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I See so Deeply Within Myself

I see so deeply within myself.
Not needing my eyes, I can see everything clearly.
Why would I want to bother my eyes again
Now that I see the world through His eyes?

poem by Rumi
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Am Needing What It Is You Have To Give!

I'm needing it.
I can't resist...
More time,
With you by my side.

I am needing it.
And I can't resist...
More time,
With you by my side.
And less time,
For you to decide...
How much time you're going to give,
To fulfill my need.
Or the time you've given is enough for me.

I'm needing it.
I can't resist...
More time,
With you by my side.

I'm needing it.
I can't resist...
More time,
With you by my side.

Hope?
I have and got it.
Hope?
I've never doubted.
Hope?
I do not mope.
Or cope,
With hope to scope.

Hope?
I have and got it.
Hope?
I've never doubted.
Hope?
I do not mope.
Or cope,
With hope to scope.

I am needing it.
And I can't resist...
More time,
With you by my side.
And less time,
For you to decide...
How much time you're going to give,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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So Don'tchu Bother Me Tonight

If you AINT seen the light...
Don'tcha bother me,
Tonight.

Don't bother me...
Tonight.
I'm doing all I can to live my life right!

Don'tcha bother me,
Tonight.
I have no appetite to share in a fight!

Don't you bother me...
Tonight.
I wont allow myself to move in that groove.
And if I did you' be the one that would lose.
I've worked too hard to be abused by you.
I could demand from you 'backpay'.

Don'tcha bother me,
Tonight.
I have no appetite to share in a fight!

Don't you bother me...
Tonight.
I've worked too hard to be abused by you.
I could demand from you 'backpay' too...
For all that stuff I had to suffer while you made it with another.

Don't you bother me...
Tonight.
I wont allow myself to move in that groove.
And if I did you' be the one that would lose.
I've worked too hard to be abused by you.
I could demand from you 'backpay' too!

So don'tchu bother me,
Tonight.
Unless you want to cough up 'BACKPAY' too!

So don'tchu bother me,
Tonight.
Unless you want to cough up 'BACKPAY' too!

So don'tchu bother me,
Tonight.
Unless you want to cough up 'BACKPAY' too!

So don't dare bother me!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dont Bother Me

Dont come round here looking for my sympathy
Dont come round here looking for my prayers
You spent the eighties in a trance
Yeah you led us all on a merry dance
Now its sad to say that I dont care
You were always advocating power games
You were always gonna be a star
You made your money, had your fun
Made a video bout how its done
Aint put it in my vcr
So far
Dreams fall into disrepair
Theres a change in the air
Your lies
Will lead you to despair
Dont bother me
(castles in the sand slip through your hand)
Dont bother me - I dont give a damn
Dont bother me
(try to understand its in your hand)
Dont bother me
Well no amount of liquor, babe, can drown the blues today
No amount of pills can ease the pain
When the body electric and the vision thing
Is all it takes to make the people sing
Lets hope we dont get fooled again
My friend
Dreams fall into disrepair
Theres a change in the air
Theres a girl who says she cares
And her love
Will leave you standing there
Dont bother me
(I cant change your mind when youre so blind)
Dont bother me - I cant spare the time
Dont bother me
(takes an ocean wide to turn tide)
Dont bother me - love cant be denied
Dont bother me
(castles in the sand slip through your hand)
Dont bother me - I dont give a damn
Dont bother me

song performed by Level 42
Added by Lucian Velea
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Confessio Amantis. Prologus

Torpor, ebes sensus, scola parua labor minimusque
Causant quo minimus ipse minora canam:
Qua tamen Engisti lingua canit Insula Bruti
Anglica Carmente metra iuuante loquar.
Ossibus ergo carens que conterit ossa loquelis
Absit, et interpres stet procul oro malus.

Of hem that writen ous tofore
The bokes duelle, and we therfore
Ben tawht of that was write tho:
Forthi good is that we also
In oure tyme among ous hiere
Do wryte of newe som matiere,
Essampled of these olde wyse
So that it myhte in such a wyse,
Whan we ben dede and elleswhere,
Beleve to the worldes eere
In tyme comende after this.
Bot for men sein, and soth it is,
That who that al of wisdom writ
It dulleth ofte a mannes wit
To him that schal it aldai rede,
For thilke cause, if that ye rede,
I wolde go the middel weie
And wryte a bok betwen the tweie,
Somwhat of lust, somewhat of lore,
That of the lasse or of the more
Som man mai lyke of that I wryte:
And for that fewe men endite
In oure englissh, I thenke make
A bok for Engelondes sake,
The yer sextenthe of kyng Richard.
What schal befalle hierafterward
God wot, for now upon this tyde
Men se the world on every syde
In sondry wyse so diversed,
That it welnyh stant al reversed,
As forto speke of tyme ago.
The cause whi it changeth so
It needeth nought to specifie,
The thing so open is at ije
That every man it mai beholde:
And natheles be daies olde,
Whan that the bokes weren levere,
Wrytinge was beloved evere
Of hem that weren vertuous;
For hier in erthe amonges ous,
If noman write hou that it stode,
The pris of hem that weren goode

[...] Read more

poem by John Gower
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Quatrains Of Life

What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?

