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What we have to do is to be forever curiously testing new opinions and courting new impressions.

quote by Walter Pater (1873)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Opinions

Opinions friend, we all may have, and opinions are not always bad.
All opinions indeed carry no weight, in regards to one’s eternal fate.
Opinions, my friend often speak, to the heart and mind of the weak.
They tend to sway a weaker heart, when from truth they do depart.

Opinions vary from one to the next, colored by many various sects.
Various groups truly do abound, as each echoes a different sound.
Men with opinions tend to change, and they’re not always the same.
But, God’s Truth doesn’t change; written in stone it’ll forever remain.

Opinions just air what men feel, delivered to all with a personal zeal.
But some are more of an appeal, contesting God’s Truth that’s real.
Opinions are formed deep inside, the inner feelings moved by pride.
Their opinions are a vain reproof, of God’s unchanging Eternal Truth.

They speak, but don’t understand, their voices are like shifting sand.
Easily moved by the wind and tide; all because The Truth is denied.
Isn’t it just a little bit strange, how much strong opinions do change?
When a big wind comes through, they change just like emotions do.

Opinionated people truly abound, even where God’s Truth is found.
Are they just the enemy’s sleuth, seeking The Lord’s ultimate truth?
However, opinions will not stand, in the presence of The Son of Man.
There only The Truth will reside, and vain opinions will all be denied.

(Copyright ©01/2006)

poem by Bob Gotti
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Opinions From Them Sent

Don't let that flight in sight needed to catch,
Miss you wishing for a ride...
To clear your eyes from others tripping.
As you are kept mesmerized,
Within their grip.

Don't be afraid to tell some people quickly...
To stay out of of your business.
Since that business that you're in...
Does not accept opinions given.

Don't let that flight in sight needed to catch,
Miss you wishing for a ride...
To clear your eyes from others tripping.
As you are kept mesmerized,
Within their grip.

People always give them...
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them...
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them...
Those opinions from them sent.
And loving this they do...
To solicit arguments.

People are fuss-budgets,
Stirring up conflicts to vent.

People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
And loving this they do,
To solicit arguments.

Don't let that flight in sight needed to catch,
Miss you wishing for a ride...
To clear your eyes from others tripping.
People are fuss-budgets,
Stirring up conflicts to vent.

And...
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Everyone Have Their Opinions

Everyone have their opinions that's how it ought to be
And respect their opinions though with them you may not agree
As long as they respect human rights and a fair go for all
The difference between you and them to say the least is small.

Everyone have their opinions and no two quite the same
Even between those who are known to think alike some difference one can name
That's what makes us most interesting we all think differently
And you are very different so different to me.

Everyone have their own opinions a fact that is well known
And like 'tis said of him or her the words to each their own
To others opinions you should not react in a violent sort of a way
We must allow for difference and let them have their say.

Everyone have their opinions that fact with us remain
And as long with your opinions power over others you don't seek to gain
Though your opinions may be very different to mine
I respect your way of thinking and our difference suits me fine.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Pushing Me Away

I've lied to you
The same way that I always do
This is the last smile
That I'll fake for the sake of being with you

(Everything falls apart/Even the people who never frown/Eventually break down)
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
(Everything has to end/You'll soon find we're out of time/To watch it all unwind)
The sacrifice is never knowing

Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away

I've tried like you
To do everything you wanted too
This is the last time
I'll take the blame for the sake of being with you

(Everything falls apart/Even the people who never frown/Eventually break down)
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
(Everything has to end/You'll soon find we're out of time/To watch it all unwind)
The sacrifice is never knowing

Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
The sacrifice is never knowing
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Pushes me away

song performed by Linkin Park from Hybrid Theory
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fog, Yet Another Point Of View

Fog, Yet Another Point Of View

Near Fisherman’s Wharf, quite late at night
Tendrils of music and mist mix together
Slim young ladies and slender young men
Street musicians, with grand aspirations
Dressed a bit tattered, on lonely street corners
Used as impromptu stages
While fingers of fog probe…searching tentatively…
Testing and tasting

Self-written songs ghost into the night
Tremulous voices, hopefully singing
Few people stop, even less truly listen
Some dropping change in foam cups at their sides
All the while fog sniffs like dogs, at ankles and feet
Touching, licking, testing and tasting

