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  #1  
Old 01-23-11, 04:26 AM
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share poems, share poems

An eye is meant to see things.
The soul is here for its own joy.
A head has one use: for loving a true lover.
Legs: to run after.
Love is for vanishing into the sky. The mind,
for learning what men have done and tried to do.
Mysteries are not to be solved. The eye goes blind
when it only wants to see why.
A lover is always accused of something.
But when he finds his love, whatever was lost
in the looking comes back completely changed.
On the way to Mecca, many dangers: thieves,
the blowing sand, only camelís milk to drink.
Still each pilgrim kisses the black stone there
with pure longing, feeling in the surface
the taste of the lips he wants.
This talk is like stamping new coins. They pile up,
while the real work is done outside
by someone digging in the ground
(Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi, Mesnavi)
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  #2  
Old 01-23-11, 04:59 AM
LaVieEnRose LaVieEnRose is offline
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Re: share poems, share poems

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)
I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root
and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) - E E Cummings

---------

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. -Shakespeare Sonnet 116
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  #3  
Old 01-23-11, 05:00 AM
LaVieEnRose LaVieEnRose is offline
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Re: share poems, share poems

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
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  #4  
Old 01-23-11, 05:07 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems

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  #5  
Old 01-23-11, 05:11 AM
LaVieEnRose LaVieEnRose is offline
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Re: share poems, share poems

Last two.. I promise! (Well maybe)
---
The Oak Tree by Johnny Jay Ryder Jr.

A mighty wind blew night and day
It stole the oak tree's leaves away
Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark
Until the oak was tired and stark

But still the oak tree held its ground
While other trees fell all around
The weary wind gave up and spoke.
How can you still be standing Oak?

The oak tree said, I know that you
Can break each branch of mine in two
Carry every leaf away
Shake my limbs, and make me sway

But I have roots stretched in the earth
Growing stronger since my birth
You'll never touch them, for you see
They are the deepest part of me

Until today, I wasn't sure
Of just how much I could endure
But now I've found, with thanks to you
I'm stronger than I ever knew

--------

The Race by D.H. Groberg

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure's face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children's race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn't hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy's desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought "My dad will be so proud."

But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he'd win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.

As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn't win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, "Get up and win that race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that's all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.

He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn't try to race."
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father's face
with a steady look that said again, "Get up and win that race!"

So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
"If I'm to gain those yards," he thought, "I've got to run real fast!"
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.

Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
"There's no sense running anymore! Three strikes I'm out! Why try?
I've lost, so what's the use?" he thought. "I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he'd have to face.

"Get up," an echo sounded low, "you haven't lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!" the echo urged him on, "Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!"

So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he'd ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.

Three times he'd fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.

But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he'd won the race, to listen to the crowd.

And to his dad he sadly said, "I didn't do so well."
"To me, you won," his father said. "You rose each time you fell."
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.

For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, "Get up and win that race!"
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  #6  
Old 01-23-11, 05:13 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems

This is totally the thread to aggressively take over LaVie! ^^

I mean post on!
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  #7  
Old 01-23-11, 05:20 AM
LaVieEnRose LaVieEnRose is offline
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Re: share poems, share poems

Ah, Mignon, that post was exquisite! Keep 'em coming!
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  #8  
Old 01-23-11, 05:22 AM
Tommy Wilhelm Tommy Wilhelm is offline
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Re: share poems, share poems


Solar by Philip Larkin

Suspended lion face
Spilling at the centre
Of an unfurnished sky
How still you stand,
And how unaided
Single stalkless flower
You pour unrecompensed.

The eye sees you
Simplified by distance
Into an origin,
Your petalled head of flames
Continuously exploding.
Heat is the echo of your
Gold.

Coined there among
Lonely horizontals
You exist openly.
Our needs hourly
Climb and return like angels.
Unclosing like a hand,
You give for ever.


[Great idea for a thread!]
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  #9  
Old 01-23-11, 05:50 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems

Who makes these changes?

