Now i know i am still an angel! ,
a renewed angel because of that evil.
Though angel in earth haven't wings
Though angel in heart haven't voice
Though angel in mind haven't image
But still those angel can build a love,
that can made you even,
a better angel by your self.
poem by Purple Butterfly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I haven't come here to settle down
I haven't come here to settle down.
I've come here to depart.
I am a merchant with lots of goods,
selling to whoever will buy.
I didn't come to create any problems,
I'm only here to love.
A Heart makes a good home for the Friend.
I've come to build some hearts.
I'm a little drunk from this Friendship-
Any lover would know the shape I'm in.
I've come to exchange my twoness,
to dissapear in One.
He is my teacher. I am His servant.
I am a nightingale in His garden.
I've come to the Teacher's garden
to be happy and die singing.
They say 'Souls which know each other here,
know each other there.'
I've come to know a Teacher
and to show myself as I am.
poem by Yunus Emre
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The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There Is Something About 'Him
We are at a loss to explain how this could happen.
He had been an average child.
Who hasn't skipped school.
Maybe just every once in a while?
I didn't like school at all.
Only once did he burn down the house.
And like other boys,
He microwaved a few cats.
He only commited armed robbery twice.
And he did beat the minister,
For giving him poor advice.
The minister should have known that.
Needless to say,
We haven't advised him to go back.
So he pushed his teacher down the steps.
That teacher only broke two legs,
An arm...
But not her neck.
I didn't like that teacher myself.
She spoke to me with much disrespect.
And the neighbors next door,
Claimed he pistol whipped them.
Have you seen inside their house?
They are lucky that's all he did.
He is really a good kid.
He never meant to threaten us.
What will the sending him away eventually prove?
He is only going to learn what the other prisoners do.
We are good parents.
We'll make sure he improves!
'What are you going to do this time?
That the last twenty years didn't do.'
We all have sought counseling.
And so excited we are.
The counselor and our son...
Are now in a relationship too.
And...
There is something about 'him',
That seems to connect with our son!
So far...
We approve.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written
I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When A Man Hasn't Been Kissed
When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I walk behind well-dressed women
on cold, December mornings and shovel
the steamy exhalations pluming from their lips
down my throat with both hands, hoping
a single molecule will cling to my lungs.
When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I sneak into the ladies room of a fancy restaurant,
dig into the trashcan for a napkin
where a woman checked her lipstick,
then go home, light candles, put on Barry White,
and press the napkin all over my body.
When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I start thinking leeches are the most romantic
creatures, cause all they want to do is kiss.
If only someone invented a kinder, gentler leech,
I'd paint it bright pink and pretend
Winona Ryder's lips crawled off her face,
up my thigh, and were sucking on my swollen
bicep. When I haven't been kissed
in a long time, I create civil disturbances,
then insult the cops who show up,
till one of them grabs me by the collar
and hurls me up against the squad car,
so I can remember, at least for a moment,
what it's like to be touched.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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My inspirational poets
Let me think of the Vietnamese literature
let me miss the poet named Ba Huyen Thanh Quan
Who is so lovely and so warm.
As her romantic love poems are so clever and
forever for thousand years.
Let me dream of Nguyen Du
in the romantic love story of Lady called Kieu
that is so fantastic love life
and the beautiful nature 's lovely way
still lives in his poems forever.
Let my soul sinks in their marvelous poems
that are so simple and so beautiful for thousand years
AS my childhood fills all of their poems
that let me stirs the emotion never forget.
To their beautiful poems are forever and always.
poem by Natasa Tocuc
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Live life to the fullest
Remember when you were little?
It seems so long ago.
There were a lot of big changes it seemed.
Like your first christmas, first birthday, first everything.
Then you learned to walk and talk
And finally went to school for the first time.
It seemed to take forever just to turn 13,
To finally become a teenager.
Just a few short years later,
Guess what, you turn 16.
Now you have more freedom,
and a brand new car.
A couple of years later,
You graduate high school and turn 18.
Finally it is time to say your goodbyes.
To leave your parents house and go to college.
Now you have graduated college,
And have a full time job.
Maybe you have even started a family.
So where did all those years go?
Just live your life and try not to grow up too fast.
poem by Dawn Wheeler
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Thank You Friend
I don't understand,
What you say.
Your lips move,
But words don't come out.
I turn around,
And leave.
You try to follow,
But I turn and yell,
'I need to be alone,
Don't you understand?
I don't love you,
Not anymore.
What is hard,
To understand?
I haven't changed,
But you have.
We're through.'
I run away,
Crying.
