Quotes about loft, page 3
A Folder
While lifting a folder
from a box of papers
I had stored up in the loft
several loose pages fell out
and landed at my feet.
As I lifted them,
I saw much to my surprise
that they were half a dozen poems
I had written twenty years ago
and forgotten all about.
As I quickly flicked
through the folder
it became clear to me
that there was about fifty other poems
buried within I had forgotten about.
I’ve put the folder to one-side
to sort through it when I have more time.
Then I can rediscover
what I was writing
more than twenty years ago.
[...] Read more
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet- The Bedeviled World
How people change their principles so oft!
How Wolves in sheepskin dressed can kill the flock!
How stooping low can many persons loft!
To crow these days, forgotten has the Cock!
How people speak unnaturally for gain!
How decibels turn soft to achieve things!
How people form a nexus and can feign!
How righteous souls are given just Bee-stings!
The present world just suits the wily lot;
They enjoy life until comes their downfall;
The honest lot is given the back-slot!
How much on swampy ground can bounce a ball?
The present world favors the corrupt folk;
But Egg must have both albumin and yolk!
poem by John Celes
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Love Sonnet 156 If Angels Fall In Love, Will They, Too, Cry?
If angels fall in love, will they, too, cry?
When utterly naive on how things go,
When not required to pass, by ways they shy,
Nor privy to the bliss, that fools would know;
Torments would accentuate the feel of joys,
As peaks loft best, viewed from a well so deep;
The vagaries that love so oft employs,
Makes for the bittersweets that hearts may keep;
Lord please, an angel make of me, not yet,
As heart still dreams, and arms still yearn to hold,
For might in Heaven, I can't still forget,
Her wondrous sights that beckon to behold;
......An angel that I'll be with anywhere,
......And any place turns Eden, once she's there.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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I Pray as I Prey
The First Glimpse of this radiant creature, unraveled mind's clarity
Enchanted fairy tale innocence, God's miracle gift, 'tis rarity
My Heavens opened, likening the world stage parting the red sea
Innocence so lovely Angel's sang chorus of my heart felt melody
Curled flowing raven locks, fall upon the shoulders bare
Complexion pure perfection child fair beyond compare
God's wrath of brimstone and fire, does not extinguish this secret desire
After Midnight Mass in the loft young Squire, who sings in the Churches Choir
Parishioners have no scent or smell, stained by the Priest Demon Knave
For behind closed door, he hold's them in bondage, as Master is to Slave.
poem by Robert Anthony
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Thirsting Water
fine
as a river, so deep
twig in the carousel of fountain,
drifted to the shore of safety,
where other may hide the
crystal pure water ready to drink
of what might be the truth to believe
and live for today
whistle
the setting sun, the premium
of the humid
flesh touches my skin, like sweating lips
of loft for a new taste of honey bee
lies in the mother’s breast
I always pray
turn around
and let the cup of sweet droplets
of water
[...] Read more
poem by Antonio Liao
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The Place of Forgotten Memories
For years I’ve put odds and sods up into the roof space,
like old books, photographs, and the odd vase.
When my parents died I also put their memorabilia up there,
and now my loft holds many memories from over the years.
My grandson ventured up there and came down with a photograph,
he asked me why his picture was not in colour, and I began to laugh.
Of course it wasn’t him in the photograph it was his great granddad,
the resemblance was uncanny, which made me kind of sad.
The picture of my granddad was taken at the age of nine,
the same age as my grandson at this particular time.
I remember my granddad well especially in his later years,
and seeing him in my grandson fills me with tears.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Summer Sun
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Already Dies.
After the service
at the church
on Sunday morning
in 1962
she and you
leaving the choir
and she taking your hand
in hers and staying behind
until the others had gone
she kisses your lips
and the echo
of the organ’s drone
silent and the smell
of her mother’s
[...] Read more
poem by Terry Collett
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Take me to your hearts!
Give me some space for me to be safe,
Nowhere else, but in your tiny hearts,
I will make it as gorgeous as it should be,
I will keep it clean as the sky above the clouds,
Where stars and satellites have their routes,
Overhauling not needed as it will be maintained,
I may make it to run as fast as it can,
Without anything but my presence,
I may make it a pleasant place,
For the guests to arrive and enjoy,
I may make you all well kept,
The rest of your generations to loft,
Strip yourselves naked, leaving all tying,
Send the notes, scribbled with lying,
To be discarded to have the serenity,
Let us make love without fear and doubts,
Let us kiss, until our knees go strong,
Let us have babies that speak of wisdom,
The knowledge of modern human is in the rostrum.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Faith in All Its Irony
Faith..........., it may begin
as the hallmark of lunacy. For
who could find solace in that which lies
not a rhyme or reason written in stone?
Trust in this substance should I, that which,
from only a mustard seed,
magically becomes path clear
of stubborn anguish and
mental debris?
Hitherto have not the gifted minds
of grafted men delved deeply enough
seeking, desiring the discovery of but a
single hole for which to reach through and turn faith
inside out and in respect of their magnanimity can
one not profer reason enough to
sow fears within?
Perhaps we may find that what
[...] Read more
poem by Bryan E. DeYoung
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