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Not all who wander are lost.

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When all previous loves are lost

When all previous loves are lost
and I hesitate about the sense of my existence,
I become aware about the fatality of life

while time passes me too quickly
and in the darkness I am alone
and I hesitate about the sense of my existence

and at times it feels as if I am the only one
on this planet, as if the loss of intimacy
folds night after night around me and in the darkness I am alone,

the night gets a own reality, my own actuality
as if only I am isolated
on this planet, as if the loss of intimacy

lets me wonder over being human and about God,
without being able to embrace anybody
as if only I am isolated

still holding stunned to hope.
When all previous loves are lost
without being able to embrace anybody
I become aware about the fatality of life.

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All that is Gold does not glitter

All that is Gold does not glitter
The sultriest of beauties carry thorns
The humblest little soft petalled jasmine
A feast for afternoon tea and sweet perfume
The best cut diamonds that glitter and shine
A molten rock culled from blackest coal
And the girl who just walked away with the first trophy
For best vocal, someone you would have thought a nobody

by john tiong chunghoo
inspired b y

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

JRR Tolkien

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Not All Good People

Good people are celebrated and good people are in jail
And we condemn good people by our own words to fail
And since people are not the best judges of character it would be fair to say
That the best candidate does not always get elected on Election Day.

Not all good people as some believe are destined to die young
And many good people as we know their praises are unsung
And in a World of billions of human beings the good outnumber the bad
And that not many are recognized for their true worth does seem a little sad.

Not all good people are in the Newspapers or are ever in the news
And on what they think is fair and right are never asked for their views
Many are the quite achievers of publicity quite shy
Why the egotistical can become successful I often wonder why?

Not all good people are leaders though by good example they do lead
Though all good people are happy with enough and they never yield to greed
And though there are billions of good people in the bigger World out there
The good who make the news headlines to say the least seem rare.

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So Many Poor Souls And Not Many Who Care

So many poor souls and not many who care
Are doing it quite tough in the big World out there
The homeless and hungry teenagers of poverty street
Are searching in rubbish bins for something to eat

The gap is increasing in the social divide
And millions are Stateless and Homeless and hungry World wide
The victims of droughts and wars and disease
In the refugee camps millions of refugees.

The marginalized are doing it quite tough
On poverty street they are sleeping rough
People should not have to go hungry in the World of today
But such is not the case that does seem sad to say

For one wealthy person thousands in poverty
Those who need far more than words of sympathy
People who look old before they reach their life's prime
To be born to poor parents is their only crime.

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To a Certain Gentleman

(' Women are often tempters to sexual sin and delight in it. . . A recent report of a female probation officer relates that some of the girls who, as we may say euphemistically' had gone astray,' owned to her that they enjoyed the life of the evil house.'
- The Case Against Woman Suffrage, published by the Man-Suffrage Association Opposed to Political Suffrage for Women.)

IT may be so, good sir, it may be so,
Not all who sin are tempted - that we know:
It may be darker things than this are true,
And yet, upon my soul, if I were you ­
A man, no longer young, at peace, secured
From all that tempting women have endured
Of poverty and ignorance and fear
And joy that make youth terrible and dear,
If I were you, before I took my pen
And wrote those words to hearten other men,
And give them greater sense of moral ease
In the long score of common sins like these,
If I were you, I would have held my hand
In fire.
- Ah, well; you would not understand.

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After All The Endless Longing To Be Who We Are


In the manner of Borges I write poems in my old age
And dream that they are not only imitations
Of poems written by others
When we all were young.

Instead I go on now in the darkness of the night
Because the fear of what will be
Is always so deep in me
It does not need Poetry or Happiness or any other Meaning
Outside itself.

We are small sands drifting on the edge of stars
Lesser beings of a time we will never know
All that we have done comes back to us over and over again
As if we never were

I don’t believe I will ever write Borges lines
He wrote them in his own imagined words
And I must in my own little life
Suffer to the end of time
All I have not been
And never will be.

God Who is Good
God of Love
You gave me so much
You did not have to give me Poetry also.


The real poets are few in number and largely known by name
The rest of us are endless frustration in aspiration
Words upon words upon words
Dreams upon dreams upon dreams
Getting and going nowhere forever unheard

The real poets find their anthologized place
And we know them over and over and over again
The rest of us just appear this only once
If we appear at all
And our words and our hearts and our minds
Do not encompass and inspire the endless rereadings
Time and Time’s Wounds make again and again and again

We are once only always forever losts
Nothing will save us
These words too coming in the wake of a long night’s reading
Of the poems of others
Cannot sustain and redeem
Cannot be what they would be
Cannot help and cannot save
Me or you or anyone we love
Even as poetry.

God Who Knows All
And in the End Decides on Everything
Has made us smaller even than the Angels
And our place in the Divine Song
Is not as far as we know
Anywhere heard at all.

Goodbye world
We are going
We have done what we could
We have written and written and written
Oxymandias’ poet will remain
And we will not
The lone and desert sands will stretch away
When we are not even a single grain.


The world is filled with the endless silence of things
Dreams in old age are not the dreams of youth – and will never be
Old pain in old bodies stirs the imagination to anger at itself
The history of the universe begins somewhere long before we were born
And when Time ends more Time will not begin elsewhere
Parallel universes pose mathematical riddles to an evidence- hungry horde of physicists who live by supposition alone
And yet underneath it all we are biological beings – brains of our own misperceptions
Clamoring clamoring while on the other side of the moon
The cold goes deeper in us than all the distances we will never reach
Mites and Bites and Little Strings Digital waves and wiry wise things
We are all more than a cave painting with buffalo music beating in the fire
Under the darkness once
When we hunted with small eyes the body’s animal prey
Our spirit said mocking melodies of great and good sounds
Let the Maker of All be One in Love
And less than us may there never be new
The world we love and the people we trust
And the endless game of the transitions
This is a hell of a way to be who we are
And yet some say we are dust more than stars
And under the end of the forever we feel
Only our Names will remain not quite real.


After all the endless longing to be who we are
We come in old age to know what we dared never dream
That we as we are are less than we will forever be
And all that we have made is nothing beside
What God alone may make us should God have decided
That we are worth more than the interval here of our own small being
Dust is not enough
And will never be
For what we dream
For those we most love
Bones interred and epitaphs made righteous in stone
Cannot replace the vital thing of each breathing being
So so long ago
I knew when my grandmother died that she Bessie Zeibert- Peshie really- had so much love and goodness she should never be gone
Lost in her very last moments seeking a stolen sweater no one had ever taken
A sixteen year old girl in steerage with her first child who would never marry and live only to help his nephews and niece
God of Love
What are we
So many have died
So many good people
And I here officially an old man yet young enough to begin and thrive again in words
Questioning as I did then and knowing more and no more
We are the end and the beginning of the universe humanbeings kind or unkind
Light too is another name for death when it is forever too strong
I see I feel I know
We are what we are
And You will take us home
In a way we cannot dream now
Something so good as many of us have been
Must never die
And You Alone know how
We will survive
In the endless Infinite Eternity which no one who has ever lived can describe
Or truly understand.

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All The Fingers Are Not Equal

One should be the head and,
The other should be the servant;
Because, all the fingers are not equal!
And like your love behind the veil,
But who the cap fits should always wear it.

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All These Poems Are Not Good Enough


All these poems are not good enough-
I am not good enough-
And my life is going to end
Without my having been good enough.

Good Enough? .

Good enough for what?
For whom?

Not Good enough
To be among those who wrote lines
Mankind loves to remember.

Not good enough-
Clearly not good enough.

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Not Who You Are

All i can think about is you
You need help i cant give
Yet i feel like im supposed to help you
Instead of stay away
Being apart hurts me too
But we have to stay away
I love you and that will never change
I dont want to stay away
I know you feel the same
But its better this way
We only endure pain when were together
You tear apart everything good in your life
Why would you hurt us
When all we did was love you
Its not who you are
Your much better then that

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Wars are waged by older men
In battle rooms in countries apart.
Who call for greater firepower
And troops for the combat chart.

While out among the shattered flesh
The dreams of all have turned gray.
So young and determined their faces were
Till on the battlefield they lay.

Unable to overcome their pride
The politicians cast their vote.
For this or that or something else
As the rage of war sounds its note.

Wherever wars are won or lost
The soldiers fall like toys.
Down through history it remains the same
Most who die are hardly more than boys.

Like monkeys in a revolving cage
Man squabbles for the peanuts of power.
When will we rise above our greed
And become as a beautiful flower?

Death to death, dust to dust
The wrath of war is a horrible crime.
It’s the beast within that still prevails
As it has through the torments of time.


As war is fought it takes charge
And events spin out of control.
The madness of men can alter the soil
Which nourishes the roots of their soul.

Many things will forever change
Far more then wished to be.
As the wrath of war starts to destroy
Those things we fight to keep free.

War is the greatest plague of man
Religion, state, and sanity.
Any scourge is more preferred
Than the one which disables humanity.

When war breaks out, boundaries change
And all who die are a token
Of the rage that must run it's course
Before words of peace are spoken.

War I hate, though not men, flags nor race
But war itself with its ugly face.
When we lose faith in the brave, which die
Then we're not fit to greet those who cry.

What distinguishes war isn't death
But that man is slain by fellow man.
Crushed by cruelty and injustice
With his enemy's murderous hand.

War tends to punish the punishers
So the losers won't suffer alone.
The essence of war is but violence
Till the survivors come marching home.

Sometimes it's hard to defend what's right
Sometimes we're forced to rise up and fight.
Sometimes we survive, while others must die
Sometimes never knowing the reason why.

The rush of combat is a natural buzz
Caused by fear, leaving nothing as it was.
Hunting one another like wild game
Without a shortage of those to blame.

Sometimes victory comes too slow or quick
Sometimes the cost on both sides is sick.
Sometimes God is asked to intervene
To help stop the savage from being so mean.

War is a hell we visit before death
Fueled by the whisper of the devil's breath.
There must be a reason man destroys man
But why it is so, I can't understand.


After suffering the wrath of a sneak attack
America now mourns to her very core.
Though soon her enemies shall all but flee
From the sound of America waging full war.

Let there be no doubt, no doubt at all
That the devil has decided to give us a call.
We shall defeat hell’s soldiers and cast them out
And if we die; that's what freedom is about.

We shall seek them out wherever they may hide
Street by street, house-by-house, cave by cave.
They will be eradicated from the face of the earth
By the righteous, the loyal and the brave.


Overrun with war and uncontrolled leaders
Our world becomes more dangerous each day.
Dishonest politicians, criminals and the media
Survive by their falsehoods at play.

Bible believers preach, that the end is near
Our world as a whole is beyond reform.
God will eradicate all which is wicked
By His fire of eruption and storm.

To evil’s victory, I will never concede
May its supporters anguish in hell.
By the grace of God and the power of faith
The goodness of man will prevail.

What we accomplish is heaven’s measure
As patriots respond to the threats of man.
Protect and defend what we love till death
As the soldiers of Satan arise from the sand.


In their new uniforms
The young march off
Not knowing who shall return.
With a proud devotion
They brandish their flag
Leaving loved ones to wonder and yearn.

May we all be buried
By all of our children
Is an ancient tribal prayer.
They're so easy to lose
But so hard to forget
Such a burden for a parent to bear.

Oh, the taste of victory
Shall soon be forgotten
But, never that which was lost.
For those rows of white headstones
In peaceful green fields
Make it easy to tally the cost.

America has survived all attempts to destroy
Knowing the cruelty of war
And, we who remain
Must help keep her free
For those who can march no more!


Our flag is fabric wove of thread
Carried by heroes live and dead.
She stands for justice and courage too
With her colors; red, white and blue.

For all who serve her, there’ll be cheers
For any who die, there’ll be tears
For all who love her, honor will prevail
Any who harm her, shall suffer and fail.

How many moms have cried before
As they sent their children to war.
How many dads have not returned
Because our freedom must be earned.

Wars were waged where brave men died
As patriots fought side by side.
Our flag is still the pearl of Earth
Because of those who prove her worth.

Tom Zart Poems Are Free To Copy To Teach Or Show Love And Support!

By God’s Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!

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All The Fingers Are Not Equal! !

The nature of things,
The rule of life,
Some may find things easier than others in this life;
Because, all the fingers are not equal! !

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All The Days Are Not Equal

Just get mwe out of your mind if only if,
I am not the one you are looking for;
And do bear in mind that,
All the days are not equal!
But i have done enough for you already.

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We All Pay The Price Of Who We Are


We all pay the price of who we are
I pay the price every day
I am paying it now.

Walking alone
Thinking alone
Writing alone
No- network of my own.

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All The Days Are Not Equal! !

All the days are not equal! !
With bad days and better days at hand at times;
But, you have to live by them to enhance and educate your status!
However, we were made to follow the rules of life.

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Dawns Are Not All Poetry

Dawns are not all poetry in Calcutta
They raise the veil of the night
and dicover the ghetto that is civilisation
where phantoms of grief and greed
silhouetted in smoke and blood
pant and eat CO2 in sundry forms

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When You Are Lost You Are Not Alone

the tension lies in isolation
when you take things all alone
and there is no knowing that out there
when you are lost
and so preoccupied with the fear of being lost

with a little light
even a flicker
you could have seen a hundred or more
faces looking for themselves
you could have known
that there are too many of us

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Not All Poems Are Confessions


Not all poems are confessions,
But mine often are-
I write to understand and justify myself
And to help myself know
What to do next-
The writing itself is often the action that helps

Not all poems are confessions
And not all poems are therapy
And not all poems are prayer
But mine often are.

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Not All The Angels Of The Lord Are On The Highest Rung

Not all the angels of the Lord are on the highest rung-
I ascended on the ladder
But have not touched the top rung
And will not -

An angel of the middle and the bottom rows
I nonetheless sing out my praises to God -
While trying to climb higher,

Yet somewhere always
no matter how high I think I come
never touching the top rung.

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Just Be Who You Are

'Be who you are and
say what you feel because
those who mind don't matter
and those who matter don't mind.'
Dr. Seuss (1904-1991)

AT this moment
inside this room
i am what i am
and you are what
you are

i have no choice
but to give in
it does not matter
if this
does not matter at
this is the last
and we must
give it
the lust respect.

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Know who you are?

Do you know who you are? Do you?
perhaps you only think you do.
Can you accept that just maybe
you could have faults you cannot see.
Are you afraid that you might be
far different from the way you see
yourself? The darker parts of you.
you do not put on public view.
We all have something which we hide.
Some deep dark secret locked inside.
We all have traits we would disown.
If it were possible to do.
You must accept they’re parts of you.

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