Too young to truly know of their songs deep emotions
Thinking they’ve suffered already most sorrows
More mist now…then music, swirling together
Grey miasma pulling shroud over sound and
The fog slowly thickens,
like pudding congealing
Rising up, bubbling
groping and grasping. Testing and tasting

Some on their corners, in the fog, stay too long
Feral fog surrounds them and bodies dissolve
Then slowly resolve, as if undecided
whether to stay or become haze
Fog softens their sad songs, seems to pull them away
Absorbing them in it’s tentacles
Sucking and pulling, testing and tasting

Grey billows pull capes to their eyes and slink back unwillingly
To the bay as the sun slowly rises
Slowly, so slowly, as if draggiing resistant, reluctant, victims
Wrapped within it’s folds and furls
While appearing still to be
Groping and fondling, testing and tasting

The fogs final retreat, the last vestiges dissipating
Revealing hand-written, hopeful, scattered, sheet music
Strewn on a few empty corners
A few melancholy musicians less tonight
No one will miss them
The fog has found them to it’s liking
has tested and tasted…and taken

poem by David Whalen
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Opinion

Congratulations you have won
Its a years subscription of bad puns.
And it makes your story our concern
And you set it up for returns
My opinions. mmm. mmm. (x4)
And there seems to be a problem here.
Your state of emotion seems to clear.
You rise and fall like wall street stock
And you had an affect on our happy talk.
Our opinions. mmm. mmm. (x2)
My opinions. mmm. mmm. (x2)
Congratulations you have won
Its a years subscription of bad puns.
And it makes your story our concern
And you set it up for returns
Our opinions. mmm. mmm.
Your opinions. mmm. mmm. (x3)
My opinions. mmm. mmm.

song performed by Nirvana
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prejudice

IN yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square,
Just at the town's commencement, lives the mayor.
Some yards of shining gravel, fenced with box,
Lead to the painted portal--where one knocks :
There, in the left-hand parlour, all in state,
Sit he and she, on either side the grate.
But though their goods and chattels, sound and new,
Bespeak the owners very well to do,
His worship's wig and morning suit betray
Slight indications of an humbler day

That long, low shop, where still the name appears,
Some doors below, they kept for forty years :
And there, with various fortunes, smooth and rough,
They sold tobacco, coffee, tea, and snuff.
There labelled drawers display their spicy row--
Clove, mace, and nutmeg : from the ceiling low
Dangle long twelves and eights , and slender rush,
Mix'd with the varied forms of genus brush ;
Cask, firkin, bag, and barrel, crowd the floor,
And piles of country cheeses guard the door.
The frugal dames came in from far and near,
To buy their ounces and their quarterns here.
Hard was the toil, the profits slow to count,
And yet the mole-hill was at last a mount.
Those petty gains were hoarded day by day,
With little cost, for not a child had they ;
Till, long proceeding on the saving plan,
He found himself a warm, fore-handed man :
And being now arrived at life's decline,
Both he and she, they formed the bold design,
(Although it touched their prudence to the quick)
To turn their savings into stone and brick.
How many an ounce of tea and ounce of snuff,
There must have been consumed to make enough !

At length, with paint and paper, bright and gay,
The box was finished, and they went away.
But when their faces were no longer seen
Amongst the canisters of black and green ,
--Those well-known faces, all the country round--
'Twas said that had they levelled to the ground
The two old walnut trees before the door,
The customers would not have missed them more.
Now, like a pair of parrots in a cage,
They live, and civic honours crown their age :
Thrice, since the Whitsuntide they settled there,
Seven years ago, has he been chosen mayor ;
And now you'd scarcely know they were the same ;
Conscious he struts, of power, and wealth, and fame ;

[...] Read more

poem by Jane Taylor
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Like Mountains Lying Far Away And Blue

Like mountains lying far away and blue
love stays constant; it does not become common,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance

and of this there is something between you and me;
I can never gaze enough at you.
Like mountains lying far away and blue

of which the presence never fades
there is something that looks like true love,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance

that clings to every other thought,
.as something that does not want to parish.
Like mountains lying far away and blue

your humanity stays eternally true to me,
your face is continually covered with a ray of sun,
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance

and even when your tears shines like drops of dew
our love does stay eternally glamorous,
like mountains lying far away and blue
it leaves impressions in the great remembrance.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Prisma

Rainbows shine pure through spray
of drops, prismatic view
of multi-coloured hue
emerges from the grey.
What seem impressions true
tomorrow melt away.

