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Words Are Cheap

Words are cheap.
Can cheapen and demean.
Meaningless they flow
Flow as cheap wine
And as sour,
They have bitter taste,
Bitter as gall,
And as galling.
Spat out rat a tat tat
They fall from rancid mouths,
dropp on to barren soil.
Ah words they can slide slowly with care,
Red and fleshy from honeyed lips.
The serpent tongued temptress
Who drips poison in the ear.
Words shouted from the chorus
The strident clamour of the crowed.
The swelling cheer that vibrates the bone.
The chatter of those who fear silence
Who fill the passing hour with endless words.

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poem by Paul Brookes
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That One Special Night

this is my day,
don't stand in my way,
nothing getting to me,
i know who i am,
and i know what i want,
don't give me your $#it,
because i'm not taking it,
it's my chance to shine,
so just get behind,
watch as i burt out,
letting people see who i am,
because it's a side,
they were dying to see,
a confident girl,
who going to be all that she can,
a sweet girl,
you want to fall in love with,
but, she's just something you can't have,
she knows what shes worth,
so don't cheapen her,

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poem by Mona Martinez
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The Awakening.

Kaleidoscoping from dark to the light,
My heart needed to be reigned in tighter.

To ricochet in some swaying rope-dance
From somnolence to wanton dalliance
Was recipe for every mental ailment.
So seeng life should not be thus, my intent
Was not to cheapen but to value days.

My heart must have a holiday, not lazy
Or recreational, - - transcendental
It would then capitulate, see essential
Harmony in peace. A sabbatical
With silence would not be too radical.

Giving time to time with pressures lost
In present moment would not prove costly
A secret anniversary - - - with Me.
Some spot within where I could dream, freely.

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poem by Fay Slimm
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The elusion of words

The elusion of words
~
I wish to say
Those words which elude me
Those I sometimes forget to say
Or I find to frightening to speak
I may misuse those words
Allow them to betray my tongue
And live with that regret
~
I do not wish to cheapen them
In saying you are beautiful
That I love you deeply
I fear they may become clichés
That you discount them
As mere polite conversations
~
How may I express myself
To reveal the truth of my soul
Frightened by the idea of loss

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poem by Matthew Holloway
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That's Real

What's profound in a relationship
Is pure unadulterated honesty
You love the other person so much

That it hurts.

Or are you so unrelated to who you really are?
That you refuse to be true to the real situation?

But if so that's no consolation
Concerning one's obligation.
Your obligation is to self

Not anyone else.
As humans we were created
(PERFECT) ...what happen?

A woman became a raw toy
For that raw boy,

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poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Footnote to a famous poem

You all know it from the classroom.
It’s in all the anthologies.
Many say it’s his best; ‘a young man’s poem’
full of life and love and promise;
and short too. His long poems,
they’re great but few have the patience now
and who cares about Poet Laureates
when they’re out of fashion?

It never appeared, did you know,
in his lifetime. Sat in his desk drawer,
a single poem in a fine Italian leather folder.
His wife left it there after he died;
remembering when he’d sent it to her
the night before their marriage; she caught him
once, sitting there, an old man reading
a young man’s poem; closed the door quietly,
said nothing.

They cleared the house after she died.

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poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Enfranchised Slaves to Their Benefactress

Oh, blessings on thee, lady! we could lie
Down at thy feet, in our deep gratitude,
And give ourselves to die,
So thou could'st be made happier by our blood;
Yet life has never seem'd so dear as now,
That we may lift a free, unbranded brow.

In the deep silence of the starry night,
Our lips shall call down blessings on thy head;
And the first gush of light,
That in its splendour o'er the world is spread,
Shall view us bow'd in prayer, that life may be
A calm and sunny day of joy for thee.

Free! free!—how glorious 't is to lift an eye,
Unblenching beneath infamy and shame,
To the blue boundless sky,
And feel each moment from our hearts, the tame
Dull pulses of our vileness pass away,
Like sluggish mists before the rising day.

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poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
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Latter-Day Liar

Ah, the beautiful Latter-Day liar,
Whose fallacious failings continue to draw my ire!
Pray tell, what is the rhyme or the reason
For the world of lies, that serve as her heart's treason?
Apparently, it eases her mind and the burden of her guilt,
To leave the Truth out in the Sun, to wither and wilt, -
And not allow Adam's Ale to continue to nourish it?
Why would she ever want Truth to flourish? ! It
Is surely I who is facetious, yet this point I make:
Why would she ever want to cheapen or forsake
What not even she could possibly deny-
And live a life that is an Unholy Lie! ?
Now so far from reality's base,
She continues to disregard and deface
Both, God's Divine Laws and those of our land-
And has broken one of the Laws that God Himself, doth Command:
'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neigbor';
Did she forget this one-or perhaps, she forgot her way! ? For,
All who have paid attention along the way,
Know that she has chosen to cower, from that day

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poem by Maurice Harris
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The Pro-Consuls

The overfaithful sword returns the user
His heart's desire at price of his heart's blood.
The clamour of the arrogant accuser
Wastes that one hour we needed to make good.
This was foretold of old at our outgoing;
This we accepted who have squandered, knowing,
The strength and glory of our reputations,
At the day's need, as it were dross, to guard
The tender and new-dedicate foundations
Against the sea we fear -- not man's award.

They that dig foundations deep,
Fit for realms to rise upon,
Little honour do they reap
Of their generation,
Any more than mountains gain
Stature till we reach the plain.

With noveil before their face
Such as shroud or sceptre lend --

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Collected Poems (1994)

Lying in bed this morning, just a year
Since our first days, I was trying to assess -
Against my natural caution - by desire
And how the fact outdid it, my happiness:
And finding the awkwardness of keeping clear
Numberless flamingo thoughts and memories,
My dear and dearest husband, in this kind
Of rambling letter, I'll disburse my mind.
Technical problems have always given me trouble:
A child stiff at the fiddle, my ear had praise
And my intention only; so, as was natural,
Coming to verse, I hid my lack of ease
By writing only as I thought myself able,
Escaped the crash of the bold by salt originalities.
This is one reason for writing far from one's heart;
A better is, that one fears it may be hurt.
By an inadequate style one fears to cheapen
Glory, and that it may be blurred if seen
Through the eye's used centre, not the new margin.
It is the hardest thing with love to burn

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poem by Anne Barbara Ridler
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