I shoot an arrow right, it lands left

I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog

I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison

I dig pits to trap others
And I fall in

I should be suspicious of what I want

JM Rumi

13th century (?)

translated by Coleman Barks
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  #10  
Old 01-23-11, 09:27 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems

hmm, ill just post the collection of my personal favourites that i've written:


Ode to art

emotion reflected in vivid colours
spread across a canvas sheet
artist's perspective of life
portrayed in a beautiful work

harmonious notes fill a room,
musicians sorrows and joys,
dreams and disappointments
formed into melody, sculpted into song

tears and ink,
laughter and paper,
words painted to flow
as the poet reflects

Art of many forms,
artists of countless disciplines
each one creating unique beauty
that looks deeply into the hearts of men

feel what they feel,
experience their pain,
take pleasure in their joys,
but never take them for granted,
for without them our world would be
a very boring place

Horrid creature of my mind

Horrid creature of my mind,
how you hound me in the day
and elude me in the night.

in your hands is great power,
you can take me to places ive never been,
show me things ive never seen.
you can make my life hell,
kill my focus,
disable productivity

sleep, you horrid creature of my mind,
how you stalk me in the day
yet evade me in the night

when sought, you are no where to be found,
when needed, you're never profound
Yet when your not welcome,
you will sneak into my soul,
grip controll of my body,
and dull my mind

sleep, oh you evil creature of my mind
if I didnt need you, you wouldve been gone long ago

Of moments thoughts and actions
Moments spent in thought,
A solitary world inside my mind.
Infinite possibilities and dreams are caught

Reality strikes,
dreams are weighed against humanities flaws,
suddenly the amazing world falls to shreds,
each dream, each possibility, falls through the floors

life is examined,
people observed,
pointless it seems,
is it deserved?

A man stands out,
his purpose found,
moments treasured to become more profound

moments spent in thought,
and a realization of thoughts turned to action
so infinite possibilities and dreams can be caught


Nature's war

Bright orange army
marching,
destruction in it's
path.

It consumes the weak,
feeds on the withered.
The forest, is its fuel

flames stand tall
the power is felt.
no man, dare approach.

darkness falls,
the battle begins...
a few soft drops
fall, they are consumed

the dark grey clouds,
press hard into the assault.
cold wet drops fall
into the fiery force

soon,
only embers remain,
the wounded forest
tells the story,
of a battle fought...
and a war, that never ends.

Serenity


I sit serenely
under the calm gray sky.
It's simple elegance
making light of all my
worries and regrets.

And slowly as the
soft, light rain begins to fall,
i fondly remember
good times of old...

Truly, it is a beautiful mood,
each raindrop filled with peace,
a treasured moment,
as I feel the cool wet drops
across my face

all stress relieved,
and I feel,
what it means
to be alive

Storm of hate

under the storm of hatred
with the thunder of anger
and lightning of destruction
we all stand

we, the world, people born into hate
children, tought to hate
children, taught to fight
we the world, people of sin

in the storm of hatred evil things are born
war, the destroyer of life
prejudice, the destroyer of pride
abuse, the destroyer of families

sins of hatred, a term of no meaning
for all sins are born in hate
hatred, the fuel that feeds the flames of hell
hatred, the staple of our people
hatred, we, the world, have become hatred

under this storm of hate i knew i could not live
i knew cover was needed so i huriedly searched
i tried to use money,
but it grew soggy and leaked
i hid behind romance,
but was used once again

finaly though, i found it
the shelter that protects
the shelter that holds
i found it, the protection of love
it holds back the rains of hate
let's hide...
let's hide behind the cover of love






PS. there is a great website for sharing poems available, its like a writers network (kinda like facebook but for writers) it's web address is http://www.writerscafe.org
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  #11  
Old 01-23-11, 10:46 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems

Here is one of my poems:


GRACE

Grace comes like lightning, and, soft rain,
Grace, has no agenda, hidden or revealed,
It does not separate, the "deserving", from, the "undeserving",
All can be embraced by the, gentle, blanket of grace.

A velvet blanket, that surrounds us, lightly, without pressure,
Grace has no expectations,
And those who know Grace,
Rest in it, and, find their breath again,

I hope to, in some small way, emulate Grace,
And freely give acceptance to myself and others,
Graciously dissolving the rigid template,
Formed from the elusive ideals,
Of perfection.



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  #12  
Old 01-23-11, 11:19 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems

I wrote this one about how adhd effects me - adhd at it's worst.
I can't believe how fast time moves it feels like i just wrote this a couple of years ago but I wrote it in 2001 -10 years ago!




PRISONER OF CHAOS

Can' find my shoes
This place is a like
Livin in a Zoo
No that's not true
Except maybe
The bars

Chaos reigns
And I tell myself
I'll get to all of this
When it rains
But by then
I'm in pain
Or I'm lost

In some crazy train
Of thought and motion

One step leading to another
But not on any stairs
I've ever seen

More like hopscotch
Or jumping from rock to rock
In rapids

I feel like a bird flying nowhere
Until finally someone puts salt
On it's tail
Mid-flight

Then it twists
Head over tail
Landing
In a swamp

Serious confusion
The revolution
Of Inertia
Grinding
to a
Halt
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  #13  
Old 01-23-11, 12:29 PM
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Re: share poems, share poems

