Randall Jarrell
This poet who could write
with voice of child, drawn
from eyes whose spark
had never dimmed
walked into traffic at 51
to meet a solid, metal fate,
but the words of the wonderchild
still live in the books on library shelves,
need only a reader's
glance to ignite,
and what I want to know is
why fate had to be so solid
as it barrelled its say
to lay him low?
Related quotes
Open Book's Monologue Part 5: Welcome To The Library!
Welcome to the library! come one come all
Welcome to the library! come with your brethren on this wall
Welcome to the library! come all you books tattered or new
Welcome to the library! come tired and overdue
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're most mundane
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're to endure most pain
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit unwanted
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit haunted
Yes welcome to the library where everyone's just like you
Yes welcome to the library where we're all books too!
Yes welcome to the library where you can take comfort
Yes welcome to the library where In the fact you're no longer unique
Yes welcome to the library You're just pen marks ink
Departing the library? I think not, even if you get out we'll bring you back
Departing the library? Here you rot, but we'll dust you to ease your passing
Departing the library? Don't make me laugh, here you're black and white
Departing the library? Nobody argues on your behalf, look more amassing
Welcome to the library! A place of keeping and safety
Welcome to the library! Take your place you'll like it, just wait and see
Welcome to the library! New books don't mind the old they're disillusioned
Welcome to the library! You've sold your soul... but it's too late for you
so WELCOME
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solid Rock
Well take a look at that
I made a castle in the sand
Saying this is where its at you know
Couldnt understand now
If I realised that the chances were slim
How come Im so surprised when the tide rolled in
I wanna live on solid rock
Im gonna live on solid rock
I wanna give I dont wanna be blocked
Im gonna live on solid rock
Well Im sick of potential
Im sick of vanity now
Im sticking to essential reality now
I dont know whats worse
Try to make a silk purse
Living an illusion living in confusion
Well a house of cards
Was never built for shock
You could blow it down in any kind of weather
Now two solid rocks two solid blocks
You know theyre gonna stick
Yeah theyre gonna stick together
Because the heart you break
Thats the one that you rely on
The bed that you make
Thats the one you gotta lie on
When you point, your finger cos your plan fell through
You got three more fingers pointing back at you
I wanna live on solid rock
Im gonna live on solid rock
I wanna give I dont wanna be blocked
Im gonna live on solid rock
Im solid rock now
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Convoy of Doubt
Have I sealed my fate?
As I write these words
a wretched burden
overlooks the page.
Have I sealed my fate?
I'm almost wary to
write another word.
Or is it too late?
Have I sealed my fate?
Every word I write
seems to come true,
brought to life in some way.
Have I sealed my fate?
I think I should stop
writing anything,
lest it be profane.
poem by Shalyn Stachmus
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0176 Letter to a Well-known Contemporary Poet
I wanted to write to you about your poems,
that is, about something I couldn't quite put my finger on
so I didn't write in case it sounded inconsequential
and it's silly to write to a poet who handles words so expertly,
inconsequentially..
Inconsequential. That's it. I appreciate that you want to stress
life's inconsequentiality - this happens, that happens, but
we're none the wiser - that's a modern concern, I appreciate,
no neat wrapping life up with a brisk end-rhyme...
but how can I put this tactfully, inconsequentiality
or is it tangentiality
can seem to the reader eager to extract meaning
that is, the poet's meaning, as near as can be...
inconsequentiality can seem...obscure...
for this very reason, since it's difficult
to share the same inconsequentiality
if you see what I mean
and this unintentional obscurity
can sometimes seem
of course I know you wouldn't
but let's say to an uninformed superficial reader -
like pretension?
I hope you don't mind my mentioning this
it's only because I do admire your writing so much
and I know that the prizes and awards you've won
proves that no-one could possibly accuse you of pretension
it's just that I thought I should say how it seems
to a very ordinary reader. I hope you will read this
in the spirit it's meant. And I do look forward
very much to reading your next book
now the library stocks them.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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What The Reader Needs Is Words
What the reader needs is words
So Beautiful
And so Surprising
That they bring Joy and Mystery
A sense of Freshness in all things.
What the Reader needs
The Poet should give
But there are Poets who cannot be
The best Poetry is
Still they live and write
As I do.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In the World of Frail-Brick Words
I diligently built a solid world of
Frail-brick-words around you
When winds of fear
Uproot me from
All possible directions
I cling to your torso
In this solid world
Of frail-brick-words
Going round and round
In the square fantasy of yours
I always miss the centre
In this solid world
Of frail-brick-words
You're always on look out
To live a fantasy; travelled against
Time to reach my solid world
Of frail-brick-words
Expecting to drench yourself
In raining silver droplets
I traversed across
Terrains unknown to you
Sipping at the venom of
Reality for vigour, investing
Every nth part with an aura
Of fantasy in the solid world
Of frail-brick-words
Midway
We met
Between you and I
The dichotomy of
Your fantasy
My reality
Opened a newer dimension
Of realantasy to grapple with
Ah, this solid world
Of frail-brick-words!
