Latest quotes | Random quotes | Vote! | Latest comments | Add quote

Yves Saint Laurent

Over the years I have learned that what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it.

quote by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Related quotes

The Woman Who Loves Poesy

She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.

She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.

Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight

To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Woman Who Waited For Your Confession....

to the woman who waited that you tell her all
the love you have inside for her
at the bus station when she was all set to leave,

you never really said it best
because you never said anything at all.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Bloke Who Is Wearing Dark Glasses

The bloke who is wearing dark glasses his eyes from me hidden away
Yet the sun is not even shining it is quite an overcast day
In my direction he keeps staring and that sort of does bother me
Which to say the least feels quite perturbing since his hidden eyes I cannot see
To me he is a complete stranger one that I have not seen before
In my direction he keeps staring as he stands by the Super-store door
If I could see his eyes I'd feel happier I look on a face without eyes
On an overcast day his dark glasses the windows to his soul disguise
I feel uncomfortable in the presence of people wearing dark glasses why this should be I do wonder why
But their right for to wear the dark eyes shades one of them could never deny
But our eyes can tell us more about us than words of us ever can say
They can make you look kind and compassionate or cold hearted in a cold way
An unsmiling face wearing dark glasses from across the street stare at me
I do feel as one in discomfort when a face with hidden eyes I do see.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Hats Off to the Woman, Who…

Hats off to the woman, who bears children
With labor-pains, completing family;
Hats off to the woman, who rears the young,
Making her babies suckle at her breasts;
Hats off to the woman, who tends to both
Husband, children, others with care and love;
Hats off to the woman, who does all things
For others’ sake, selflessly all her life;
Hats off to the woman, who keeps the home,
And raises her children in forbearance;
Hats off to the woman, who labors hard
And burns the midnight-oil for family;
Hats off to the woman, who contributes
Fiscally by working in a work-place;
Hats off to the woman, who patiently
Toils, to keep the harmony of her home;
Hats of to the woman, who can also
Extend tender, loving care to old-aged;
Hats off to the woman, who has God first
In life, and sacrifices for the rest;
Hats off to the woman, who can smile
To all, despite her grief, anguish and strife in heart;
Hats off to the woman, who turns the home
A virtual Paradise on earth all life;
Hats off to the woman, who loves to slog,
And toils to raise her family with love;
Hats off to the woman, who’s an angel
To all, by being a good example.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-21-2008

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

I Have Learned

I had been told 'never' to say never.
And for as long as I lived,
I will learn a 'never' said will return.

And I found that to be true.
I have learned to focus and remain conscious.
Never to keep repeating the same mistakes.

I have learned,
The giving of oneself...
Opens the door to heartache.

I have learned,
Forgiveness for some...
Means a forgetting for them to what they've done.

I have learned,
A revolving door...
Revolves not solve solutions.

I have learned,
A no does not mean yes...
To a depleting of my happiness.

I have learned,
Never to allow my peace of mind...
To be plucked by anyone wishing to get on my nerves.

I have learned,
THAT!
And 'that' aint gon' happen no mo'!
Never.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

What Is Said

How could I ever tell you how important what you say
can be
that the words of any man in a day
can affect a life, millions, or even me
our words have so much power
so do not cower
and do not shy away
do not hold back what you want to say
because your words affect a lifetime
speak your mind
all shall be fine
do not fear rejection for the reward is sublime
to save life or cause a turn
to help the world, or save one destined to burn
but forget not that words destroy and create
break down and perpetuate
the power of words and their force of love
the power of words and their capacity for sadistic destruction
forget not that you hold inside this death and life
the power to create argument and strife
or peace and tranquility
remember, remember dear child that each word can kill
each word can fill
with love and joy
or malice and contempt
so don't attempt
to downplay their importance
and play the fool
because its those words that are a part of you
its those words that yours my child
now use them wisely, say what must be said
for with all my years of experience i have learned that what's most important
sometimes...
is simply
What's said

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Over The Darkened City

Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.

The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.

Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .

. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .

Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,-
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound. Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.

'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'

'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'

'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead. It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again. And it was so.'

Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.

'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '

He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.

Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.

Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.

'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.

'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.

'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us. He yields us our desire.

'No, do not stare so-he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this. I know. It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'

The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The House Of Dust: Part 01: 06: Over the darkened city, the city of towers

Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.

The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.

Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .

. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .

Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,—
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound. Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.

'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'

'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'

'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead. It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again. And it was so.'


Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.

'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '

He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.

Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.

Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.

'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.

'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.

'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us. He yields us our desire.

'No, do not stare so—he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this. I know. It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'

The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Woman Of Samaria

Jesus, to what didst thou submit
To save thy dear-bought flock from hell!
Like a pour trav'ller see him sit,
Athirst, and weary, by the well.

The woman who for water came,
What great events on small depend
Then learnt the glory of his name,
The Well of life, the sinner's Friend!

