When They Move In
he speaks in allegory
to eyes of common man
listening for wisdom
soothing to old ears
boring to new shoots
preferred rap culture
speech is short barely
finish my half-dessert
i could sum it up clear
'go love your neighbors'
everybody of us does that
when did you say 'hello! '
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Related quotes
Wisdom is the reward you get for a lifetime of listening when you'd have preferred to talk.
quote by Doug Larson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Fun
it's fun
in fact it's more fun
being here
i am thinking
a lot
about people that
i've met
that i barely know
there are only
glimpses
outlines of their lives
in such
a short conversation
it makes me feel
so elated
comforting me that
i am not alone
in this...
say,
sorrow joy
sweet-sour memories
like fish and sauce
on a platter
this fun thing
it's more fun really
on these islands
i am taking more
hours of my life
on the plane
hopping from one island
to another
threshing out stories
of real people
that i met
and talk with
in such a short
witting hours
i do not care
anymore
if what they are
telling are true
does not really matter
sort of
short stories themselves
that they are
weaving
like spiders
in the far corners
of the cities
it's more fun
to be frank with you
merely listening
somehow
the words that travel in my ears
make my senses full
i am not alone
all of them
are telling me
this world is a place
of stories
sounds and colors
it is real
they are all telling me
how come
that i did not really know that?
must i be dumb?
or was i just sleeping for all those years
or simply pretending
to know a lot
from books and pages of the newspapers
?
i am seeing a big river
i put myself inside a wooden boat
take the paddle
and start my way
in the water
i stop a while
to touch the ripples
and then
we are going
into something that we have
never know
under the moon
my shadow speaks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just A Theory About Wisdom
Wisdom can be difined by acumens performance;
As, yes...... Rome could have been built in one day,
It just would not have survived to see a second day.
Wisdom sometimes is just common sense applied.
Yet, then we were taught never to pass Judgement!
Who then should be resposible to awaken the dead,
Before the roots of Armageddon.....rear their seeds?
The answer is, each one of us in sync with all others,
With our one common thread that cannot be denied.
We were all borne of ash.....and we'll all die the same.
Which then places us all.......in the same sinking boat.
And so, then, in reality......Wisdom speaks in the end-
About being in the Right Place....~...at the Right Time,
Though it might be wise as well....to own a spare boat!
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Travails of Truth
Like a blast from a referee’s whistle
Emerged the unbridled truth,
Clear, cold, hard
With taste
Like a bitter pill
Smell
Like the still water
A stark dullness,
Like a mumble
From uncertain mind
I ducked from boring truth
Longing
For the beautiful lie
Spewed
From the crafty tongue
Clothed in
Fantasy,
And a promise
Of happy ending
I seek the truth!
But preferred the lie
For the promise of fantasy
Of love, and
Happy ending
Is sweeter
Than
The common truth
poem by Gregory Ojukwu
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Just there
Between two who are talking;
above two who are silent;
in the listening
after wisdom spoken;
the moment as the pen’s put down;
the moment after the book is lowered;
between two thoughts;
just before speech;
as cup’s put back on saucer;
knife and fork sing plate;
just before the inward breath,
and just after the outward breath,
between the warm memory
and the fond association;
just before the smile is smiled;
when the last tear has dropped;
just as silence forgets sound;
just as stillness forgets movement;
as all thought surpasses thought
as if no thought had ever been;
the moment before music starts;
the moment after music ceases;
the moment before words come;
just before the poem speaks;
between the listening
and the hearing;
all these gathered in your heart
just before you give it name.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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For Friendships To Be Formed
They have so much in common they love to talk football
And big names of their favourite sport they do love to recall
Though not everyone in their drinking group barracks for the same club
Football the main topic of conversation when they meet in the pub,
Birds of a feather flock together as some do like to say
And that too applies to people or so 'twould seem that way
The one interested in art does not have one who loves sports as a friend
They would find each other boring why otherwise pretend,
For friendships to be formed there must be common ground
Amongst a group of football fans a tennis fan won't be found
'Tis out of common interests that the seeds of mateship are sown
Perhaps 'tis from there the saying was born that he or she is one of our own
If we all had the same hobby how boring we would be
Our different ways makes us more interesting or so 'twould seem to me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beauty O beauty I am in love with you
Beauty O beauty I am in love with you
When you are found in the common face
My heart can barely wait to take your place
I see your look in the common race
For there you have placed
In a love that bares no disgrace
Cupid is blind this is true
So do not blame him when he strike you
And a man you find not fair
For half of beauty is within
This you can not see till you woo
And his inner beauty will overthrow
All of your misconceived notions
About what beauty mends
Beauty my man beauty
The common face capture me
The common love I can not see
But this love of the common he
Is what most that moves me
I have no shame to call upon the name
Of gay love tied with a ring
For love of beauty is beyond the dictate of the state
For they are only man made rules
And has not the true power to school
Common beauty can be seen on any street
And the bars where you go to meet
The common men is yout yo greet
Some say that beauty be not common
But they are but fools to think this so
For well does the true poet knows
That beauty is white as the snow
Beauty is black as the night
Beauty is yellow as the sun flower’s petal
Beauty is bronze as the metal
Beauty is red as the blossom of the crape myrtle
Beauty, O beauty its true that you do
To who you care to do
For all the races are filled with you
Beauty by like a tender touch
That in the night will come to irrupt
Beauty be soft, beauty be roughs
To pull back the skin of the silk
And expose the kernels of our love
Beauty o, beauty
Found in women and in men
We know that each of the same sex can comprehend
That a man can find beauty in a man.