A ROSE WITH FEW THORNS
fficeffice" />>>
When I give myself to thee, the bounds of love one cannot see,
Shelter of my soul so fierce, my precious heart I ask not pierce.
Innocent petals protect the core, and with thy nectar, does it lure.
A need so deep, one feels its burn, and can’t deny its sinful yearn.
Completeness in a sheer delight, darkest dark to lightest light.
Where two are one and one are two, a curse and blessing be held in you.
The pain it brings screams aloud, and remains in comfort behind its shroud.
Thy ways of old becoming new, aglow your face with terror true.
The heart does bleed when love is blind, and those that suffer are of a kind.
A seething fire that scorns the past, yet never tires to make it last.
Within the break of day anew, its compelling agony holds tight to you.
And soon enough you will see it never deserts the rare like thee.
Oh sweetest rose, with thorns so few, let thy heavens above heal you.
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  #14  
Old 01-24-11, 02:26 AM
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Re: share poems, share poems



In case video can't be viewed:




Be with those who help your being.
Don't sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.

A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don't try to fly,
and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it's too late for all you could become.

Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?




Written by J. Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks and text body from poethunter.com
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  #15  
Old 01-24-11, 07:58 PM
Tommy Wilhelm Tommy Wilhelm is offline
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Re: share poems, share poems

ORPHEUS. EURYDICE. HERMES
Rainer Maria Rilke



That was the deep uncanny mine of souls.
Like veins of silver ore, they silently
moved through its massive darkness. Blood welled up
among the roots, on its way to the world of men,
and in the dark it looked as hard as stone.
Nothing else was red.
There were cliffs there,
and forests made of mist. There were bridges
spanning the void, and that great gray blind lake
which hung above its distant bottom
like the sky on a rainy day above a landscape.
And through the gentle, unresisting meadows
one pale path unrolled like a strip of cotton.
Down this path they were coming.
In front, the slender man in the blue cloak —
mute, impatient, looking straight ahead.
In large, greedy, unchewed bites his walk
devoured the path; his hands hung at his sides,
tight and heavy, out of the failing folds,
no longer conscious of the delicate lyre
which had grown into his left arm, like a slip
of roses grafted onto an olive tree.
His senses felt as though they were split in two:
his sight would race ahead of him like a dog,
stop, come back, then rushing off again
would stand, impatient, at the path’s next turn, —
but his hearing, like an odor, stayed behind.
Sometimes it seemed to him as though it reached
back to the footsteps of those other two
who were to follow him, up the long path home.
But then, once more, it was just his own steps’ echo,
or the wind inside his cloak, that made the sound.
He said.to himself, they had to be behind him;
said it aloud and heard it fade away.
They had to be behind him, but their steps
were ominously soft. If only he could
turn around, just once (but looking back
would ruin this entire work, so near
completion), then he could not fail to see them,
those other two, who followed him so softly:
The god of speed and distant messages,
a traveler’s hood above his shining eyes,
his slender staff held out in front of him,
and little wings fluttering at his ankles;
and on his left arm, barely touching it: she.
A woman so loved that from one lyre there came
more lament than from all lamenting women;
that a whole world of lament arose, in which
all nature reappeared: forest and valley,
road and village, field and stream and animal;
and that around this lament-world, even as
around the other earth, a sun revolved
and a silent star-filled heaven, a lament-
heaven, with its own, disfigured stars —:
So greatly was she loved.
But now she walked beside the graceful god,
her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,
uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.
She was deep within herself, like a woman heavy
with child, and did not see the man in front
or the path ascending steeply into life.
Deep within herself. Being dead
filled her beyond fulfillment. Like a fruit
suffused with its own mystery and sweetness,
she was filled with her vast death, which was so new,
she could not understand that it had happened.
She had come into a new virginity
and was untouchable; her sex had closed
like a young flower at nightfall, and her hands
had grown so unused to marriage that the god’s
infinitely gentle touch of guidance
hurt her, like an undesired kiss.
She was no longer that woman with blue eyes
who once had echoed through the poet’s songs,
no longer the wide couch’s scent and island,
and that man’s property no longer.
She was already loosened like long hair,
poured out like fallen rain,
shared like a limitless supply.
She was already root.
And when, abruptly,
the god put out his hand to stop her, saying,
with sorrow in his voice: He has turned around —,
she could not understand, and softly answered
Who?
Far away,
dark before the shining exit-gates,
someone or other stood, whose features were
unrecognizable. He stood and saw
how, on the strip of road among the meadows,
with a mournful look, the god of messages
silently turned to follow the small figure
already walking back along the path,
her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,
uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.
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