Poetry

A fast death occurred
ripping apart perceptions
once clearly steadfast

Futile to amend
the misconception realized
for the truth it is

A sad sacrifice
with no redemption in sight
caused a vacuum

A hard lesson learned
never to be forgotten
in the jarred essence

2007-09-09 17:11:53 · 11 answers · asked by Marguerite 7

2007-09-09 16:04:30 · 3 answers · asked by Anonymous

(It's a few lines too long for the alloted space so please wait for the rest of it to appear in the 'Details' under it before you trash it.)

WISE MEN, INDEED!


Wise, indeed, were those three old farts,
two thousand years ago, I'm told,
who were led by the Star to that
little town.

But when the
Holy Light guided them into
the stable they found Robert and
Joanna holding their child, The
Chosen One.

First with awe,
then amazement, then sad refrain,
the Three Wise Men withdrew (taking
their gold and frankincense) onto
the street to
hold council.

"How can it
be that He
is a She?"
each asked simultaneously.
"The ramifications alone
would set Mankind back ten thousand
years," old Henry replied with
heavy heart.

"Anoint a girl?"

"Girls become
grown women."

"Worry not,"
good Thurman proclaimed, acting the
wisest, "for I have heard that in
a manger down the street a nice
young couple have just been blessed with
a new son.

2007-09-09 16:00:21 · 8 answers · asked by Doc Watson 7

We No Longer Play Catch (In The Yard) (sexual abuse)






Dippin' my toe in
against my will
Just seven years old,
to him such a thrill

How I really miss
being a kid
As a toddler,
a child
before seven hit

and we no longer
play catch
(in the yard)

Just the thought of it
now, whisky and smoke
Being felt through the night time
Lord I'd invoke

How I really miss
being a kid
All the fun things
that Dad and
I did

and we no longer
play catch
(in the yard)

Coercing young victims
against my will
Just seven years old,
to me such a thrill

How I really miss
my pure innocence
As a toddler,
a child
before seven hit

and we no longer
play catch
(in the yard)

2007-09-09 15:17:04 · 14 answers · asked by ? 3

THE VALUE OF THE MIND, SIMPLIFIED

How about the conceptualization of
intra psychic structures? For fun?

Balderdash, say you? Tennis, anyone?

Tennyson, anyone? Not keen on Lord Alfred?
Can't say I blame you. Being long dead
might just explain why he's under-read.

While starlets and scalawags share a bed
true genius seldom keeps the family fed.

Stephen Hawking taps his fingers to the beat
of Coleman Hawkins, while his quarks collide
with grand octaves - music and math glorified.

One bled this from his soul.
The other one just knows.

While there is no correlation between creativity
and financial gain, both provide their rewards.

The trick is in choosing
what the spirit can afford.

How much is one willing to give up to ensure
either smugness of mind or stock options galore?

How readily do we barter the soul?
And when we do what's left to show?

And when all is said and done
who dictates who really won?

(Yes, I wrote this drivel.)

2007-09-09 15:12:06 · 11 answers · asked by Doc Watson 7

Angelic One...





For Samuel Michael (it spells his name down the side)


Written By A. H. Shadow Rai’
A.K.A. Lisa P. A. Brown



Samuel Michael,
so God like indeed
Angelic one God has
sent forth to me
Miraculous deeds
in the future I see
Unassumingly gallant,
a most unique breed
Everlasting your love is
and shall always be
Living life to the fullest
in purest of heed
Masquerading among us,
a clever young tike
Innovative, a leader
foreseeing his plights
Channeling family and friends,
sealing bonds tight
Helping those much less fortunate
deal in their strife
Angelic one God hath
brightened my life
Eccentric, mold broken,
future young and a wife
Lovingly excepted
as God
opens the sky.....

2007-09-09 15:01:43 · 6 answers · asked by ? 3

as i lay in my bed restlessly
not knowing when my mind will give up
about thinking o the long day at work and school
not knowing what time it is
i am truly wrapped around by this lonly night of ours,
winds coming from every direction
bringing their own sorrows,
i ask this night
and the lonely moon
where is my love
that im about to speak of
is she truly there waiting for me
as i am truly here.
...to be continued...
how is this...i know this is horrible
but do i show signs of a poet

2007-09-09 14:17:12 · 6 answers · asked by Anonymous

i read the poem , but i do not know what the theme of the poem is . help please ?

