Soft and Gentle House
The syncopated steps of memories through the walls
The soft and gentle feelings of history in the hall
The house breathes life into me … as through I softly step
And wonder who so often has … stood and gently met
The rhythm of the lives … throughout it’s history
Now surround and touch … and so encompass me
poem by Philip Vincent Sanders
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Related quotes
Two Steps
Two steps together
Our Myths says
Brings two souls together
Two steps together
Is the surround of
One’s life to another
Two steps together
Can bring the long path
Seeming so far away
To so close that
One can feel the step’s beat
In his own heart.
Two steps together
But,
Will life be just the path of two steps only?
Anyhow, any steps walking is incomplete
If it is not done in two steps
All begins by just two steps together….
poem by Kriti Krits
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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History why do we care
History
a famous person dies
History
a war rages
History
a new invention
History
a building opens
History
what happens if something happens to me
is that history?
no....
So why do we care.....
poem by Andrea Thepoet
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Old Dancing Shoes
You lie there belying your age black and shiny
Patent smooth, untreated soles smoothed
With thrice of a thousand steps,
You never let me down gripped
With candle wax for sure footsteps,
Cracks line your skin we have grown old together.
I’m sure I saw you shuffle softly in answer as I speak.
Remember on a laid floor in front of the steps
Of Sydney’s beautiful Opera House
The quick 1 2 3 of a Straus’s Viennese waltz
Struck up, my wife’s stunning white and mauve flowing gown
Trimmed with soft ostrich feathers glistened in the
Warm Australian sun,
What a magic feeling dancing together as one and
With shoes that fit like a glove
You never let me down.
Your finest hour came, laces ‘an all
My God at that wonderful venue
Canberra’s great hall of Parliament house,
A very nice venue indeed for competition.
The magnificent floor laid from only Australian trees
Except the ebony...Papua New Guinea’s gift
Five lines of twelve sixty in all, in turn
Took to the floor,
Shiny shoe you glided along to a Sinatra foxtrot,
You did your best and stood at the heels
Of the winner on the podium,
Old soft shoes
You never let me down.
poem by Ken e Hall
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History!
Spoken words are history
Records of some remain a mystery
And when today and tomorrow
Row bitterly over yesterday
Today will become history
With just an empty space
Enlightened by a darkened face
History reminds me of a repetition of events
Dancing to the rhythm of the same kind of achievements
A battle is won or lost
Every love or hatred will eventually be buried in dust
I love you
You love me
Soon our love goes down in history
Someone else will find love a new discovery
So the theory behind is history
Is to have a story that commands all glory
For the inevitable past that will last!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The dance of life
grow as it grown, in my mothers womb i crib, in her veins i
take my strength, what wonders i survive only in her i live, as
i sleep, in the wall i cried cover me, with her tender skin, that
a mother tongue and lips i know
now iam here, dancing with the song of life, perfecting the steps
i knew, in my mother laps i go, teach me mother to do all what
you already have know, as i hear the music played, my whole self
want to evade, but sure i know that there is no escape for
everybody has to make
i node but nobody look, i tried but everybody have steps, the
dance of life, that never have ever made a mistake, the timing is
so loud and clear, the tune is encompass to the rhythm of the song
step by steps, my heart breath, step by steps, i will make.....jump....
and jumps my soul shout for joy, for in every beats life is there to
wait, quivering, conquering what music i'll take, my feet moves
and the flesh puff where my head is out to hold me, as i lift high
the in and out of my life
every choice i made, is a thing to remember, that as it goes, a
dance may go, life has wonderful moment to view, that each day
is an experience to be with you, dancing with the song of life
is not only to be alive, but away of life to live alive
poem by Antonio Liao
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You And I: The Slumber
Eleven years of history slumbers between us.
Under the surface, it breathes.
It wonders if it has been forgotten,
Abandoned, lost.
I wondered if he could see the breaths,
The thoughts rising like colorless,
Medicated balloons.
I could.
The rearrangement of life, the history,
You and I.
And the madness, O how it burrows.
poem by Liesel Eva Schmidt
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History is a living horse laughing at a wooden horse. History is a wind blowing where it listeth. History is no sure thing to bet on. History is a box of tricks with a lost key. History is a labyrinth of doors with sliding panels, a book of ciphers with the code in a cave of the Saragossa sea. History says, if it pleases, Excuse me, I beg your pardon, it will never happen again if I can help it.
quote by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Kiss Goodbye
My heart beats
As I watch the moonbeams
Dance in the midnight breeze
I smile softly as I recall a time
When soft words of love
Where spoken sweetly to my ear
As we watched together
Moonbeams dance
So many years ago
My eyes mist over
As I recall his gentle touch
As he caressed my cheeks
Just to make me smile
As he said with each smile
It took his breath away
The shivers of memories
Warm my hungry soul
As he held me gently in his arm
Each time after we made love
And whispered softly
Just how much he loved me so
The collection of memories
I hold close to my heart
Must now be placed
In my treasure trove of memory's
So that I can love again
I blow a kiss into the
Midnight breeze
And whisper we will meet again
And smile to myself
You will always be a part of my soul
Now and evermore
Good night and goodbye
You're always in my heart
poem by Kaila George
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For My History Teacher
I’m sitting in class,
My eyes about to close,
I hope teacher don’t see,
I hope she don’t see me.
Bored out of my mind,
Falling so behind,
Cannot concentrate,
I came to class too late.
