The Eyes of Swayambhu
Beloved poet 'Icchuk'!
On one of those days that have become history
a few days before you were killed
we are together - you and I
and with a pair of underground hands
you had scribbled a couple of sleepless dreams
at this very place
where, under the eyes of Swambhu
I am at present
seeking for those days
albeit in recollections!
Beloved poet 'Icchuk'!
When the news of your murder
reached villages and counties
like a momentous storm
the eyelashes of all seekers of a bright sky
were simultaneously soaked
and villages, tired of scarcities
wept along with me.
Papers sold more copies
for carrying the news of your demise.
The hapless people wept at your end
until their tears gathered to form a Gandaki -
yes, they were the same people
whose future you are seeking
even after your demise
the way people search for saligrams
in Kaligandaki.
Children sang mourning songs.
Beloved poet 'Icchuk'!
All these happened at the news of your murder!
A day after your murder
I asked the keen eyes of Swayambhu
whether a sun
with an old bag
and a lean body
roamed around, thither
as it did a day or so
earlier in the past.
I asked further
if a moon with sweet dreams
came that way, or not.
Have you seen
the foot marks of his murder?
Mounted on the top of this hill
did you recognize
the corpse of my beloved poet?
Tell o, the great eyes of Swayambhu!
You were, for sure a witness,
when my beloved poet was killed.
Did you ever see him around?
©
poem by Matrika Pokharel
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Hey There Beloved
Hey there beloved why are you walking away from me?
Hey there beloved don't you know all those gifts are from me?
Hey there beloved I carried you through your storms
Hey there beloved come back to me
Hey there beloved don't you know I'm waiting with open arms
Hey there beloved I wish you were not blind but could turn back and see
Hey there beloved don't you notice my art?
Hey there beloved my love for you is in every night sky
Hey there beloved look for my love in the sunset
Hey there beloved, the sun is for you
Hey there beloved the coolness of clouds is for your enjoyment
Hey there beloved I love you
Hey there beloved You can walk away
Hey there beloved it makes me cry when you chase other lovers, but
Hey there beloved I'll let you go because I want you to choose me
Hey there beloved I want you to learn to love me
Hey there beloved don't go to them
Hey there beloved they cannot fill you up
Hey there beloved, I'll never give up on you
Hey there beloved I'm full of tears
Hey there beloved I made you for so much more
Hey there beloved you don't have to dress like that
Hey there beloved they don't really love you
Hey there beloved you're more than just a body
Hey there beloved you don't have to try to be something you're not
Hey there beloved I still love you
Hey there beloved you don't have to earn my love
Hey there beloved those things won't satisfy you
Hey there beloved heed my voice that path will destroy you
Hey there beloved you're broken, but
Hey there beloved my heart breaks for you
Hey there beloved can't you see the brokenness?
Hey there beloved why do you ignore me
Hey there beloved.... I love you with all that I am
Hey there beloved, that's everything there is
Hey there beloved I love you with my entire being
Hey there beloved that's grander than the universe itself
Hey there beloved you've strayed so far away
Hey there beloved I'll always call you back
Hey there beloved I'll always be waiting
Hey there beloved I still love y-
Hey there beloved h--
Hey there be-----
Hey--------
H--------
______ ______________
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Knife
Slit and
Slither knife
Penetrate in phallic push
To perforate the pulse of tissues in the flesh
Slice a vein to drain the unsuspecting victim
E’er they bleed and plea
Their scream
Of death
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
murder
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Premeditation
Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
Caressing, dancing, writhing round
Your metal form-
Whetted ‘gainst a lonely bone,
Then to probe the pounding, begging heart.
And all the while the prey will howl
Before they crumple; greet the mud-
A taut and unbelieving jowl
Will open out for giving blood-
A vent from down below,
Once a brutal show
Of metal in the man.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Spirit of Rumi
I said to My Beloved
I love You
May I know You?
My Beloved said
I am unknown
I said to My Beloved
Still, I love You
May I see You?
My Beloved said
I am formless
I said to My Beloved
Still, I love You
Might I lose You?
My Beloved said
I am eternal
I said to My Beloved
Still, I love You
Might You leave me?