What did it bring me that I loved it, even
With joy before it and that dream of Heaven,
Boyhood's first rapture of requited bliss,
What did it give? What ever has it given?

'Let me recount the value of my days,
Call up each witness, mete out blame and praise,
Set life itself before me as it was,
And--for I love it--list to what it says.

Oh, I will judge it fairly. Each old pleasure
Shared with dead lips shall stand a separate treasure.
Each untold grief, which now seems lesser pain,
Shall here be weighed and argued of at leisure.

I will not mark mere follies. These would make
The count too large and in the telling take
More tears than I can spare from seemlier themes
To cure its laughter when my heart should ache.

Only the griefs which are essential things,
The bitter fruit which all experience brings;
Nor only of crossed pleasures, but the creed
Men learn who deal with nations and with kings.

All shall be counted fairly, griefs and joys,
Solely distinguishing 'twixt mirth and noise,
The thing which was and that which falsely seemed,
Pleasure and vanity, man's bliss and boy's.

So I shall learn the reason of my trust
In this poor life, these particles of dust
Made sentient for a little while with tears,
Till the great ``may--be'' ends for me in ``must.''

My childhood? Ah, my childhood! What of it
Stripped of all fancy, bare of all conceit?
Where is the infancy the poets sang?
Which was the true and which the counterfeit?

I see it now, alas, with eyes unsealed,
That age of innocence too well revealed.
The flowers I gathered--for I gathered flowers--
Were not more vain than I in that far field.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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I Know For Me There's No Benefit

Why did you abandon my love,
And then announce it missing?
Then you called all your friends to tell them,
Not even a glance from me you are getting.
Why do you pretend and lie to your friends.
Why don't you tell them you're the reason we ended.

I know deep inside you have a love for me.
And I know you wish to control what can't be.
You wish to have it your way and that's it.
And I will not take anybody's,
'S' with an 'H' and a 'T'...not me!
Nor to moods or attitudes,
From another will I commit.
Not if I know there's no benefit.

I know deep inside you feel something there,
For me...
To be revealed,
For YOU to see.

Why did you abandon my love,
And then announce it missing?
You wish to have it your way and that's it.
And I will not take anybody's,
'S' with an 'H' and a 'T'...not me!
I'm not into that kind of play.
Not if I know there's no benefit.
Or a connection to my feelings meant.

Why should I bother,
When there is no love in it for me meant.
Why should I bother?
Why should I bother,
And I know for me there's no benefit.
Why should I bother?
Why should I bother,
When there is no love in it for me meant.
Why should I bother?
Why should I bother,
And I know for me there's no benefit.
Why should I bother?
Why should I bother,
When there is no love in it for me meant.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Satan Absolved

(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.

[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.

Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.

Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Do You!

You can stay cooped,
With a pity to cop.
And you can stayed pooped,
As you're locked in your box!
But...
You're needing to,
Get up.
You're needing to,
Walk around.
You're needing to,
Move away...
From the intake you inhale.

You're needing to...
Give it a wrap.
You're needing to...
Pack and sack it,
With a getting up off your back to...
Do you!
And,
Do you...
With a lot of love.

Now...
You can stay cooped,
With a pity to cop.
And you can stayed pooped,
As you're locked in your box!
But...
You're needing to,
Do you!
And,
Do you...
With a lot of love.

You're needing to,
Do you!
And,
Do you...
With a lot of love.
Yes!
Do you,
And do you...
With love!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I've Never Trusted Before

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
As deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
And as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.

But from you like no other,
I just know it'd be cool.
And deeper if you wanted it that way too!

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
And as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.

But from you like no other,
I know it'd be cool.
And deeper if you wanted it that way too!

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
As deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
And as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.
But from you like no other,
I know it'd be cool.
And deeper if you wanted it that way too!

Deeper if you wanted it that way too.

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or,
Deeper if you wanted it that way too.

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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That-a Be Tops Of Cool

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
As deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
And as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.

But from you like no other,
I just know it'd be cool.
And deeper if you wanted it that way too!

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
And as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.

But from you like no other,
I know it'd be cool.
And deeper if you wanted it that way too!

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
As deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
And as deeply as you wish me to.
Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or as deeply as you wish me to.
But from you like no other,
I know it'd be cool.
And deeper if you wanted it that way too!

Deeper if you wanted it that way too.

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?
Or,
Deeper if you wanted it that way too.

Can you tell I've never,
Trusted before?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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No Residency There Is Permanent

You have a bird's eye view...
With a crowing done you do.
To boast about nonstop.
From your position...
At the top.

And you believe to keep it,
Is an ease to block.
As you remain where you are...
Secured in a safety zone,
Kept locked with eyes on stars.

But like some others,
You can hit rock bottom.
And whether you like it or not...
It is recommended,
To stop and avoid your peacocking.