Although I was on time,
My body was I mean,
My mind is still outside,
From class trying to hide.
What does all this mean?
I haven’t used it yet,
How can I retain it,
When already I forget?
And then she walks over,
That teacher of mine,
A smile in her eyes,
A gentle one at that,
She puts her hand on me,
And sets me kind of free.
Now here I am in class,
Learning about the past,
About history,
And what it did for me.
How we can learn,
From mistakes of old,
Of people so different,
Some so very bold.
Some stood against oppression,
Some stood against the wrong,
Some said it with dignity,
Some said it with a song.
I owe it to them,
And teacher here to hear,
What they did for us,
And no longer fear.
That knowledge is so dull,
No longer hurts my brain,
No longer hurts my skull,
It will surely keep me sane.
The past is the future,
Unless I stay awake,
So I can benefit,
There’s much more at stake.
Than I thought before,
Before I got to class,
Thank you History teacher,
For bringing to life the past.
I never got bored in History class, because I had a wonderful History Teacher. This is for her.
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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You are now history
It is so sad,
And of course, mad
The steps we made,
Our hopes and wishes,
You are history now
I thought we wouldnt,
But yes we sank,
The water was salty,
Our wounds it revitalised,
So cold,
Our hopes so frozen,
You are now history
Guess what, you broke my heart,
Yet I dont miss you,
You were nice I know,
You destroyed us we know
You are history now
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Rhythm Of Life
You say youll get over
It
But I know you better
Your feelings have been hurt a bit
And you just cant forget her
Youll want her back by tomorrow
But she wont remember your name
You better
Get lost in the rhythm
Get lost in the rhythm of life
Get lost in the rhythm
Get lost in the rhythm of life
You cant seem to step around
Lifes cracks in the sidewalk
You wanna live in the fast lane
But you wont be the driver
You could be waiting a lifetime
Before you make up your mind
You gotta
Get lost in the rhythm
Get lost in the rhythm of life
Get lost in the rhythm
Get lost in the rhythm of life
You say that my soul is lost
And that youre my savior
Youll do anything at any cost
To reform my behavior
Didnt I make it this far
By making up my own mind
You gotta
Get lost in the rhythm
Get lost in the rhythm of life
Chorus out
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The History Teacher
Woman!
Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?
Am I History?
Or a part of it?
And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?
Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?
Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.
Are you making me
An emperor?
Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?
And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Mr. protection
I am the face of misery
I am the cause of sympathy
I will erase all your memories
Cause I am history
I am the history of slavery
I am the history for Germany
I am the one with no mercy
I am at the mercy of starvation
Fighting my reincarnation
I carry out my annihilation
I strike back with no hesitation
While imitating the wrath of intimidation
I plan out my assassination.
poem by Beethovens laguerre
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The History Of You And Me
Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Yaahh! The history of you and me....
Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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We Affect Forever
We Affect Forever
We are making history, through every day we spend.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark that will not end.
Others before have left behind this world we now obtain.
Though it’s changed since way back when, the old shall always remain.
History is how we got here, history is who we are.
History is what led to this, yes history is not far.
It remains within our families, its tradition and unchanging ways.
It’s Christmas day, Thanksgiving, its countless nights and days.
History is what you’re becoming; it’s what you are soon to be.
And history never dies; it’s a part of everybody.
We fight to maintain who we are, to maintain who we’ve always been.
And while we fight we know this fight is not easy to win.
Many forget the past, and many never even know,
Many people never hear of how times were long ago.
Those thousands of years before us, are more than just time spent.
They are filled with real people, real feelings, and real places that they went.
The People had different life styles very different from our ways,
But it is true that there is nothing knew under the sun’s golden rays.
Stand proud to be alive, know you affect forever.
Every act that we commit we all commit together.
We are entrusted with this earth; we must love and cherish this life.
We must remember to love our existence lest love becomes our strife.
Yes we are becoming history, through every move we make.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark ……or perhaps a mistake.
poem by Mary Murphy
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Your Voice
Give me the pleasure I need
I’ve had enough of pain,
I need to hear your voice
seducing me gently
Love is not what I’ve got
in every step of my life
I need to hear your voice
loving me gently
Countless times I’ve asked myself
Who am I, What am I for
I need to hear your voice again
reassuring me gently
Come and make love to me
Let’s lose ourselves in frenzy
I need to hear your searching voice
calling for my name gently
Yes – that magnificently serene voice of yours,
warm, gentle, soft and seductive...
calming me within magical moments
Your embrace gives me eternal surety.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Our History
If my history would end here
I know
your history will begin.
Our history
happens not at the same time
how I wish I could see
what history you will make.
If my history would end here
I know
your history will begin.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Misty, MYSTIC FEELINGS
Misty, mystic feelings
encompass who I am.
Surround my daily thoughts
that are backed up like a dam,
waiting for water
to rush forth with a gush
that only my emotions
silence with a hush.
'Tis it better not to witness
those things I don't perceive
or open up the floodgates
and hope I do receive
a vision of those feelings
and what they really mean?
Or wonder at the mystery,
the one that can't be seen?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Change? Or Just Returning?
change, evolving,
with every breath,
with every step...
journeying inward
in the search for
where we began...
or perhaps where we end!
is there any difference?
other than the memories
of breaths shared,
steps taken together....
meeting as if by chance
at the crossroads....
walking together for a time.
of such is history.....
and the seeds that germinate
in the frozen ground waiting....
are but the bodies of our dreams....
change?
or just returning?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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