Taught from her birth to hate the Jews,
And filled with party-pride; at first
Her zeal induced her to refuse
Water, to quench the Saviour's thirst.

But soon she knew the gift of God,
And Jesus, whom she scorned before,
Unasked, that drink on her bestowed,
Which whoso tastes shall thirst no more.

His words her prejudice removed,
Her sin she felt, relief she found;
She saw and heard, believed and loved,
And ran to tell her neighbors round.

O come, this wondrous man behold!
The promised Saviour! this is he,
Whom ancient prophecies foretold,
Born, from our guilt to set us free.

Like her, in ignorance content,
I worshipped long I knew not what;
Like her, on other things intent,
I found him, when I sought him not.

He told me all that e'er I did,
And told me all was pardoned too;
And now, like her, as he has bid,
I live to point him out to you.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Tell The One Who Sent You

Tell the man who sent you that i love you,
For i want to taste the sweet of your lips;
Tell the woman who sent you that i love you,
And i want to taste the sweet of your love;
For the red pond is with you and,
I will like to swim in this red pond.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

I am the woman

I am the woman who is unstoppable
I am the woman
Whose dreams are immeasurable
I am the woman
Of a different breed, unbelievable
I am the woman
Of all times, incredible
I am a woman
With passion and purpose, unspeakable
I am the woman
Who decides where I should fall
In this universe, unpredictable
I am the woman
Who refuse to lessen my dreams
To meet man’s expectation, inconceivable
I am a woman
Of greatness and this greatness
Should never be compromise, remarkable
I am that GREAT WOMAN

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Woman

The woman I know from long ago
is the woman who did watch me grow.

She cooked and cleaned every day
and was happiest when she listened to me play.

She loved Chopin and Haydn too
and always smiled when I was through.

The woman I knew when I was ill
was always there to warm my chill.

She soothed my brow when I was sad
and laughed me into being glad.

She allowed me space to be alone
and taught me all that she had known.

The woman I remember from my past
gave me memories that will last.

She taught me life is just a test
and that love should be my lifelong quest.

My mom is the woman of whom I write.
She's gone now but still in my sight.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Over The Years

Over the years,
And facing to address my obstacles...
There had been a few people,
Who rumored me to be...
A fool to be laughed at.
Among others things,
They chose to add at my expense.

'God don't like ugly!
Remember that, Larry.'
My mother would say this,
As if her mission was to raise...
And nurture saints!

And for some reason,
I took a special interest in this.
Not to prove I wasn't foolish.
Or enjoyed to experience something new.
But to see who actually believed their perceptions.
And how many amongst them today,
Have discovered themselves complete idiots...
With stupidity that had attracted some to pursue.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

All The Jobs I've Had Over The Years

I was always into sport
when I was at school
or doing impressions
and acting the fool.
Left at fifteen
unsure what to do
and as for a job
I hadn't a clue.
My Dad was a builder
so worked on site
grafted during the day
stayed out late at night.
When I got older
employed on the railway
laying down tracks
worked hard for my pay.
But got restless again
and ended up in a factory
but I hated every minute
it just wasn't for me.
So over the years
I've really moved around
cleaned windows for a living
been a gardener digging the ground.
Tried my hand at teaching
even went to university
dropped out halfway through
went back to the building industry.
Some people only ever have one job
but one's never been enough for me
what would be my ideal job now?
getting paid for writing poetry!

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Big Problem....

There is this BIG PROBLEM
WE decided not to talk about it
We think that that problem must solve itself
Auto-resolution

So day and night the problem stays there
Like a drunkard in the room
Vomiting
To every nook of the house
The house
That smells like fucking
Shit

But that problem is never considered a problem
There is a room for it to stay
And it can stay
It cannot consume us
It has no mouth and so it has no teeth
It has no tongue it cannot say a word
It stays there like a piece of art
And we begin to appreciate it
Like a piece of rock
Unchanged in the middle of the living room
We eat lunch there
They prepare nice dinners
We drink red wine
We munch chocolates
And sweet berries
The problem stays but it cannot nag us
Because we can pretend
That it is a brother
That we cannot junk but only love
And keep as part of the
Company

There is still this problem
And it did not solve itself
We live by this problem and this problem lives with us
Symbiosis

And so now
What is the problem? Is this a problem after all these years?
It is not anymore
We have learned that it is not a problem anymore
We die soon
And it shall perhaps disappear
Shall it weep over our departure?
That is its problem.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

We Have Not Learned That Much From The Past

We have not learned that much from past history the men of power repeat the same mistake
By threatening war on the Iraqi people for in war there's death and suffering and heartbreak
And in war there's never happiness and laughter the bomber jets they dropp death from the sky
Why to kill or capture the Iraqi leader will so many innocents have to suffer and die? .

I wonder when I hear talk of 'A Just War' since any war it never has been just
And war gives rise to vengeance and to hatred and between peoples build the barriers of mistrust,
Who ever coined that phrase was far from clever though many of those words have taken note
And too many far too many silly people that awful saying are too inclined to quote.

