En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Game Of War

War is a game,
It proves that the worst loss,
Is a loss that was gained by a win,
The blood is shed,
The death is had,
Utter depression,
War happens over and over,
It never stops,
Peace is an illision,
War is greedy,
War has envy,
War shows wriath,
War enjoys gluttony,
War gains luster,
War provocks Pride,
War is made by Sloth,
Sins of 7 is what war represents,
And what war is Represented by,
Honesty is engolfed by deaf ears,
Unfeeling hearts,
And blind eyes,
War is words without meaning,
War is caused by love,
War is countined by hate,
War isn't good or evil,
It is a star that has reached its limit,
War doesn't care what, who, or where,
War is everything,
Power, strength, ability,
War runs the world,
Yet,
War,
Is simple,
But it repeats its self,
War is repetative,
What is war but a game.

(After searching for a while I finally found it, this poem I wrote two years ago or in 2007. This was one of my first big poems, being it held the top spot for poems about war for about 3 weeks, then went down to number 2)

poem by Aaron Tate
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The Seven Sins again

>
> Do we as a people really know or care
> Concerning the seven sins?
>
> Those sins are apart of our every day life.
> Those sins are apart of our strife.
> I've heard the first was vanity or pride
>
> Now that is an hell of a ride...
> Be it physical or spiritual, how would
> One keep his/her feet on the ground?
>
> Sanity what a big role...
> Does God have pride? Then I am lost.
> What mean the word boss?
>
> Those seven sins has really cost,
> Things to be...
> Unfree and that will include me.

Was it pride that set Eve free
And made Adam give up his freedom of will?
Still...
I must appeal...
I am not ill...
But the seven is a thrill...for real,

What envy you? and who...why?
And do you cry?
The have and the have nots...
Gluttony would that be?

Are all seven just pure envy?
Lust not and bust...
Lust not and rust...

The wrath of lust not is have not,
Either way you go...
Whatever door...rich or poor,

Kindness and anger in the long run meet,
Good or bad we sit and eat.
Sometimes eating out of greed...
God speed...

Is lust greed or pride?
Or just sloth...denied?
A natural, physical and spiritual guide.

'Man she looks good'
Gluttony in the hood.

'He is so fine'...or just signs of the time,
Lust is not mine.

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Seven

Full of greed you sell your soul
Full of pride a heavy load
You eat yourself gluttony
Resent yourself you envy me
Everything turns into wrath
You lust yourself to death
Deep fears that drive us
Hid beneath disguises
Judge the world within
Forgive my deadly sins
Procrastination always giving up
Something better comes to interrupt
Cast your verdict down to me
Spare me your bleeding sympathy
Only care how you appear
Clearly see you cant see clear
Deep fears that drive us
Hid beneath disguises
Judge the world within
Forgive my deadly sins
Greed, gluttony, pride, envy, wrath, sloth, death, deadly seven
Seven deadly sins of mine
On every street
And corner lie
These seven deadly sins of mine

song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Story Of A Search For A Poem

A man went in search of a Poem
He searched everywhere he walked
He searched inside himself
He searched inside the poems of others
He searched and searched -

And what came to him were fragments of many poems
And he thought perhaps that they themselves were the poem
But they refused to be satisfied with themselves-

So he searched for a way to put them together-
But in searching came upon more fragments
With each new fragment totally re-ordering those that had gone before-

So he thought ‘I went looking for one poem but found many
Perhaps there are only many poems’

And he began to write them down
And felt at times that he had found many poems
But always too he knew he had not found the one-

So he searched and searched again
And could not find the Poem-

He is still searching
And does not know where the poem is
Sometimes he thinks it is hidden in the many already written
But he does not have the eye to discern it the heart to feel it-

He now is surrounded by poems-
They are everywhere-
But he still cannot find the One Poem which is the Poem for him
The Poem which is his Poem and his Poem alone-

He says he is still searching and will search to the end of his days
But he is old now and soon may be too weak to search
And so the Poem he seeks the one he has longed for all his life
May never be found
Though he goes on searching still.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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War...war...war...

war...war...war...

war can kill, war can be killed
war can hurt, and war can please
war is bad, and war is good
war can bring death and war can bring joy
war is like a game there is one winner and one looser
war can be a bridge and war can be a tunnle
war can blind, war can deaf
war can help, war cant help
war is a word that has no meaning
war changes the world to great or bad
war is a simple thing
war is not evil or good
war can be stopped, war can stop
war can be nothing or it can be everything
i've been in war it is not hard and it is not easy
you dont need much to be in the war
all u need is a heart full of pride
and if u dont have that u will get shot and die

poem by Joe Yourmom
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Favourites

Authors are funny creatures
whenever we write.
Most of the time
we don’t like what we’ve written,
but there are occasions
when we will write something
that we really do like,
then we hate
letting that fledgling out of the nest.