You yell at me,
'You're making a mistake,
You're the one who's change.'
I find a corner,
Sit and cry.
A teacher finds me,
My favorite teacher,
He ask me,
'What's wrong? '
I say,
'My heart is broken.
What's wrong with you? '
He chuckles and says,
'I know how that feels.'
He sits down and says,
'All you have to do,
Just forget him,
And write an angry letter.
Don't send it to him,
But just rip it up,
When you're done with it.'
He gets up,
And asks if I'm okay now.
'Yeah.
Thank you.'
I get up,
And hug him.
I find my ex,
And say,
'If you follow me,
Or talk to me,
I'll kick you.
If you try to touch me,
I'll punch you.
If you try to get me back,
I'll kill you.'
I turn,
And walk away,
With my head up high.
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Free Style
It was in ninth grade English class
And my teacher was Miss Joan Frank
It was because of her love of poetry,
That I now have her to blame or thank.
Poems came alive in her classroom
As we absorbed Lewis Caroll's whimsy
And many years later I still wonder what
And why, Borogoves are mimsey
We read of an ancient mariner and
The price of what omen's cost.
And stopped to ponder a snowy woods
While his little horse shook off the frost.
I have always preferred poems that rhyme
And although this might sound terse
I never have really understood the style
That is known as 'free verse'.
I and others will use that form
So I don't intend to create a gaffe
But, in the end is not 'Free Verse'
Just a well written paragraph?
poem by Edward Iacona
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Perhaps My Poems Have Already Been Written
PERHAPS MY POEMS HAVE ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN
Perhaps my poems have already been written
Perhaps it is all now senseless repetition
Perhaps I should just stop
And go on if I can to some other form of writing
God gives us what we have
We strive to go beyond ourselves
We can to a certain point
But then we have done what we have done
We can live a million years more
And write a million more poems
But what we have to write
Is done
Perhaps my poems have already been written
And small and poor and awkward as they are
Less than the truest poetry
They are what I have and am
Good-bye myself
I cannot go home.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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zPt #3 There is More
To exist is to breathe
and to walk when you must
To stand when there is no call to move
To see what lies before you
To hear the sounds of now
And to touch that which surrounds you
To live is to know that somewhere
...THERE IS MORE
Mary Havran
(Written when poet was eleven years old)
A note to the reader: I have recently spent some time revisiting my earliest poetic efforts and upon
Reflection have decided to post some on this sit. Poems whose titles are prefixed with the designation “zPt” are poems written during my preteen years. I hope you find them interesting
poem by Mary Havran
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School Of Life
We graduate from school,
And join the growing pool,
Of the Human Race,
To fight for a place,
We can finally stand,
A woman or a man,
We don't graduate from school,
This school of life, a rule.
The only time we leave,
The time for our release,
Lay down like an autumn leaf,
We will finally be at peace.
Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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When I Look At The Time That I Have Wasted Years Ago
i feel like a frozen glass filled with water in the freezer
when i look back to all the years that i have wasted
doing the things where i can never put my best
because that is what father want me to be
i leave all the traces of what i love in those years
that still ask me where i am
where i live what i have been doing lately
when they heard that i am into law they all laughed
and then sighed
that is not the name that they first know me
they have a word for me
written in the poems that i once wrote
my name was lust and love all bound together
in one piece
my name was written in the cover book of the literature book
in the maiden issues
of the poetry collections of lilia and tita
i look back again and they all raise their hands back
as though to embrace me
back into their bosoms again
they are calling my name
you are poetry.please come back to us.
i know the reason why i am sad.
i have forgotten my real name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Million Miles Away
Written by ricki & kim wilde
A while ago you looked at me
And said thered come a time
Youd have to go away
You put it on the line
And told me we should only
Take each moment day by day
Well I know that theres a time in life
When people change
And go their separate ways
But I miss you, more each day
Youre a million miles away
But I feel you in my heart
Though it hurt to leave that way
Well we knew that from the start
Cos you never did pretend
Our love would never end
There is no way to love
No rules that we can follow
Nothing simple or defined
We make our own
And some we borrow
Hoping it wont end
But darling now we know
Weve got no-where left to go
Youre a million miles away
But I feel you in my heart
Through it hurt to leave that way
Well we knew that from the start
Cos you never did pretend
Our love would never end
Our love would never end
And if I travelled to the stars
Would I find out where you are
Touch the secret in your heart
And set it free
Or would you turn away
Cos I miss you more each day
Youre a million miles away
But I feel you in my heart
Through it hurt to leave that way
Well we knew that from the start
Cos you never did pretend
Our love would never end
Our love would never end
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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