In my snatches of proximity(?)
To the threshold of your world
I sought my own happiness
My very own sorrow...
The slightly opened door
Blended excellently
The lethal reality with
Honey-oozing fantasy
To brew a magic potion
To savour in my solitude
In this solid world
Of frail-brick-words
Every touch of your fingers
Hoisted flags of unexpressed sorrow
That rustled in every other life
Whoever said,
Life and living is
A cuppa one relaxes with?
You know
Those lucky, get a door
Opened to live a fantasy, at least
For a wink and there just in that
Fleeting moment of time
You traveled against time to grab
And encase yourself in a dropp of silver
Within the coarsely granulated
World of my frail-brick-words
In this solid world
Of frail-brick-words
The gush of words
You released on my wrinkling skin
Arrange themselves time and again
As what the world calls poetry
The words flip flap against
My make-believe-sky
And in the solid tomb where
I rest forever irrespective of seasons
Where pain or pleasure
Can no longer touch me
Ah, my very own solid world
Of frail-brick-words...
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Fate-2
Divine`s shape is the fate
hell`s wisdom is the fate
and your success to dwell is the fate
and worthless to become rich is the fate
and the worthful beg to live is the fate
and what we can`t is the fate....
poem by Lily Peace Lago Every By To Ph
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Just Yield
There are forty-two
Taking my test on Shakespeare
I see a hand go up
I walk over
“What’s it, ” I ask
Sir, “What’s Fate?
Should I
Write the whole story
Of Romeo and Juliet
Or should I just write on Fate? ”
“It’s that
Which we don’t
Have control over....
Write on the role of Fate, ” I explain.
“It’s all planned,
F o r e o r d a i n e d, ”
I tell myself.
How I used to think
In my younger days
That I can control Fate
Wrest it out, direct, execute
Better sense prevails, now
Just y i e l d.
fate And Destiny!
**FATE AND DESTINY!
I couldn’t quite figure out till date,
If destiny makes us or we make our fate!
If what is destined can never be changed,
Why struggle at all, just blame it on fate? !
But today I recall that old story line,
Young Napoleon was once a truant child!
His worried mother took the child, -
To seek a fortuneteller’s advice!
The old teller had smiled and said, -
‘Madam your son has no line of fate! ’
Young Napoleon took out his pen knife,
Cut his palm to carve his fate line!
Rest is history nothing more need be said;
You may now decide about that line of
fate!
-Raj Nandy
06 May 09
(After writing about serious historical stuff,
I wanted to write about lighter things!)
.
Reader Meet Author
You dont know a thing about their lives
They live where you wouldnt dare to drive
You shake as you think of how they sleep
But you write as if you all lie side by side
Reader, meet author
With the hope of hearing sense
But you may be feeling let down
By the words of defence
He says no-one ever sees me when I cry
You dont know a thing about their lives
Books dont save them, books arent stanley knives
And if a fight broke out here tonight
Youd be the first away, because youre that type
And the year 2000 wont change anyone here
As each fabled promise flies so fast
Youll swear it was never there
Oh, have you ever escaped from a shipwrecked life ?
So safely with your software, miles from the front line
You hear the way their sad voice sings, and you start to imagine things
Oh, any excuse to write more lies
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nada Mas (only the poem)
Reader, your voice is the poem
you are the words; and
nothing more.
Reader, there is no poetry
unless you speak it.
Reader, there is no sound
you must find what it has to say.
Reader, seek the thought
rising from your soul.
Reader, look all about you, up and down
no one else has come this way.
Reader, there is no other poem
only you among the words of the word; and
nothing more.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sooner Or Later
(t. faragher / d. ironstone)
The way you walked in the room
Kindled a fire
And if you went to the moon
You couldnt get higher
Just like a thief in the night
I busted your steer
You turned to put up a fight
But I wasnt there
How does it feel?
Who needs permission?
How does it feel
When somethings missin?
Even your heart, its under suspicion
You cant turn back and its plain to see, oh, ho
With every step that you take
Youll be lovin me sooner or later
cause when it comes down to fate
Youll be lovin me sooner or later
Oh, oh, I know
You play that game of control
But take no position, mmm, mmm
You never let yourself go
A tragic condition
And by that look on your face
You love all the pleasure
Dont let this chance slip away
Why wait forever?
Everyone needs some love and affection
One of these days youre gonna listen
Take it from me, Im not your no exception
And thats a solid-gold guarantee
With every step that you take
Youll be lovin me sooner or later, oh
cause when it comes down to fate
Youll be lovin me sooner or later
Oh, ho, I know
(with every step that you take)
Youll be lovin me sooner or later, oh, oh
(cause when it comes down to fate)
Youll be lovin me sooner or later
Oh, oh
(with every step that you take)
Youll be lovin me sooner or later, youll be lovin me
(cause when it comes down to fate)
With every breath that you take
Youll be lovin, lovin, mmm
(with every step that you take)
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet
Sometimes a killer
Because words
Words can shatter
Solid concepts human beliefs
Pages into the pieces torn
Sometimes a healer
Because words
Words can heal
Restore forgotten values relief
New books of life born
A plunderer
As words
Words are the treasure
Masks to wear and masks to tear
Life pulsating people to find
As words
Words are the target measure
Of a killer
Of a healer
Of a treasure hunter swift
The poet is Love Gift
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Eye to Eye
A poet with an artist’s eye
can conjure words to set the scene.