I’ve been writing for more years
than I really care to admit,
and yes, I have my favourites
among all the writing I’ve done.
A novel called Blind Tiger
has never left the nest
and a short story called
The Man Who Was Always Late,
again never seen by anyone.

However is saying that,
there have been a couple
I have actually let go.
Both were originally song lyrics,
which I’ve turned into poems.
One I actually sang in a concert at one time
with the curious title of
I’ll Take All The Blame.

The other has really done me proud,
it has reached the dizzy heights
of the top 500 poems here.
It was only released
because I felt it was the only good thing
I had at the time
and is called
Just Beyond The Sunset.

I loved it when I wrote it
on a merry-go-round
some forty odd years ago
as I looked towards the west
at a setting sun.
Now it is the best-loved poem I have
with another fifteen others
adding it to their favourites as well.

26 December 2007

poem by David Harris
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What is loss?

I resent
What loss represents
I resent
What great loss presents

So what’s the fuss about loss?

Waiting!
Debating!
Contemplating!

What is loss?
Something you care about
Taken away from you by force
Creating total unforgivable chaos

Thinking!
Blinking!
Seeking!

What is loss
It is a minus instead of a plus
Hence the unmistakable fuss
Death and sickness build up great grief
Loss brings despair instead of relief
And in loss itself I have no belief

I resent
What loss represents
I resent
What great loss presents

Loss! An inequitable cause
Thrown on you without a toss
So you become very cross
Because in your life you realize, you are never the only boss!

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Kinds of Loss

There's kinds of loss that can bum you out

The loss of a game
You lost your way
Losing your favorite pin

This can make you pout
But without a doubt
It is not a real big thing

The kind of loss that can make you shout

The loss of your job
The loss your car
When you could not pay

It left you confused
Feeling slightly defused
But then you can re-group

Then there a loss, that cuts deep within

My maternal rights that I tried not to win
So stupid to give up such a gift
To watch my boys grow, live with the man
that I've tried so much to get away

No school papers to hang on my frig
No more practices to run to at night
Now I that I am a part-time Mom
And try and do it all on my weekends

poem by Pookey's Poems
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A Game We Shouldnt Play

(m&l - deris)
Do you believe in fate or chances
Design or coincidences
Would you say that all the people
Live their life for good and evil
Some have reached the end of patience
Start to play with gods creation
They know you
Control you
In a game we shouldnt play
Corrupt your heart
And make you part
Of a game we shouldnt play
We run blind
In a game we shouldnt play
Its all a game we shouldnt play
If we shall die now it will happen
If were good well come to heaven
If we shall live it will be so
End your life and youll see limbo
All is fixed and predetermined
Only time will stretch new sins
He loves you
Alarms you
Of a game we shouldnt play
He tells your heart
To stay apart
From a game we shouldnt play
We run blind
In a game we shouldnt play
Its that kind of game we shouldnt play
Manipulations on the genes
Nuclear contaminated seeds
Clone of the clone in the breeders zone
Its a game
A game we shouldnt play
We run blind
In a game we shouldnt play
Its that kind of game we shouldnt play

song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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I Wrote A Poem I Loved

I WROTE A POEM I LOVED

I wrote a poem I loved
But I could not rest content with it.
I had to write another poem,
And another poem.
And in the writing of other poems,
Some of which I also loved.
I lost the poem I loved.

Essentially I am a writer of poems
And not their possessor.

I possess many poems of others,
But somehow mine, I cannot.

However I love them
Perhaps I really believe
None of them good enough
To be worthy of such love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Loss Of...

Loss it seems is the worst kind of sorrow
Loss of dreams, the dreams of tomorrow

Loss of the moments you two should have shared
Loss of opportunities to show her you cared

Loss of the memories you both could have created
Loss of the romance once intense as you dated

Loss of a kiss, caress, or embrace
Loss of that special feeling no one else can replace

Loss of a look, the twinkle in her eye
Loss of the touch as you pass each other by

Loss of a future, from a past of regret
Loss of a last chance, how many do you get

Loss of a promise you never meant to break
Loss of two hearts that forever will ache

(2012)

poem by Michael Ernst
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963: Peace n happiness wish...

Love is so beautiful,
In love there is loss,
Life is still beautiful,
Do not cause loss,
If it occurs to you,
Just accept it.

None causes loss,
It just happens,
Forgive those,
Who appear to have,
Caused loss to you,
Forgiveness is noble.

Let her be happy,
And at peace,
If she could not,
She would have a reason,
Let god take care of her,
Wish her happiness and peace.

poem by Amit Biswas
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Fatal Sins and Solutions.

GREED: is the one when you want more,
Knowing not you get what you need to your next lesson.
Not what you want, the law of life you cannot ignore.

Be thankful for what you have or a better one, then you deserve
more.

GLUTTONY: is known well by those, who eats, buys and waste too much
of everything
Mostly suffer for their gluttony never ending.