My Beloved said
I am always present
I said to My Beloved
I love You
My Beloved said
I am love itself
I said, O My Beloved
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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In the spirit of Rumi - 51: Beyond Artifice
Because I am a poet
and you are a poet
I would like to talk to you today
of how when My Beloved
smiles at me with that open smile
that asks nothing but the freedom
to express itself
then I can only think of
that white rose which this morning
took my breath away with its
innocent whiteness, its pure whiteness
with just a hint of a blush as if
it astonishes even itself
or I could speak of the white rose
which reminds me of
the smile of My Beloved
but in truth, the likeness
of these two becomes one
not in my poem but
in myself as I gaze with wonder
at white rose; receive
the smile of My Beloved which asks nothing;
and God, looking at me looking,
God who is all three of us
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death of the Poet
How can one be betrayed by death
Be cheated out of living
Hate filled heart, blood shot eyes
Cold-bloodily will be of it
Heart empty beats uneven
Let I revenge all before death
With every breath vengeful fire
Let I take my life for you
Murder the old lady shall scream
Murder from the top of her lungs
The poets dead! - triumphal wreath
I am gone now to another planet
Please if not all hold onto my words
These are but just simple genius
Manifold a great poet of the time
I cut my wrist so I can write in blood
Paint a portrait of vivid images
Pull out my vain and hung it up
What a bloody mess I have caused
Shocked as their eyes wonders
They have seen the silent murder
They have slain the poet.
poem by Obinna Nwerem
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'Belovèd Son
When up the mountain the disciples went
And as the bright cloud began its' descent
God proclaimed 'This is my Belovèd Son'
'He is my servant and the Chosen One'
From Excellent Glory the Holy One
Said 'I am pleased with my Belovéd Son'
For He did not quarrel or even shout
a smouldering flax He did not snuff out
'I know what I shall do' His Father said
'I will send my Belovèd Son instead
Surely the people will never reject
Instead they'll treat my Son with great respect'
But the men despised God's Belovèd Son
At Calvary the dreadful deed was done
'Let us kill Him' they said taking their stance
to rid Him and get His inheritance
Saying 'We won't have Him reign over us'
And they crucified him there upon a cross
But the stone that the builder rejected
Became the Capstone by all respected
Sacrificing His life at Calvary
Bearing sins committed by you and me
There justice led forward in victory
And ascended with honour and glory
Now in heaven He sits upon the throne
Claims the eternal kingdom as His own
and there resounding from everyone
Praise and worship to God's Belovèd Son
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
One Whisper of the Beloved
Lovers share a sacred decree –
to seek the Beloved.
They roll head over heels,
rushing toward the Beautiful One
like a torrent of water.
In truth, everyone is a shadow of the Beloved –
Our seeking is His seeking,
Our words are His words.
At times we flow toward the Beloved
like a dancing stream.
At times we are still water
held in His pitcher.
At times we boil in a pot
turning to vapor –
that is the job of the Beloved.
He breathes into my ear
until my soul
takes on His fragrance.
He is the soul of my soul –
How can I escape?
But why would any soul in this world
want to escape from the Beloved?
He will melt your pride
making you thin as a strand of hair,
Yet do not trade, even for both worlds,
One strand of His hair.
We search for Him here and there
while looking right at Him.
Sitting by His side we ask,
'O Beloved, where is the Beloved?'
Enough with such questions! –
Let silence take you to the core of life.
All your talk is worthless
When compared to one whisper
of the Beloved.
This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Poet Finds....
The poet finds whatever the moon could not see,
The poet finds whatever the earth does not know,
The poet finds whatever the sun could not see,
The poet finds whatever others do not know,
The poet finds whatever the stars could not see,
So why do the heathen rage and the people plot vanity? !
For she who is pregnant is closer to us,
And the hart pants after streams of water.
Your tears have been your food night and day,
And like your inner self in the lan dof your muse;
But the poet finds whatever the sun could not see.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Right Mask
One night a poem came up to a poet
From now on, it said, you must wear a mask.
What kind of mask? asked the poet.
A rose mask, said the poem.
I've used it already, said the poet,
I've exhausted it.
Then wear the mask that's made out of
a nightingale's song, use that mask.
Oh, it's an old mask, said the poet,
it's all used up.
Nonsense, said the poem, it's the perfect mask,
still, try on the god mask,
now that mask illuminates heaven.
It's a tight mask, said the poet,
and the stars crawl about in it like ants.
Then try on the troubador's mask, or the singer's mask,
try on all the popular masks.