We have not learned much from man's past history if we have learned anything at all
The innocents of Baghdad and Basra will suffer when the big bombs from the night sky will fall
For bombs don't always hit their designated targets and for war mistakes it's the innocents who pay
With their lives or the most horrific injuries and the scars of war till death with them will stay.

We have not learned much from the mistakes of our forefathers for talk of war we hear now every day
And only on the day of the Election do the people ever seem to have a say
And the hawkish leaders who see war as okay from the path that leads to war cannot be cowed
They never seem to listen to their people though the voice of protest in their ears ring loud.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
Patrick White

Slowly Over The Years

Slowly over the years
like a queen cobra that didn't like
the music she was dancing to,
the right song but the wrong flute,
life has made a big impression on me
by showing me what it can do
to the magnanimous equanimity
of all those who went looking for the Buddha
to explain what they'd just done to themselves
in the late sixties by straightening out their wavelengths
like the curls in their long bucolated hair,
or the creases under the eyes in the mirror
that weren't there yesterday
or the day before whenever I last cried.
I used to tattoo starmaps like blackholes
on the bad moon rising of my skull
like the eye sockets on one roll of the dice.
I put an emergency exit sign over one ear
and over the other. Enter here.
Like the back and front covers of a hardbound book.
Emotional butterflies caught in the passions of a forest-fire
like broadsheets in a revolution,
spiritual gazelles like slim first volumes of poetry
martyred in the eternal flames
of the solar corona with the mystical sun dog
they mistook for their third eye
before it evaporated into thin air
like the last two drops of bloodshed on the savannah.
It rained vipers. It rained manna.
Authority struck my crystal skull
with an iron billy club
it carried around like an organ transplant
in case of urgent insurgencies
and where you can see all these little frayed threads
of the deltas and rivers and roads I've been down
like a pilgrim asking everyone I met along the way
whose holy war this was and had they seen
a dreamcatcher fractured by nervous, white lightning
walking in its sleep on the moon somewhere
uprooting the wildflowers of the stars in her eyes
to replant them like corneas in the gardens of the blind.
Right here. Where that shard of a star is missing
like the capitol of an unknown country
is where I broke out of the cosmic egg
and made a getaway like an arrow
in the opposite direction of the divine.
Not every journey ends in a shrine.
Right here is where I stepped out of the night woods
like starlight through my eyelashes
into the clearing of a vast inconceivably open space
as if I had just woken up and were rubbing
the crumbs of a dream like fireflies,
like stray asteroids with chips on their shoulders
looking to pick a fight with the planet
I was living on at the time,
and nuggets of fool's gold
out of the corners of my iron pyrite eyes.
And I had a vision that crept up on me
like the shadow of the watcher in a dream
who's always keeping an eye upon you
from the trees on the far side of the mindstream
And I'll always remember this.
The orchids of bliss
were blooming in the shadow of an outhouse.
And I understood how love
that thrives on longing and emptiness
could die of starvation as soon as it was full.
And why enlightenment, the moon, love, and poetry
that come so blithely of their own accord
are so attached to letting go of everything
they ever set out to seek like someone
they were blind to who could see
but could not speak.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Over The Years

dear friend.!
over the
years
I have felt
your arms
gently
wrapped
around my
heart

giving me
a sweet
squeeze
always
allowing
me
courage

today I
felt them
begin to
loosen
their
hold

the joy
of knowing
you
will
never
end

you are
taking a
portion
of my
heart
with you.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Over The Counter Culture

Over the counterculture,
Well that's right where you belong,
You try to sever your ties with the London skies,
But you've got the whole thing wrong.
You try to be so different,
As does everybody else,
Create your own distinctions,
And flaunt them for yourself.
Over the counterculture
With your cards and catalogues,
The mainstream wipes the riverbed clean,
You're just wrong, you're just.... wrong
You think you followed your heart again,
Now it's in to be out,
Destroy the plans and just start again,
Don't pretend to not pretend at all.
Over the counterculture,
Well you live your life in waves,
Last years dream was a terrible scheme,
And this new fad will fade.
Let's see... what can we be now?
That hasn't been done before?
Shut your eyes,
Look inside.

song performed by Ordinary BoysReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

As man left the shore (Reply to Anthony Delius)

As man left the shore
venturing over the first horizon
the open blue sea
laid unknown, without route,
even a map in front of him

and it was not in his mind
that he sailed beyond where he
at first could see
and ventured further away
from the know quay

and through the fog in the west
came upon other beaches, other shores
explored new lands, found other places
set his foot on other sand

constructed buildings, shelters,
planted seed for crops
and gathered in families

and the last man still knows
what experience, knowledge
and tales of his ancestors he have learned
and prays and yearns to do service
to his God who created every thing
and in perfection
do not have to recreate or invent again
in a universe that exists without end.

[Reference: Reply to Pessoa by Anthony Delius.]

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches