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I was given talent, and if you are given it, it is your obligation to use it.

quote by Dennis Potter
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Hidden Talent

Written by gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
Just like a person from another world
My eyes can see inside you, little girl
I see things that you dont want to see
I see things youre trying to hide from me
Im just trying to make you understand
All the ways you can affect this man
From the moment that you came in touch
With the power there to burn so much
Youve got hidden talent (yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
You know your past is whats been bugging you
If youre ready girl ... do what you gotta do
Look for your life between the lines
Bad directions and poor designs
Youve got hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Check it out you ... got it, hidden talent, oh
With the advantage of perspective i
See theres more to you than meets the eye
But now the time must come to spread your wings and fly
Yeah (hidden talent) yeah
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Check it out ... you got it, hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Affair without warning
Hidden talent, mmm (mmm)
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
(fade)

song performed by America
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Your Face Among Many, A Blossom

Your face among many, a blossom.
Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.
The sun can't understand why it can't
open the buds of the parking meters.
Some people worry they don't have talent.
Given a name, who isn't a masterpiece?
A perfect self-portrait of what they're becoming?
Talent, the worst superstition of all.
That lullaby you sing to your voodoo doll
at bedtime, to let her know she's special
when, in fact, she's blind. Talent.
That estranged mix of an eclipse and an oilslick
that isn't sure of its standing in life.
Sensible shoes wishing they had wings on their heels.
The redundant navigator of mountain streams
that would have found their own way to the river
all by themselves. You ask if I think you have talent.
To me that's like a flower asking
if I think it will ever come to bloom,
a star wondering if it's shining or not,
a sea uncertain of its own waves and weather.
And I say, your eyes do, your ears do, your mouth has,
these birch-trees, those starlings, that tree, those rocks,
these rags of last year's flowers do, but not you.
On the day of creation when God exhausted herself
using up the leftovers of her inspiration
so as not to let anything go to waste, she pinched the noses
of a few sacred clowns and instead of
breathing life into their lungs, she opened their throats
and poured a special esoteric elixir of talent,
the mother of all oceanic love potions
that ever played favourites with a select few
among everyone she'd ever given birth to,
out of her mouth into theirs, such that like her
all they had to do, they were so talented,
was give the word. Say be. And it was.
Because the moment you ask if you have something,
you've already lost it. Like space or time or mind,
talent isn't possessed. It's made manifest spontaneously.
Do you see the ruby throated hummingbirds
in a last duel with the thorns
of the locust trees in blossom,
one drawing blood, the other, first honey?
Behind every river making its way to the sea
stands the cornerstone of a mountain
buried under an avalanche
it brought down upon itself
like the winter solstice
between the dolmens of Stonehenge,
just as every dropp of water is a lost key,

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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Who is obligated?

Obligated to take care,
Obligated to spare,
Obligated to be awake,
Obligated to sacrifice,
Obligated to worry,
Obligated to keep smile,
Obligated for life,
Obligated for the name,
Obligated for giving birth,
Obligated for the initial,
Obligated with responsibilities.

What obligation do they have,
When they disown them?
What obligation do they have,
when they abandon them?
What obligation do they have,
when they torture them?
What obligation do they have,
when they walk over them?
What obligation do human have,
when they are alone?

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Tainted Obligation

I saw the shoals at night, with the moon above.
I felt an obligation, and heard your voice again.
If you were here once, you were here a hundred times.
If I reached out tonight, I found I couldn't fight it.
If you were here once, you were here a hundred times.
Ohhhhhh
Best as a wishing star, I saw you better far away,
and I felt obligation, and heard your voice again.
Hear the rush of water, passing over the shoals.
Hear my heartbeat rather, if I reached out tonight.
If I reach out tonight and find I can't fight it,
and look to the stars, and wander towards a
heartfelt obligation, a place that you called home
and heard your voice again, but it's too late.
You left long ago, and now you're probably dead and gone,
and I'm left here with the water and the shoals and a tainted obligation.
Ohhhhhh

song performed by REM
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There are two kinds of talent, man-made talent and God-given talent. With man-made talent you have to work very hard. With God-given talent, you just touch it up once in a while.

quote by Pearl Bailey
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The first thing they were told was how to hone their talent. Then they were told how to market their talent, discipline their talent and type their talent. And then they were told they might as well forget about talent.

quote by Esther B. Fein
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Talent Fights Talent, Ego Fights Ego

God is supreme, creation of people! !
Supreme people create god supreme!
Where is the beginning and end of the logic?
Mind breaks, in heart fear creates!
Does supreme man create mind, heart and fear?
Spontaneous, natural and automatic! !
Talent breaks talent, logic devours logic!

One talent creates the dyke
How to demolish it, is busy working mine
Everything is within the mind, nothing is out side it!
People is the supreme, you say the truth!
I am the supreme working to make it untruth.

Really! really! things are spontaneous, natural and automatic!
Ego fights ego, talent fights talent, logic devours logic!

poem by Abdul Wahab
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Talent

Have you ever felt like you can't do anything?
Or maybe, more, you can't do anything well?
LIke everything you do is just to par,
No steep above anyone,
And always a step behind the next.

Pen against paper,
Just turns words and thoughts into something expected,
Paint against canvas,
Just turns colors into an elementary picture.
Setting to work with expectations, only to have them broken.

Or maybe even you do something well,
Or are told that you do,
And all of a sudden it, too, becomes par.
A mundane activity that changes no minds, nor lives,
Neither impresses, nor leaves impressions.

This is how I feel,
Torn apart by everything I do,
And the nothing I do well.
Left in a world of talent,
Only to realize I have none if my own.

If one were to ask me,
'what is your talent? '
I would think for a moment,
Then, I would reply,
'My talent is non talent'

I recognize talent in others,
I recognize their deserve of praise,
And it makes me happy,
But then I remember,
I have nothing to show them.

I long for something to show the world,
To open peoples' minds to beauty and art,
Yet, slowly, everyday I begin to see;
I will never be the entertainer,
Just, merely, the entertained.

By: Bethany Maxwell
©2012

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Man On Wire! !

Man on wire! !
An act like magic,
With explosive fantasies;
To set the records with his talent.

Of your talent,
Of my talent,
With ideas,
With your life,
With my life,
To the people,
And, to reach to the clouds! !

To reach to the top,
To expose your talent,
Wire, tire, lire, quire, ire, mire;
But, love can help you know your name.

Man on wire! !
To the clouds,
To the stars!
To stage a walk,
But, take my life and take me for what i am.

Zaire, shire, hire, dire, fire!
Moral, loyal, royal, oral, coral, floral, rural;
Man on wire! !
All in the name of his talent for us to see.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 25)

‘The Heaven’s kingdom is like ten
Virgins, who took their lamps to meet,
The bridegroom in his wedding feast;
Five were foolish but five were wise.’

‘The foolish ones went with their lamps,
Which had no oil in them at all;
The wise ones also took their lamps,
Along with oil to use in flasks.’

‘The bridegroom came a bit delayed;
The virgins felt drowsy and slept;
A cry was heard at midnight loud,
‘Behold, the bridegroom comes, meet Him! ’

The virgins woke and trimmed their lamps;
The foolish ones then asked the wise,
‘Spare us some oil to keep lamps on.’

The wise ones then replied, ‘Sorry,
We need the oil for our own lamps;
It may not be enough for both;
Go to the merchant shop and buy.’

While foolish virgins went to buy,
The bridegroom came during that time;
The ones ready, accompanied him;
The wedding hall’s door was then locked.’

The other virgins then arrived;
They cried, ‘Lord, Lord, open the door! ’
The bridegroom but replied, ‘Amen,
I say to you, I know you not! ’

‘So, stay awake for, you know not
The day, nor hour when bridegroom comes! ’

‘A man who went on a journey,
To all his servants, gave money,
As per each one’s ability.’

‘He gave five talents to the first;
Two talents to the servant next;
One talent only, to the last,
And went away immediately! ’

‘The one who got five talents made,
Another five talents by trade;
The one who had two talents too
Likewise had made another two;

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Begend

I tell a legend I once heard
Of a race called mankind, no more heard
Placed in time that told and sang
To all who heard and they which were
This is the end of a tale begun
The time, that time began to sing his song
A song of snow and broadway shows
Telling the tale of a tree called Know
Which Adam through Eve through the serpent came to know
And in due course came to show
All they had come to know
To know the art of breaking life and hearts
Then the acts that breaks God's heart
To know the murder act and evil more
Cain killed Abel hence killed himself forevermore
A sword lived by, a sword killed by
Time named history and sadly money swings by
Sings and strings his violin strings
Hoping the lyrics of his song will pull the heartstrings
Of the noblest beast of nature's field
Of the cruelest beast of nature's field
Of a race embedded with treasures yet Seek the treasures that nature's left
A talent within exceeds the talent of gold without
A talent of gold could buy you bread without a doubt
Just like a dollar could brighten your cloud
The talent is hidden in a talent(dollar) shroud
A talented man with a chair, his mouth, his head and heart and guitar
Sat and sang and received talents of gold to buy his house
To buy his cars, feed his wife and hungry mouse
All called him great who were greats untapped
A song of rain and lonely nights
A song of pain and few respites
A tale of a race filled with guilty shadows
A race that raced against itself in a race that destroyed the race fellows
Because they thought God shouldn't have made rainbows
A race called mankind should have one colour
Why had he made them in different skin hues
The shades that ran from black to you
That's what knowing makes you think
That you know more than he who makes you think
A tale of love that transcends hues
The weaker sex through time subdued
Subdued the stronger sex as time ensued
Breath in, breath out, make your sentences
Give, receive, ask photosynthesis
Receive, don't give, break the synthesis
The synthesis of a man and a woman
Soaked with deceit, and a cheating pair
A tale of love broken by who got caught first
The only line that separates black from white

[...] Read more

poem by Jenim Dibie
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The Athenaid: Volume II: Book the Nineteenth

The morning breaks; Nicanor sudden greets
The gen'ral; welcome tidings in these words
He utters loud: The citadel is won,
The tyrant slaughter'd. With our sacred guide
A rugged, winding track, in brambles hid,
Half up a crag we climb'd; there, stooping low,
A narrow cleft we enter'd; mazy still
We trod through dusky bowels of a rock,
While our conductor gather'd, as he stepp'd,
A clue, which careful in his hand he coil'd.
Our spears we trail'd; each soldier held the skirt
Of his preceding comrade. We attain'd
An iron wicket, where the ending line
Was fasten'd; thence a long and steep ascent
Was hewn in steps; suspended on the sides,
Bright rows of tapers cheer'd our eyes with light.
We reach'd the top; there lifting o'er his head
A staff, against two horizontal valves
Our leader smote, which open'd at the sound.
Behind me Hyacinthus on the rock
Sunk sudden down, pronouncing in his fall
Cleora; I on Hyacinthus call'd.

Is this Cleora's husband? cried the priest;
Descend, my Pamphila, my wife, descend.

She came, a rev'rend priestess; tender both
With me assisting plac'd my speechless friend
Within a cleft by me unmark'd before,
Which seem'd a passage to some devious cell.
Me by the hand Elephenor remov'd
Precipitate; a grating door of brass
Clos'd on my parting steps. Ascend, he said,
Make no enquiry; but remain assur'd,
His absence now is best. I mount, I rise
Behind a massy basis which upheld
Jove grasping thunder, and Saturnia crown'd,
Who at his side outstretch'd her scepter'd hand.
The troops succeeding fill the spacious dome.
Last, unexpected, thence more welcome, rose,
Detach'd from Medon with five hundred spears,
Brave Haliartus, who repair'd the want
Of my disabled colleague. Now the priest:

Ye chiefs, auxiliar to the gods profan'd,
And men oppress'd, securely you have reach'd
The citadel of Oreus. The dark hour

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Glover
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There are two kinds of talents, man-made talent and God-given talent. With man-made talent you have to work very hard. With God-given talent, you just touch it up once in a while.

quote by Pearl Bailey
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The real issue is not talent as an independent element, but talent in relationship to will, desire, and persistence. Talent without these things vanishes and even modest talent with those characteristics grows.

quote by Milton Glaser
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Confessions of the Soul part 1

They say inspiration comes from passion. Skill by hard work. Constantly beating on your craft and constant effort. Talent stems from longing. The wish to belong in the greatest of your surroundings.
What we see. What we wish to be.
What we want other to do and how they perceive me.
Talent equals fun. Once the talent is combined with the skill and the inspiration it creates enlinement with what you wish to become. Pursue fun and find your talent. Do it often and search new content.
Then, you are contend.

poem by Carl Joe
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Canto the Thirteenth

I
I now mean to be serious; -- it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.
A jest at Vice by Virtue's call'd a crime,
And critically held as deleterious:
Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime,
Although when long a little apt to weary us;
And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn,
As an old temple dwindled to a column.

II
The Lady Adeline Amundeville
('T is an old Norman name, and to be found
In pedigrees, by those who wander still
Along the last fields of that Gothic ground)
Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will,
And beauteous, even where beauties most abound,
In Britain -- which of course true patriots find
The goodliest soil of body and of mind.

III
I'll not gainsay them; it is not my cue;
I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the best:
An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue,
Is no great matter, so 't is in request,
'T is nonsense to dispute about a hue --
The kindest may be taken as a test.
The fair sex should be always fair; and no man,
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman.

IV
And after that serene and somewhat dull
Epoch, that awkward corner turn'd for days
More quiet, when our moon's no more at full,
We may presume to criticise or praise;
Because indifference begins to lull
Our passions, and we walk in wisdom's ways;
Also because the figure and the face
Hint, that 't is time to give the younger place.

V
I know that some would fain postpone this era,
Reluctant as all placemen to resign
Their post; but theirs is merely a chimera,
For they have pass'd life's equinoctial line:
But then they have their claret and Madeira
To irrigate the dryness of decline;
And county meetings, and the parliament,
And debt, and what not, for their solace sent.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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No Conclusion Can Be Laid

A long time ago
in a land far away
lived a young boy
whom in his tomorrows
many tears he would cry.
In his heart, he wished to fly,
soar near the heavens
where the eagles gather.
His talent was criticized
and rebuked by his family
and even some of his friends joined in.

In the shadows of his world
each night where no one could see
he shed his tears in private
deep in the loneliness he felt.
Many years have passed
and his friends have become fewer.
Age stripped away his youth,
but his talent remained.
In that, there were no borders
or obstacles to cross.
He kept his talent to himself.

Why share it with an angry world
whose only contentment
was to put him down.
Then one day came a chance,
he took it reluctantly
fearing all the criticism he might receive
and the tears he might once again cry.
However it was a surprise to him
when someone, a stranger
recognised the talent he had.
Instead of criticism, he received praise.

Soon the tears of sadness
were replaced with tears of joy.
That boy, a man now
much older and much wiser
shares his wisdom with everyone
whom from its glass cares to drink.
There is no ending to this story
no conclusion can be laid.
Only in the future
and by a higher power
will that decision be made.

8 May 2009

poem by David Harris
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Sonnet- Talents

Talent is something that none can erase;
It is always a God-given rich gift;
If you can nurture and become an ace,
None can prevent God's impending huge lift.

Talent is something that's hidden in you;
Within you search and 'twill come out quite true;
God rewards this way for righteousness too,
Never to many but to people few.

Talent is something all must bring it out,
To show the world that God is pleased with us;
It is God's blessing, without any doubt;
Then labour and nurture without great fuss.
Talent if nurtured, gives us happiness;
'Tis not something to keep in much harness.

poem by John Celes
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Don Juan: Canto The Thirteenth

I now mean to be serious;--it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.
A jest at Vice by Virtue's call'd a crime,
And critically held as deleterious:
Besides, the sad's a source of the sublime,
Although when long a little apt to weary us;
And therefore shall my lay soar high and solemn,
As an old temple dwindled to a column.

The Lady Adeline Amundeville
('Tis an old Norman name, and to be found
In pedigrees, by those who wander still
Along the last fields of that Gothic ground)
Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will,
And beauteous, even where beauties most abound,
In Britain - which of course true patriots find
The goodliest soil of body and of mind.

I'll not gainsay them; it is not my cue;
I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the best:
An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue,
Is no great matter, so 'tis in request,
'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue -
The kindest may be taken as a test.
The fair sex should be always fair; and no man,
Till thirty, should perceive there 's a plain woman.

And after that serene and somewhat dull
Epoch, that awkward corner turn'd for days
More quiet, when our moon's no more at full,
We may presume to criticise or praise;
Because indifference begins to lull
Our passions, and we walk in wisdom's ways;
Also because the figure and the face
Hint, that 'tis time to give the younger place.

I know that some would fain postpone this era,
Reluctant as all placemen to resign
Their post; but theirs is merely a chimera,
For they have pass'd life's equinoctial line:
But then they have their claret and Madeira
To irrigate the dryness of decline;
And county meetings, and the parliament,
And debt, and what not, for their solace sent.

And is there not religion, and reform,
Peace, war, the taxes, and what's call'd the 'Nation'?
The struggle to be pilots in a storm?
The landed and the monied speculation?
The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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When Remembered For What It Is And Missed

Knowing the business of one's talent helps,
After establishing a recognition.
It is not the fact that one gains attention,
That a gift is remembered when it is presented.
It is the timelessness of content.
And one's ability to perceive,
From where that talent comes...
To one who has received it from a birth given.

To acknowledge a tree and admire its leaves,
To then disregard its roots...
Is a foolish position one should never take.

People become curious when one's talent is exposed.
But only those who are about the genuineness,
Of their talents from a business sense...
Continue to work on it all their lives.
And the growth and blooming of it shows to others,
Who enjoy the taste of it over and over again.
Since the quality of it never diminishes,
When remembered for what it is and missed.

And a true talent that is,
Never becomes subjected to standards lowered...
By those who excel,
In limited beliefs...
That a game pf playing a battle of wits,
Is part of it!
It isn't.
Not in this genre!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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