Find balance, don't be a prodigal child.

LUST: comes when you want to play the game of sex.
Without true feeling, just with a heartless reflex.

Be kind and loving without abuse.

SLOTH: or a lazy bum, who eventually cripples him/herself,
At the end blames the world & everybody in it or saying
it came itself.

Eat proper nutrition, why you will be energetic, move happily,
so, you never be lazy.

ENVY: is when you envy other's possessions,
Ending up, you even loose your own perceptions.

Be happy for others and for their possessions, then you'll
deserve to have more.

PRIDE: is the one which gives you a hard ruthless head,
Always want to win, step on others and then you are dead.

Be humble, strong and wise, don't try to win. You always get
what you deserve anyway.

ANGER: makes people frustrated, red and hot,
Until they blow up, get a heart attack on the spot.

Stop, stay calm and leave the place or the person who want to
make you angry. Do not give them power over you.

UNFORGIVING: goes in the list, which cannot forgive,
Their life is a tortured one, they wallow in their own
incentive.

Forgive, bless all, call everything 'good' then it turns out
good.

REVENGE: is my last reminder of the fetal sins.
It always hits back on the revengeful, always these sinners
destroy themselves, not one of them ever wins.

Know it is stupid, know that revenge returns multiplied to YOU.

poem by LaSoaphia QuXazs
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The Cutter's Suicide List

My friend Kayla Szpytek wrote this poem. She never thought her poems were good enough, but I took it upon myself to write some of them here for her.

She wrote his name upon her wrist
Did all the things from her suicide list

The cutter's suicide list reads,

Get a razor
Get a gun
Won't be long
'Till the job is done
Cut the veins
Blow the brains
Never again
Will it be the same
Shards of glass
Blood everywhere
Nobody notices
Nobody cares
Bath of blood
Shower stained
1,2,3
Let's play a game
Gun, razor, glass, blood
Her final closure
The list is complete, her pain.......finally over.

poem by Devin Morris
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Oh The Poems

OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS

Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –

What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?

I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-

Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-

Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-

Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?

poem by Shalom Freedman
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431 To A Friend Who Died As Poet

I Have Seen The Power Of Your Poems
Those That
Make The Blind See
The Mute Finally Speaking About Beauty
The Deaf Hearing The Songs Of Love
And The Crippled Finally Dancing To The
Rhythm Of Your
Lines

I Am Amazed And So Convinced
About The Magic Of The Poems That You Wrote
When You Were Once Alive
Before They Buried You On A Shallow Grave
With Their Anger
And Hatred

They Were Not Able To Cut
Your Tongue And Tear Your Mouth
And Break The Bones
Of The Body Of
Your Poetry

Now Let Me Ask You
If These Poems Come From
The Deepest Chamber Of Your Heart

Are Its Roots Your Pains And Unfathomable Sorrows
Or Is It Grown From The Seeds Of
Your Bliss
That When Summer Comes They Bloom Into
Sunflowers?

I See You In Your Images Smiling
And I Can Hear That Suppressed Laughter
On The Lake On A Clear Morning

What Is This All About My Friend?
Tell Me, For They Do Not Like
My Sadness Neither Do They Share
My Joys And Happiness

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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To A Friend Who Says That She Does Not Know How To Write A Poem Anymore

it is sad, when you think that you do not know
how to write a poem anymore
a simple poem as simple as you
what does it take for humanity to write one poem?
does it take that much from those who claim they know the way?
shall blood be shed to drive another point?

do not lose hope in the power of our ordinary words,
for as long as we quiver, poems are written
for as long as we lose the consciousness about our beings
the metaphors always come and build upon themselves their own meanings

take your time, breathe the air of poetry, and let the molecules
enter your lungs that long to see the light of the sun,
just be patient, keep on waiting, savor the silence, shower yourself
with the light of the moon, on another lonely night,
sleep soundly, and listen to the sound of your snores,
in your dreams, the poems write themselves.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To A Friend Who Died As A Poet

i have seen the power of your poems
those that
make the blind see
the mute finally speaking about beauty
the deaf hearing the songs of love
and the crippled finally dancing to the
rhythm of your
lines

i am amazed and so convinced
about the magic of the poems that you wrote
when you were once alive
before they buried you on a shallow grave
with their anger
and hatred

they were not able to cut your tongue and tear your mouth
and break the bones
of the body of
your poetry

now let me ask you
if these poems come from the deepest chamber of your heart

are its roots your pains and unfathomable sorrows
or is it grown from the seeds of
your bliss
that when summer comes they bloom into
sunflowers?

i see you in your images smiling and i can hear that suppressed laughter
on the lake on a clear morning

what is this all about my friend?
tell me,
for they do not like
my sadness
neither do they share
my joys and
happiness

for what i write is nothing
but air.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poems About.

There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.

poem by Mahfooz Ali
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