Then with the words that he’ll supply
his reader feels as though he’s seen.
The same scene which the poet saw
Draws on his own experience
of things that he has seen before
though it makes little difference.
The message that the poet sent
is perhaps not the one received
The reader senses the intent
and finds the poem well conceived.
The picture which the reader gets
is the scene his own mind sets
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Victim of The Unseen Corner of Life
everyday i used to see her,
sitting on the sand,
playing with the dust of dreams..
her loneliness is growing up with her..
the other kids are playing on th field..
her eyes are following them as they run, jump and share fun..
her sad look falls down on the ground..
days went by..
none is there..
next the door..
they are still playing but she.. she.. she is.. where?
my little poor girl!
they hide her
in a tight room,
with her epilepsy,
with that monster
c
r
y
i
n
g
in silence..
12 years old
and the story of her cold
had been told
but they just said (her fate)
NO..!
it's not a fate
to live alone
in that pain...
it's not a fate
to feel nothing
except the four walls...
it's not a fate
to lose her happinness
next that door...
it's not a fate
to have none
by her side...
it's not a fate
to be frightened
in her little age...
it's not a fate
to be different
from the others
to see the future
as mirage...
It Is Not A Fate..!
it's not...!
there is a story behind
this fate;
it's their fault..
their own fault...
as once they killed her peace
before 8 dark scary years...!
poem by True Little Angel
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Library In You
The words that you speak.The wisdom you have inspired me. The stories you tell and the author in you comes out. Library In You
The parallel lines in you words the experience in the language the art of storytelling.Reception from people how these stories affect many lives.The library In You. Your literature speaks volumes to me.You are the simile and I; m the metaphore.The tone of beautiful words the elegance of rhythem in which you speak from. Listening brings many to high altitudes.The library In You
Grammar in how you use it.The ingredent to mothers cake the master in your own league.An idle mirror on how I can tell my story. Your flowetry with a pen and paper tells all issues of those in the ghetto. You are the symphony of art.
The mathematics of an artist and his brush.The fuel to the fire I ignite with inspiration. The mother speaks as the child listen.The library in You
To conquer all paths of storytelling to imply and relate with a pen and recongize these thoughts.
The pen writes the story but the mind conquers the thought.Words explains the love of literature.I accept the library in me
poem by Lucinda Bryson
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Fate Factor
You choose your fate
By the things you do
If you are good
Your fate will be too
Fate does not choose you
It won’t take time to choose you
Just watch what you do
And fate will be good to you
A fate worse than death
For being bad that’s what you get
I’ve been there and back
So I know the facts
Take my advice
Live life right
Just do onto others good
And fate will do onto you
Follow one of the golden rules
Do onto others what you,
Want them to do onto you
And that’s how you choose your fate
poem by LaTisha Parkinson
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Tamp em Up Solid
(traditional)
Tamp em up solid, so they wont come down
Tamp em up solid, buddy, so they wont come down
Tamp em up solid, so they wont come down
Tamp em up solid, buddy, so they wont come down
Baby, when you marry your railroad man
Every dayll be pay day, dollar bill in your hand
Baby, in your hand, baby, in your hand
Baby, in your hand, baby, in your hand
Mary and the baby laying in the bed
Thinking about the money that I aint made
So tamp em up solid so they wont come down
Tamp em up solid, buddy, so they wont come down
Captain called the water boy and the water boy laughed
Captain kicked the water boy yelling, yes, yes, yes
So tamp em up solid, so they wont come down
Tamp em up solid, buddy, so they wont come down
And you can do it, and you can do it, and you can do it
So they wont come down
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Solid Black
I am a solid black
The mystery ridiculed
And misunderstood
On the pages.
A solid black,
Resisting feelings
To contain the rages.
Enlightened,
And sharp at the edges
A solid black I am.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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From Mighty Pen
It will not only be evaluated
But in all the directions circulated
Each word read and assessed
The thought behind it accepted and chased
Whatever you write
May not lead to fight
But may be preserved
As you have deserved
Write up is perfect
Speak of good act
One should have always dreamed
Thought of and assumed
Write with pen and pencil
But never mention it as nil
It may make final impression
Fine border with embroidery relation
So to speak less and do more
Some thoughts are needed therefore
To write and leave it for others
To think, act or otherwise bother
Write, write and write
That shall ignite
Your hidden talent
To make solid movement
Readers may not appreciate quickly
But may accept views happily
As it has come from a mighty pen
At a time when needed from noble man
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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