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Quotes about A message in a poem

Turn Your Lights Down Low

(with Bob Marley)
[Bob Marley]
Turn your lights down low
And pull your window curtain
Oh let the moon come shining in
Into our life again
Saying ooh, it's been a long, long time
(Lauryn- Long, long time)
I got this message for you girl
But it seems I was never on time
Did I wanna get through to you girl?
On time, on time
I want to give you some love
I want to give you some good, good loving
Oh I, oh I, oh I
Yeah I want to give you some good, good loving
[Lauryn Hill]
Turn your lights down low
Never ever try to resist, oh no
Let your love come shining in

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A poem conveys not a message so much as the provenance of a message, an advent of sense.

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(Love&Freindship Poem) A Dances Reflection

I can be only certain of one thing.
That is of you.
A friend to treasure.
A friend forever.
Let this be the message I deliver.
A folded up letter with a perfect signature.
Let it show you my dedication.
Let it show you my infatuation.
Above all let it remind you that no matter where you go.
Somethings can not be easily forgotten.
With wings and some grace, I'll tip toe all the way to your place.
Just to see your smiling face.
Just to strike up a conversation where we left off.
Oh yeah now where was I?
To help you when your in need.
Listen as the delicate butterfly sings.
Does he sound so bad?
Does he kinda look sad?
If you think for a moment I'll give what I have, for you.
Know that I do everyday.

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(Murder Poem) Shades Of Black

No empathy, no remorse, no recourse in my actions.
All I see is things in shades of black.
I was abandon as a child.
I'm alone as a man.
The goodness of the damned.
Oh how I wish I had a plan.
Something set in stone.
With many regrets I walk this life feeling like a reject.
A failure all on my own.
I don't need no help from you never did.

No empathy, no remorse, no recourse in my actions.
All I see is things in shades of black.
Their is poison in the water.
Their is treachery afoot.
Oh Oh just come look.
The blood has been spilt and they have no clue I did it you.
I don't even care if they did.
I'll take as many I can.
When everything has gone so wrong.

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(Writer Poem) As The Poem I Write

Sometimes a comment is just not what is needed.
Neither is going back to the drawing board.
Corrections must be made.
I've made so many on my own trust me.
I take pride in everything I write.
So I'm constantly inspecting, and words I'm always injecting.
Hmm, that just doesn't sound right.
I can hear every word I type in my own voice.
I'm speaking through my mind.
Through the waves of time.
In a private message I will make suggestions to those who are not disciplined when it comes even to capitalization
I will make only tiny suggestions for it is theirs.
They must reread it and reread it.
One must edit his own work after the thoughts are complete.
Trying to make them nice and neat.
The eyes begin to blur and then it is time to take a break.
Time away.
Time to gather ones thoughts for another day.
Time is all one needs to create a window which will open up and lead into their world.
Everyone is unique and all of its own.

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The Mosque Of Cordoba

The succession of day and night
Is the architect of events.
The succession of day and night
Is the fountain-head of life and death.
The succession of day and night
Is a two-tone silken twine,
With which the Divine Essence
Prepares Its apparel of Attributes.

The succession of day and night
Is the reverberation of the symphony of
Creation.
Through its modulations, the Infinite
demonstrates
The parameters of possibilities.

The succession of day and night
Is the touchstone of the universe;
Now sitting in judgement on you,
Now setting a value on me.

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Dear all poem lovers

Dear all

Thanks a lot to you for having chosen to read this. I know very well that as a poem lover, you will be a nature lover too. You will also appreciate that all of us need to turn environment-friendly for sustenance and continuance of our very existence.

This is not a poem or poetic impression, but a request to you to contribute your bit on the occasion of World Environment Day, which falls on 5th June 2010 (for that matter each year) .

This year let us observe, rather not celebrate, World Environment Day.

Let us resolve to restrict the use of all natural non-renewable resources, especially the fuel resource.

As a sequel to this resolution, let us undertake a walk for at least 15 minutes anytime between 8.00 am and 10.00 am on 5th June 2010, a Saturday. We will walk with a pinned up message as shown below

WALK
YOUR
WAY
TODAY
WORLD
ENVIRONMENT
DAY

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The Poem of Zuhair

'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa?

'And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist?

'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place.

'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile.

'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool.

'And when I recognized the encampment I said to its site, 'Now good morning, oh spot; may you be safe from dangers.'

'Look, oh my friend! do you see any women traveling on camels, going over the high ground above the stream of Jurthum?

'They have covered their howdahs with coverlets of high value, and with a thin screen, the fringes of which are red, resembling blood.

'And they inclined toward the valley of Soobán, ascending the center of it, and in their faces were the fascinating looks of a soft-bodied person brought up in easy circumstances;

'They arose early in the morning and got up at dawn, and they went straight to the valley of Rass as the hand goes unswervingly to the mouth, when eating.

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In the Loop

I heard from people after the shootings. People
I knew well or barely or not at all. Largely
the same message: how horrible it was, how little
there was to say about how horrible it was.
People wrote, called, mostly e-mailed
because they know I teach at Virginia Tech,
to say, there’s nothing to say. Eventually
I answered these messages: there’s nothing
to say back except of course there’s nothing
to say, thank you for your willingness
to say it. Because this was about nothing.
A boy who felt that he was nothing,
who erased and entered that erasure, and guns
that are good for nothing, and talk of guns
that is good for nothing, and spring
that is good for flowers, and Jesus for some,
and scotch for others, and “and” for me
in this poem, “and” that is good
for sewing the minutes together, which otherwise
go about going away, bereft of us and us

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Music Is Our Special Reserve

Think of a song without any tune,
It's like a forest without any birds,
Think of our Earth without the Moon,
Or a poem without any words.

We all know a song we love to hate,
Yet when heard it can still make us sing,
That's the power of music we just cannot wait,
To feel the joy those lyrics can bring.

We all have classics which forever remain,
As a memory which we'll never forget,
Is it lyrics or melody, the happiness or pain,
It can be joy or perhaps even regret.

The written word can and will cause you grief,
You will find some can also unnerve,
On the other hand song can bring such relief,
‘' Music Is Our Special Reserve ''

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