I have, said the poet, but they fit so easily.
The poem was getting impatient,
it stamped its feet like a child,
it screamed. Then try on your own face,
try the one mask that terrifies,
the mask only you could possibly use,
the mask only you could wear out.
The poet tore at his face til it bled,
this mask? he yelled, this mask?
Yes, said the poem, yes.
But the poet was tired of masks,
he had lived too long with them,
he snatched at the poem and stuck it in his face.
Its screams were muffled, it wept, it tried to be lyrical,
it wriggled into his eyes and mouth.
Next day his friends were afraid of him,
he looked so distorted.
Now it's the right mask, said the poem, the right mask.
It clung to him lovingly and never let go again.
poem by Brian Patten
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Murder In Her Eyes
Some say she's bitter,
some say she's sweet.
They know her by her shimmer,
Oh how sometimes her crime can be so neat.
She makes her enemies real slick,
she makes her friends so easily.
Although her enemies slaughter is real quick,
but she's a generous person, really.
The murder in her eyes
reveals her disguise,
The taste of her enemies blood,
she cannot recognize.
She seeks for revenge
For only those who caused her agony and avenge.
The murder shows who she truly is.
The sweet girl with a bloody blade in her hand.
Her enemies dead body laying on the floor
as she laughs and hounds as her enemies body rots to the core.
The murder in her eyes is severe...
Something that nobody dares to conquer
They laughed at her in the past,
She knew their life's wouldn't last.
The murder in her eyes hides the tides of her personality
for her enemy's, she loves to rec their reality.
No one ever thought she could do that.
Until they saw her true disguise which showed the murder...
Murder in her eyes.
poem by Katellyne Baker
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Beloved - Hide Your Eyes
A steep but lovely trail -
I notice a divide and realize
before me lies a known and beloved path - beloved of you.
And you, beloved of me,
the longing comes to choose your chosen trail.
I want to see the flowers you saw that day
when you held my hand and my heart all at once.
In seeing the rocks and branches you cherished
I might catch a ghost like glimpse of a once loved you.
The once loved you - a once beloved me.
Beloved no more.
And maybe the present me might stumble upon the present you.
The steps hasten now to the path, the rocks, the branches.
The steps stop.
What if I find your eyes and they find mine?
What looks out from a beloved's eyes when love has departed?
I choose the other path.
poem by Meli Secret
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet
I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET
I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Chant Your Name Oh Beloved
Chant Your Name
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the raindrops on a roof
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the breeze in the leaves
I chant Your name o beloved
Like the snowflakes on mountain peaks
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the dew drops in the field
I chant your name O beloved
As Your blood pulsate in my veins
I chant Your name O beloved
As the bees buzz around my head
In silence I chant Your name O Beloved
As they carry my whispered prayers
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Doubts Of Mystic poet!
Nee maye olago,
Ninnolu mayeyo?
Kannada Mystic poet
Kanakadasa
Are you in MAYA,
Or MAYA is in you?
Are you in body,
Or body is in you?
Is sugar sweet,
Or sweetness in sugar,
Or sugar and sweet both are in tongue?
Is tounge in body,
Or body in tongue,
Or both body and tongue are in mind?
Is mind in you or
You are in mind,
Or both you and mind are in
world?
Is the God in world,
Or World in God,
Or both world and God
are in your eyes?
Are eyes in you,
Or you in eyes?
Or both you and eyes
are in
beloved
Kaginele Adi Keshava?
15th century
mystic poet
Kanakadasa.
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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In the spirit of Rumi - 7
‘My Beloved,
what can I give you of myself,
that I have not given? ’
My Beloved said
‘O my dearest one,
in all places, at all times,
remember Me.’
‘O My Beloved,
how can I not do that? ’
* * *
In tears, I returned to My Beloved
and said
‘O my dearest one,
a week has passed, and the world
pressed hard upon me…
‘The next day, I remembered You
three times each hour;
the second day, I remembered You
but once an hour;
on the third day, I remembered You
in some hours, once; some twice;
some not at all… and so it went…
But O My Beloved,
each morning as I woke
I remembered through my tears
how I had forgotten You…’
My Beloved said
‘In the remembering of the forgetting
there was a feast of sweetest honey for Me,
hiding like a new young bride
laughing with her bridegroom,
laughing with her eyes on Him,
in the silken tent of love.’
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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