Dawn's daily spider play
displays silk nets anew,
through diamond stranded dew
lights scintillate, breeze sway –
all things sing echo, clue
interpreting the Way.
Dew's sparkling interplay
between earth, water too,
empowers life; curfew
of night lifts, gifts relay
world’s waking wonder woo,
air slakes thirst, scorns delay.

Nature must convey
respect to dew as due,
for where its overdue
photosynthesis may
not from primaeval stew
evolve - for mammals too
no haemoglobulu.

Life offers [th]us each day
diversity where you
can rediscover new
its beauty on your way
to Paradise, - display
of nuances, each true.

So as we travel through
time’s complex interplay
perhaps impressions stay,
perhaps disperse into
new background bright and blue,
perhaps... but who can say?

How can links one mind drew
then be restated? Clay
may be remodelled, hay
cut neatly so a few
twin stems splice true, but who
may reproduce mind ray
unique of each soul’s s[t]ay?

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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At First Sight

Before false interferences twist mind,
distort perceptions caught, one ought to try
to focus clearly, spirit satisfy,
sharing impressions which should never die
while magic taps into soul’s spring to bind
one day’s events to sense. Here's underlined
empathy with which all identify,
walls fall, emotions' limitless supply.
One chance glance dance askance left half-truth, lie.

Replete with red rose, awed, decor refined,
two former strangers kismet met, good-bye
forever was forgotten as July
supplanted January on the sly.
Earth's seasons topsy-turvy turned as eye
encountered eye which rich dreams decked behind
blocks' veil to comfort karma pre-designed.
Charmed pair shared earth, air, water, fire, entwined,
rebirth freed from dearth's desert dusty, dry.
27 October 1990 revised1 7 June 1991 3 May 2005 and
0 January 2012 for previous version see below

Once in a lifetime favoured few may find
such inspiration words can’t even try
to pin down, predefine, or qualify,
limit, understate or question why,
scorn karma as coincidence or lie.
Yesterday, by more than chance, I dined
across from eyes whose energies unwind,
sensed shocks synaptic instantly defy
Time itself, felt souls electrify.

Here differences dissolved, fears undermined.
That first glance opened understanding. Blind
before ‘one’ must have been, with every tie
from gravity released, - no low, no high -
as everywhere twinned spirits teamed, naught awry.
Base substance shed, trite trammels left behind,
We walked on air, all purer felt, refined,
senses swam, consumed - hedged bets unwind -
completion's joy few mortals quantify.

The message all embraced and somehow signed
dimensions new whose rainbow hues deny
time and space, displace doubts, multiply
empathy, empowering wings to fly.
Magnified magnficence might find
its place in all, for all was redefined ~
impression that itself was heightened by
acceptance shared, that nothing could deny.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Curiosity! ! !

Curiously always on my mind as
I'm always wanting to know things
from the inside out.
Like when Jesus Christ will come back from another
Coming?
Is there really a god who created this world?
Or science was the purpose of all this?
Are human really civilized
or are we murders for the wars,
massacres, the holocaust, and genocides.
If god exists is it a man or women
or a whole another species or
better yet a spirit or a ghost?
If heaven is real will it is paradise
of what we really believe or
will we just rot in our caskets?
Curiously is not always good to be in your mind.
It just that many beliefs and miracles
leave a lot of questions in one’s mind,
but since the beliefs and miracles
are sometimes real and blissful to us
that we don’t ask questions.
Why we die?
Why do we cheat?
Why do we steal?
And why do we kill one another?
Now you see curiously can kill a man sometimes
I only wished that these questions would be answered!

poem by Compton Wright
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Medley: Pick A Bale Of Cotton / On Top Of Old Smokey / Midnight Special

Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale of cotton
Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale a day
Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale of cotton
Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
I said me and my buddy gonna pick a bale of cotton
Now me and my buddy gonna pick a bale a day
I said me and my buddy gonna pick a bale of cotton
Now me and my buddy gonna pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
On top of old Smokey
all covered with snow
I lost my true lover
by courting so slow
For courting's a pleasure
And parting is brief
and a false-hearted lover
is worse than a thief
On top of old Smokey
all covered with snow
I lost my true lover
by courting so slow
Well, you wake up in the morning
Hear the ding dong ring
You go marching to the table
See the same old thing
See the fork on the table
Nothing in your pan
If you say a thing about it
You're in trouble with the man
Let the midnight special
Shine a light on me
Let the midnight special
Shine it's everlovin' light on me
If you ever go to Houston
Well you'd better act right

[...] Read more

song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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0005 Totally Boring Poem

I’m totally bored by:

poems that sound like other poems

poems that try to sound unlike any other poems

poets who never take risks

poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets

poems with 'meaning'

poems with no meaning

poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something

poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time

poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring

poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'

poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'

poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex

poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out

poets that tell you they’ve been dumped

poets who've never known love and being dumped

poets who are ambitious

poets who are unambitious

poets who tell you all about higher things

poets who reject higher things

poets who think life’s just a joke

poets who think life’s no joke

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Poets Are Holy Hypocrites

poets are holy hypocrites;
it’s their blessing and their curse.

they sit for as long as it takes
like terriers at a foxhole

or for second-best practice,
at a rabbit-hole,

totally still, alert, all their powers
poured into attention;

what a lesson dogs
are for humans

then – a movement in
their consciousness; it could be

anything creative – a film, a poem;
and with it comes the sense

of wonder; they are as children
living in an eternal present

of the universe as gift;
they take up their pen or keyboard

and, so carefully, as they
would handle a new-born baby,

write down this spell for that it is
for the benefit of others quite unknown

and then like a christening shawl,
white, soft, handmade with love,

offer it to the world.
then some who believe its magic

read the spell, are reborn
or cured, or restored

to good health and humour
or simply have a good day

while those who don’t believe the spell,
well of course the magic doesn’t work for them

so far so very good. But then
those who aren’t into wanting spells

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Only The Brave One

Only the brave one can smile though not winning only the brave are gracious in defeat
Only the brave one though seen as successful never does show any sign of conceit
If for some reason from the Queen you do not accept a knighthood that does not prove lack of grace on your part
That only proves that you are a good person that you are one who does follow your heart
You've proved yourself in the heat of the battle and you became a hero when the war was won
It has been said that your victims were many but everyone you killed was some mother's son
Many see you as a brave ageing hero a hero once and a hero today
But I am not one who agrees with the many I look at life in a different way
On what is brave I do have my opinions but that doesn't mean my opinions are right
I've never discharged a gun at another for God or Country I never would fight
Maybe I do seem off in my opinions but that's your opinion and that suits me fine
You belong to what's known as majority thinking but are your opinions much better than mine
Only the brave one will speak for the oppressed one that's my opinion though I'm far from brave
But fear is a thing that helps me to keep living I fear the coldness of the earthy grave.

--------------------

poem by Francis Duggan
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Transparent

Treating your days like a countdown.
Seconds pass by, waiting just to blow up,
and you get nothing done,
and this is what you want.
Lost touch and,
you turn your back and your some friend.
Sterile conversation,
learn to talk a good game.
Talk your way out,
its a sure thing.
Testing the ends of what theyll put up with.
You got your chance to say what you wanted to.
But you never do,
stand up to the ones that keep you down,
now you can see right through it all.
Lost touch and,
tracing your steps you cant begin.
You cant start,
to say what your thinking and why not.
Talk your way out,
its a sure thing.
Testing the ends of what theyll put up with.
Sticking it out til you cant get up.
How many times have you been pacified?
Accepting it when youre told,
theres no way,
making sure there never will.
Sticking it out til you cant get up.
How many times have you been pacified?
Accepting it when youre told,
theres no way,
making sure there never will.
Testing the ends of what they put up with

song performed by Quicksand
Added by Lucian Velea
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Man! ...What A Bonehead!