2007-09-09 13:09:49 · 3 answers · asked by please call me angela 2

Super-Natural
-----

Bird on a blast of coke
Clear amid all the smoke
Our mutual gaze slows down time
Pass judgment on friend of foe

Ignorant to secrets you hide
Ignorance and bliss as you fly
Maturing our minds is a crime
When slapped and spat on from high

Curiosity sought evolution
Fungus offered solutions
Awareness, a gained compromise
Gave meaning to good and gruesome

Talk spheres to stick men on paper
Old man takes a child and rapes her
The victims are never the wise
Wake now or be put to sleep later

Empowered when blood is spilled
Demons confused with your guilt
Everything returning full circle
When identical life is built

Adolescent humanity grows
Respect and unity flows
Mother is eternally fertile
As only God and I know

2007-09-09 07:35:14 · 4 answers · asked by The King in Yellow 1

My love wrote this poems for me. We love each other for 3 years. We are separated because we are in different countries. He is now moving on with his future and I am moving on too.

However, I just want to know whether he loves me or not.
He wrote over 30 poems about me, but he never told me--"He loves me"

Thank you...


Prisons
Category: Writing and Poetry
Men create thier own prisons
With the novelty of unimportant ideas
And they keep themselves locked and uphappy
For something that never was, is, or could be

***********************


A Sun
Category: Writing and Poetry
If I could remember all at once
All the moments I'd rather forget
I'd probably think twice 'fore all
And sinking quickly behind the clouds
My sun would set.
But life is too short for mulling reservation
And most of those days have passed
So we are what we've done, both the good and the bad.
Riding bare as a sun hits its highest
Me and my fierce ambition have arrived
At last

2007-09-09 06:40:46 · 5 answers · asked by Hope 4

i wrote it like 3 years ago

my love
why did you have to leave
all alone on the damp tile floor
with memories of you in my head
all i need is to feel your touch again
all you said to me was its over
never an explanation of what i did wrong
you were my entire life
now it seems as if a part of me is missing
but now i have to move on with my life
it will be a very hard journey
when you love someone so very much
a love like this is hard to let go
but i will make it
my love

this is not from personal experience

2007-09-09 06:18:38 · 13 answers · asked by on and on we go 3

I'm wondering if anybody has a website that has good poetry; poetry that really means something. Poetry that really speaks to you.
The url would be great. Thanks! [:

2007-09-09 06:01:37 · 3 answers · asked by Anonymous

I want 2 write a poem but I can't think of a subject to write about though. Please help me with this. Don't put any rude answers down because I will report you!!!

2007-09-09 03:50:18 · 6 answers · asked by Sexi Lightskin 1

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.
As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? a
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: b
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, a
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, c
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; d
And every fair from fair sometime declines, c
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; d
But thy eternal summer shall not fade e
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; f
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, e
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: f

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, g
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. g

2007-09-09 03:46:35 · 2 answers · asked by MM 1

When I die will you miss me
Will you remember those times you used to kiss me
Will you think back to long ago
When you and me would play in the snow
Will you want to hold me tight
Like you used to every single night
Will you forget everything I said
Or will you stay up late and cry in bed
Will you try to find someone to blame
Because you know things will never be the same
When I die will you be sad
Or thank God for everything we had?

2007-09-09 03:36:33 · 8 answers · asked by fdffhhjyuj 1

no stupid or funny one's please.

2007-09-09 02:34:42 · 3 answers · asked by Anonymous

I'll wait

walking through,
the depths of darkness,
all alone,
empty inside.

i continue to walk,
reminiscing-
remembering the times,
we had together.

droplets of clear, salty water,
rushed down my face,
as a picture of you,
flashed through my mind.

you're long gone,
i know that,
i understand that,
but my heart still refuses.

My mind is saying:
"Move on."
But my heart says:
"I'll wait."

going deeper into darkness,
i couldn't bear it.
I need you,
I miss you.

impossible-i know,
i hate that thought.
i'll do anything.
cut myself?-i'll do it for you.

crimson red blood,
flowed out from my wrist,
i need to be with you.
i'm sorry, i love you.

as i close my eyes,
to sleep an eternal sleep,
a bright light from above,
refused to let me go.

i woke up from my slumber,
gazed at the shining stars,
I'll wait for you,
I promise I'll do.

2007-09-09 01:52:14 · 5 answers · asked by Anonymous

Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.
For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,- a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.

2007-09-08 23:53:46 · 1 answers · asked by Dr Ask 1

Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.
For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,- a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.