No residency there is permanent.
It's not fixed or grounded in cement.
Your residency meant...
Is not one permanent.

No residency there is permanent.
Don't try it, do not bother.
It's not fixed or grounded in cement.
Don't try it, do not bother.
Odds you choose will lose.
Don't be that big a fool.

You have a bird's eye view...
Don't be that big a fool.
No residency there is permanent.
Don't try it, do not bother.
It's not fixed or grounded in cement.
Someone's always there to circumvent.

Your residency meant...
Is not one permanent.

And you believe to keep it,
Is an ease to block.
As you remain where you are...
Secured in a safety zone,
Kept locked.

But no...
Residency there is permanent.
Don't try it, do not bother.
It's not fixed or grounded in cement.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
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Trapped and Needing Air

Slow to wake up!
Too slow,
To awaken to what has been real.
Don't expect me to freeze in place.
Awaiting for you to embrace life,
As it is!
It is to be lived.
Not turned into a quiz...
You just can't get and figure out.
And your pouting is not admired.
It's like a flat tire needing air!
You are just not there!

Slow to wake up!
No one's got time on hold.
To benefit them...
And/or their whims.
When for them time will begin again.

Show or no show folks...
Who poke along,
And make joke of it.
Putting off 'the now'
To live a yesterday today...
Should be left on steps where they sit!
Or wave to them through a window!
Don't stop to visit.
They seek someone to twist into a fit!

Many know such folks,
Who complain about their sorrows.
And they will drain someone's patience.
To stall tomorrow's anticipated taste.
And squeeze the sweet,
To share their bitterness...
With anyone they meet.

It is to be lived.
This life!
Not turned into a quiz...
You just can't get or figure out,
The wrong from right!

And your pouting is not admired.
It's like a flat tire needing air!
You are just not there...
With determination focused.
But despair you love to wear.

Trapped and getting ragged...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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What's In It For Me?

THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE HAVE TIME FOR TWITTER AND FACEBOOK, BUT NONE FOR THEMSELVES OR OTHERS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE HAVE A HUNDRED 'FRIENDS' ON FACEBOOK,
BUT NOT EVEN TEN IN REAL LIFE
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE EMOTE WITH EMOTICONS BUT NOT WITH THEIR FACES,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE PREFER TO WRITE 'LOL' RATHER THAN ACTUALLY LAUGHING OUT LOUD,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LOVE THEIR COMPUTER MORE THAN THEIR FRIENDS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LIVE THEIR LIVES MORE ONLINE THAN OFF IT,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE CAN SPOT THE ERROR IN SOMEONE'S TYPING BUT CANNOT SPOT A TEAR IN A FRIEND'S EYE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE CAN GROW ANY CROP ONLINE BUT CANNOT EVEN PICK UP A SPADE IN REAL LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE RELISH THE FOOD AT MCDONALDS AND DOMINOS, BUT CRIB OVER HOME COOKED FOOD,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE ARE READY TO KILL FOR A FEW SHREDS OF PAPER,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE KILL IN THE NAME OF RELIGION,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE A MAN IS READY TO KILL HIS BROTHER OVER PROPERTY AND MONEY,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE VALUE OF MONEY IS MORE THAN THE VALUE OF LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE LIVING A LIFE IS TOUGHER THAN KILLING A LIFE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE IT'S EASIER TO EARN MONEY BY CHEATING THAN BY WORKING HONESTLY,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE VALUE OF A GIFT IS THROUGH ITS PRICE AND NOT ITS EMOTIONS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THE MEASURE OF A MAN IS THROUGH HIS CAR AND HOUSE RATHER THAN HIS CHARACTER,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE LOVE THEIR POSSESSIONS MORE THAN THEIR FRIENDS AND PARENTS,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE THINGS ARE LOVED AND PEOPLE ARE USED,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD WHERE PEOPLE DO ANYTHING FOR A BETTER PAY BUT NOTHING FOR A BETTER CONSCIENCE,
EVEN IF I WIN THIS WORLD WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?
THE WORLD IS BAD AND I KNOW THAT BUT SILL IF I WIN THIS WORLD,
WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME?

poem by Deepak Hariharan
Added by Poetry Lover
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Don't Bother Me

Since she's been gone
I want no one
to talk to me
It's not the same
but I'm to blame
It's plain to see

So go away and leave me alone
Don't bother me

I can't believe
that she would leave
me on my own
It's just not right
where every night
I'm all alone

I've got no time for you right now
Don't bother me

I know I'll never be the same
If I don't get her back again
because I know she'll always be
The only girl for me

But till she's here
please don't come near
just stay away
I'll let you know
when she's come home
Till that the day

Don't come around leave me alone
Don't bother me

I've got no time for you right now
Don't bother me

I know I'll never be the same
If I don't get her back again
because I know she'll always be
The only girl for me

But till she's here
please don't come near
just stay away
I'll let you know
when she's come home
Till that the day

[...] Read more

song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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