Man…What A Bonehead!
Date: September 11,2012

Now…who's the idiot?
Finally, you've come to know what I've always known
You finally realize…with so much time gone by
And "too" much water under the bridge
What caused the rage in your soul
You played a tired song for year upon year
So fierce and hard you were…talking like a man on fire
Always goading the innocent…stirring the honey pot
Until the bees swarmed up, and you were stung
How predictable…you ran off and hid like a frightened child
Holding tight, the apron stings
You stood there coughing, sputtering…but unable to rewind the song
Or dislodge the slime caught in your throat

Oh, but you savored the flavor to the last drop
Testing, testing…always testing the waters
Until you fell through the ice and drowned yourself
And now you lay there, dead as the proverbial doornail
Holding tight, the limp memories of your desires
And wondering why you threw it all away

************************************* ********
Copyright © 2012 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved

poem by Leria Hawkins
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Middle School Mayhem

six grade, oh boy
new places, new faces
here I come middle school
busy hallways and I’m already confused
scary teachers
heavy books
I was hook
on middle school
clueless and clumsy was me
s.s. projects and foam model earths, yippy
I loved my English class
it was a bast
my pencil always glue to my hand
I play sax in the band
new found friends surround me
it filled me with glee
my whole life written in English class and middle ages fair
I won student of the year, that’s when I learned that people really care
that was my six grade mayhem
seventh grade, hooray for me
new teachers and a faster pace
I’m still here in middle school
my nevers were like rubber bands
I’m so great full my friends were always there to lend a hand
drama club was so fun
but pushcart I hated
essays and homework doubled
science projects bubbled
art was fav
and math I hated
and gym and study hall
watch out flying kick balls
went to see a great play
and the whole year was filled with busy days
French was a bore
but I always came back for more
this was the year I turned thirteen
unluck for me
I do be smart don’t start
that was a bast
that was my seventh grade mayhem
eighth grade, finally
same places and same faces
I’m almost in high school
I’m the top dog
health was a night mare
i changed my hair
drama club was cool
I was always in the high school pool
wave, study circles, and GE

[...] Read more

poem by Molly Breadcrumb
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Upwardly MobileBreasts

Upwardly mobile breasts
link together East and West,
occupying cyberspace
to tease, to please, as they unbrace -
spring feeding fantasy oppressed -
that gravity which, second-guessed,
would temper passions. These, apace,
grow, flow with honey, milk, chased chaste.

Man, mammal mammary obsessed,
manhandles, memory manifests
'I' level interest interface_
_sings [t]issues in both good, poor taste,
can't displace attention best
focused elsewhere, soul possessed
by magnet tandem ride, slim waist,

upwardly mobile, undepressed.
D stands for Double bubble laced,
succulence symetric spaced
to dot eyes until life’s digressed
by bridal bridle, dispossessed.

Upwardly mobile breasts -
down and out, or corset pressed,
pear or apple pair set pace.
Fancy free, corset compressed
holding out or, on request,
outstanding assets in life's quest.
'Eye...cons' which, since time, showcased,
imagination ever graced.

Man, mental midget, seems impressed
by mammoth mountains, curves which crest
from chest to rib-cage, touching base
with fancy's fables few detest.
Fun bags balloon 'bove Everest,
peak projections never rest,
[c]rush hour preoccupations taste
angst lest dream disintegrates.

Upwardly mobile breasts -
in the pink, admired with zest, -
swift soar above the commonplace,
'To wit' says one, 'To woo I'll case
the joint to free restraints! ' 'Obsessed! '
replies the other, 'feathered nest.'
Some, spread, taut drawn to taunt Time's haste,
lest silly cones should run to waste.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Life From The Lifeless

Spirits and illusions have died,
The naked mind lives
In the beauty of inanimate things.

Flowers wither, grass fades, trees wilt,
The forest is burnt;
The rock is not burnt.

The deer starve, the winter birds
Die on their twigs and lie
In the blue dawns in the snow.

Men suffer want and become
Curiously ignoble; as prosperity
Made them curiously vile.

But look how noble the world is,
The lonely-flowing waters, the secret-
Keeping stones, the flowing sky.

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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