2007-09-08 23:52:23 · 3 answers · asked by Dr Ask 1

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

2007-09-08 23:49:42 · 2 answers · asked by Dr Ask 1

Moonlight Radiance

As i sit in my couch with only the moonlight to light me,
I wonder when the void will ever set me free,
Drowned in the pool of my imaginations,
looking intently at death's cruel intentions

I feel drained, powerless and exhausted
the chains that bind me hold hard without mercy
I feel like a dog, never tamed, never fed
not a single morsel of bread around so you see

Only the moonlight keeps me awake
in this shadow and its cruel stake
I feel my death is nearing, laughing, scoffing, thirsty for a fight
The eternal bliss i will never feel underneath the moonlight

Its radiance gives me life
and the power to end this cruel strife
I feel that i may never return
under my moonlight radiance that i call my home

2007-09-08 23:20:54 · 9 answers · asked by Canis 1

Autum enters with harvest color leaves
Leaving trees with warm colors behind
The shape of the sun with a tint of the color
Loving the fruit so juicy and sweet
Its the color of the sunrise
that awakes me every day
It just shines upon my face
Looking at pumpkins on Halloween day
or eating sweet potatoe on thanksgiving fest
This colors all ovet as long as you look
So beautiful and Bright
it keeps my smile just right
as long as its in sight
Pittsburg High wears it proudly
Leaving no shame we yell it loudly
When basketball season comes
They all stay "BALLIN!"

2007-09-08 18:26:50 · 5 answers · asked by Anonymous

once there was a girl,
in a paradise she created,
contented with life,
happy and free.

another day of laughter,
another day of fun,
another day of freedom,
another day of love.

little did she know,
a conspiracy was taking place,
creatures from the underworld,
longed for her destruction.

they hated her smile,
they hated everything happy.
with so much hatred they have,
they became one with it.

"flash" goes the lightning,
thunders go "boom",
as rain started to pour,
they planned for her doom.

she was caught off guard,
they know her weakness,
so they destroyed her love ones,
and everything she cared for.

her paradise was shattered,
everything was lost,
she couldn't help but weep,
for her heart is torn.

the creatures rejoiced,
their mission completed,
no longer was there,
a shimmer in her eye.

she has now lost..
her ability to love,
her ability to be happy,
her ability to hope..

it now depends on her,
on what path to take,
to fight or not,
to give life to what's lost...

2007-09-08 17:53:56 · 4 answers · asked by Anonymous

can someone please help me with analyzing sylvia plath's poem metaphors?
i mean, i understand it and everything but i want to know if the poem uses movement (rhythm and rhyme) and if it has any sound & sensory devices and how that all links to the meaning of the poem.
thank uu <3

2007-09-08 17:12:53 · 2 answers · asked by Anonymous

2007-09-08 14:58:10 · 2 answers · asked by im4psu779 1

An Angel on earth indeed I have found
For my heart with your eyes in a second you've bound
So much do you care and with all of your love
But where does it go
Frail like a dove
Yet mighty in spirit - an intent resolve
A mystery to me
And my kingdom to solve
May kingdom be empty I do have my soul
So that will I bear if only to know
Okay
Hurtful and tearing your core
Does that fit?
Hope
Perplexed and much more
Oh my God I can't fix it
To give you the peace that I once tasted
Though I glimpse the peace now and feel my life has been wasted
But for more than a time - to you from now on
I know not when it left me
Just that it's gone
Only in our brief time I wouldn't be me without you
A beginning you gave me
So sweet and so new
You are stunning - unspeakable
I look in your eyes and go blank
I wouldn't be me and it is you that I thank

2007-09-08 14:57:05 · 3 answers · asked by acesfourpal 4

Mine has been absent for several days now and I’m starting to get worried. I tried calling the FBI but the guy on the phone just laughed and said they had better things to do. I tried Homeland Security but all they were interested in was what nationality she was and what religion she belonged to. When I said I wasn’t sure they hung up.

Any suggestions on how to locate a wayward muse?

What has worked for you?

2007-09-08 14:09:40 · 7 answers · asked by Doc Watson 7

I'm doing a poetry analysis for language and i can't decide whether it is a slant rhyme or true rhyme. Thanks for your help.

2007-09-08 13:29:56 · 3 answers · asked by Anonymous

I've thought of some:

tide
wave
zephyr
gentle wind
caress
mist

but I need more. Suggestions?

2007-09-08 09:00:01 · 4 answers · asked by Live-Creatively.com 2

pls help me out here i need to write a poem on the them that is sex. but i do not know if i can simply just write a love poem...any ideas. anything u can share will be an honor. plssss

2007-09-08 08:09:25 · 3 answers · asked by Anonymous