poem by David E. Patton
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These Are Our Neighbors
Offered are no alternatives.
But complaints are voiced and heard.
Suggestions they have none.
But they come with venom,
On their tongues.
Exposing the teeth of wolves...
Seeking tender meat,
To consume and run!
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Knockingdownwhatcanbefoundtogetnothin gdone.
Takingoutofcontextwithawishfailurecomes!
And these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Yes these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
And these are our neighbors...
Every one.
Pickinguptheirtelephonestogossipwithm orelies.
Hopingwhatissaidwillkeepthetruthindis guise.
To keep deceit and defeat on the rise!
And...
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Yes...
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Offered are no alternatives.
But complaints are voiced and heard.
Suggestions they have none.
But they come with venom,
On their tongues.
Exposing the teeth of wolves...
Seeking tender meat,
To consume and run!
Pickinguptheirtelephonestogossipwithmorel ies.
Hopingwhatissaidwillkeepthetruthindisguis e.
To keep deceit and defeat on the rise!
And these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Yes these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
And these are our neighbors...
Every one.
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He tries to drag his boyhood scribble~
When I touched my heart
I think of you!
Because you're the only one
Who knows about the sobs,
The pains, sad laughs and the whispers
Hid behind the rib cage when you're gone!
And when I spoke to my soul
It's not clear as earlier.
The mist still frozen in my eyes
And I am not sure whether you're alone
Or somebody else accompanying you?
In that small wooden box you gave me
Half eaten toffee's still there
Let ants finish the rest half
And I close the book of bitter past!
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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That Is For......my Eyes Are Closed
1
this is for
The soldier who died today
in your unfinished poem
God has heard all
His sighs.
2
Unfinished poems
Are miraculous
They make God
Hear us
They make us
Think.
they make us
write
our own to finish our own
to fill our own
emptiness
3
He is great
He is good
He is wise
He is omnipresent
He is omnipotent
He is compassionate
He is Love
He is grand
He is the Answer
He is peace
4
Let us have vodka
For a drink
The people here are poor
Let us have rice wine instead.
5
Let not the other half of
The darkness that you see
Create the eclipse of your
Light, let the other half that
You claim you own
shine some more
6
I am watching with my ears
Wide open,
because my eyes are
Closed from the beginning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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0016 Orpheus - or his lute?
It was his listening; he listened
to himself; he listened to himself
listening to his lute; his lute perforce
listened to itself; listened to itself
listening to him..listened to
the measures of all things, even
the measures of mankind..
space, air, listened to his listening;
listened as the eagle made a silent,
perfect circle around a centre in its mind
high above Delphi that clear morning;
listened to the silent cliffs across the gorge,
silently ominous in their listening;
the stream which trickles down past the carved theatre,
cool and clear enough to wash your face;
look up the mountain and hope it sacred, holy; it
plashes like curiosity pursued, down towards the river
which is a mere pencil line at the bottom of the gorge
in this so unexpected place;
the sea barely visible in the distance,
misty with its myths unspoken;
space listened and loved his music, allowed this scene;
a cool air, this morning elsewhere hot, descends gently
down the mountain to the gorge, curves past these rocks
where a dark shadow here or there
could be where the Sibyl listened too.
we thought, boarding the hot bus,
that we were tourists; then we looked,
became pilgrims; then something more,
more like worshippers of the unknown god
whose altar we left behind in Athens,
silent beyond questions,
listening to the space
as if the space itself
listened to some instrument well tuned,
a voice perhaps, silent, powerful.
the sun, the sunlight, moved from rock to rock
this cool, clear morning, waking
clumps of sparse bright flowers, woken
again by morning bees
who may be unaware – or born to know—
they forage at a world heritage site as do we visitors,
at Delphi, where still truth speaks in silence;
bees who listen to each other,
dance their satnav trails,
listen inwardly to flowers,
to honey, and what else
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Conditioned To Focus On Limitations
The message that they are getting to hear,
Is not the message heard they wish preferred.
And, coincidentally, it is not the content of the message.
They oppose and object,
It is the messenger who states this message,
With an eloquence delivered to them
They reject.
And 'if' that messenger had represented,
One of them
They'd be more inclined to pay attention.
But of course,
They have been conditioned to focus
On limitations to impress.
And not use their ears for listening
To a message they should address.
The message that they are getting to hear,
Is not the message heard they wish preferred.
And, coincidentally, it is not the content of the message.
They oppose and object,
It is the messenger who states this message,
With an eloquence delivered to them
They reject.
And it is obvious to those who know,
As to why most ears are ignorantly closed.
They want to raise the bar 'their' way.
But not with 'this' one.
Who has come to play,
Hardball with decked cards regardless.
Of what others perceive another should say.
They want to have it their way.
Even though their way betrays and begins to fade,
Those days of one's pigmentation.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Culture Of Stupidity
Open your naive eyes…..,
To the Culture Of Stupidity….,
It’s all around you….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! !
No way to escape….,
From the Culture Of Stupidity ….,
It haunts and stalks you…,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! !
It’s hard to believe it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
That so many can’t see it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity …! !
As liberals keep shying away…..,
From the overwhelming threat…..,
Of radical terrorism today…..,
How long will The Culture Of Stupidity go on….? ?
My answer is as simple as this….,
The Culture Of Stupidity shall live on…..,
As long as humankind and liberalism will exist…! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Bored And Sad
It's boring and sad, and there's no one around
In times of my spirit's travail...
Desires!...What use is our vain and eternal desire?..
While years pass on by - all the best years!
To love...but love whom?.. a short love is vexing,
And permanent love's just a myth.
Perhaps look within? - The past's left no trace:
All trivial, joys and distress...
What good are the passions? For sooner or later
Their sweet sickness ends when reason speaks up;
And life, if surveyed with cold-blooded regard,-
Is stupid and empty - a joke...
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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The Culture Of Stupidity
Open your eyes…..,
To the Culture Of Stupidity….,
It’s all around us….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! ! !
We can’t escape….,
From the Culture Of Stupidity ….,
It haunts and annoys us…,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
Why so many can’t see it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity …! ! !
So tell me, The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
How long will it go on….? ? ?
The answer is as simple as this….,
The Culture Of Stupidity shall live…..,
As long as humankind will exist…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Half-way Through
half-way through
a love poem
you tell me
you will
finish it soon
will it be
about you
and me?
not to hurt me
you choose
not to finish
deep within
is the pain
of the truth
for how many
years will you
be hiding
away from
its face?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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He who speaks too much is tiresome; he who speaks too little is boring.
Boring Lonely Day
What to do
On a boring lonely day?
How to have something to do
To keep the blues away?
I have got my papers sorted
And I am faced with a lonely boring day.
I cleaned my home yesterday.
From having a good and fun day,
I am thwarted.
The songs only make me sadder
I am having a boring lonely day.
All my games bore me now
Even when I win, it is a lonely boring day.
Having nothing to do
Makes for a boring lonely day.
And no one to do nothing with
That's the cause of the lonely boring day.
Now that I know the cause
Of my lonely boring days,
I can do something without pause
To cure my boring lonely days.
poem by Lonely People Champion
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What Mahfooz Ali means to me! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
When I hear the name Mahfooz Ali,
I think of love, freedom, education, and his famous speech...'I can’t be common man.'
Mahfooz Ali wants peace, love and cuddle for himself and for others.
Without using violence he will set an example for himself and for all to see.
His love for people is so great,
Everyone knew him from Locales to beyond his nation.
He wants humanity
and an education to be equal for all.
His famous speech... “I can’t be common man '
Will always encourage all... to let freedom in!
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Bordom
Sitting
Nothing
No sound
Not even the dog in the back
Then a song comes up
Same ol song
Never ending
I just keep pushing play
Thinking
What will tomarrow be like
Nothing
Same ol life
Same ol thing
Nothing changing
Not even the song
Not the dog barking
Not the creaks and cracks of the haunted floor
Not the feel of someone watching
Not the wish of something else
Nothing changeing ever
I guess nothing silent
Just every same thing
Boring
Im lost in bordom
Ready lets push play
dododo
Same ol song
Nothing changeing
Everything the same
Boring life
No Change
Rarely ever
Boring life
click clack
same ol anoying keyboard
Sound coming barely over that boring song
Does anything change
Or is life ment to be Boring
Dull
Nothing life
Was that a sound?
Phone ring?
Some one home?
Or is the nothing boring life getting to me?
Am I going insane?
Still no change
Nothing at all
Push play again
March 2006
poem by Jessie Li here
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