| |
| |
|
Poetry Information |
|
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
I get up in the morning And want to stay in bed Oh, so nice and warm Like fresh from the oven bread. My day is oh so busy I wish that I could stay In the quiet of my house If only I could play. Relax and play like Children do No matter where they are Never worried about being late Or looking ahead too far My body won't sit quietly I need to get there now No time to chat, I now must go All I can say is Chow I hate to wait For time to pass Time to eat To get some gas Tick Tock of the clock I look into the sky The numbers move so slowly I wish that they would fly The weight won't move at all today And the wait is way too long I am doing the best I can To help move time along. I can not control the numbers On the clock or on the scale I need to remember that they are things And that I will never fail. Time will pass without my help, The scale gets thrown away I will learn to breathe these words, I will to learn to say to say: Say the words that matter In soul, In Heart and Voice I have enough, I do enough, I am enough For each day is a choice.
MORE RESOURCES: Unable to open RSS Feed $XMLfilename with error HTTP ERROR: 404, exiting |
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
Poetry in a Nutshell Poetry is more than just rhyming and prose that is in meters and verse. It is an art form. Song of the Great Zimbabwe, and Silver and Inca Blood [Poems and notes] "Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the Southern edge of ZimbabweLooking down from the Hill ComplexFrom on top, of an Ancient RockO'er the mountains steep-:A, vista I've longed to see, residesA site, I've longed to meet-;Thus, dwells, within this African Valley,Among the greatest of man's feats?The great, Great Zimbabwe (Enclosure).A million-stones, built these ancient wallsSome twelve-fathoms, fathoms highThat seems to reach unto the sky;Some say: a fortress, and palace, it is;And perhaps-, the legendary 'Ophir!'#747 7/2/05Silver and Inca BloodIn the Great Silver mines of Potosi-(Inca Indians)Conscripted mine workersCarryQuotas of ore-up hundreds of feetOf rope laddered-stepsFor don Francisco de ToledoAndKing Philip II, of Spain-;A farcified vision to becomeRich-off Inca blood,In the year-1571?#744 7/1/05Notes: (The Inca Empire): the assumption is often that the Inca Empire was a large enterprise of its self; a common mistake at best; complicated for sure; but for the most part, the Inca Empire was comprised of ethnic groups who were subjugated into the Inca Empire, similar to the Roman, which was a city nation [Empire] you might say, who subjugated the whole world into its Roman Empire; likewise, so did the Incas of South America. The Time Has Come and Buzzing Most of my poems are written late at night, often, as this one was, after I have turned out the lights to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative. Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one deeply loved. We come to accept the death and adjust our lives - rather begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive. Mechanical Poetry; Part Two What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is "I start writing." Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the "right words. Feelings, O How Glorious! Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs against the wall; Sometimes we feel lightheaded, As if we are going to fall.Sometimes we feel fierce angerAt those who misuse guns; Sometimes we feel ashamedOf how we treat God's little ones. The Crusader: A Search for the Virtue Inside (an excerpt of an Epic Poem) On through the darkness she searches the bonesSeeking the hand of her love;Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on,Petitioning help from above.Onward she gropes through the flesh and the bloodOf the warriors disfigured and maimed;She carries no hope for the life of her love -For naught but his body she came. House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes] House of the Goblin[Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains shadows disappear!Here is where, unnumbered spirits dwellWhere harp and memory expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the oceans coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where enchantment turns into ghouls!.. Three Love Poems [all wicked] Advance: Mr. Dennis Siluk's poetry can have its fire-hearted twists: as with 'Lovers'. I Shall Wait... I Shall Wait.. Five Poems Poems have different cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for certain figurative language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not made for the same person, or purpose; when we read we all have our likes and dislikes; I do not necessarily know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the greatness of poetry has, and great poetry is close to an illusion?it carries an echo I do believe-figurative yes, at best, and questionable yes, by far. Here are five poems I've recently wrote, all with a different core, focus and style. I Saw the Universe I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember.. Kafka Re-Trial Kafka lands resurrected in Crewedeposited by a silvery alien craft,And whilst he is wondering what to doHe is asked to show his passOr pay an instant one off fineAt a cash dispenser of his choiceAnd they are checking all the timeOn his irises face and voice.And of course they find that he is not,They discover he just cannot be there,Although he seems as if he is visible,And has hands and toes and hair,If he is not on the Great Data Bank,He plainly and simply cannot be,He is not listed and he is not rankedHe is surely not like you and me. THe Monster Mash, A Graveyard SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11) The Monster Mash The Graveyard SmashHave you heard of the Monster Mash? I suppose you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you.It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight. Commuting Hell! It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I huddle down, inside my coat,a commuter clone, just waiting for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzling down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old coffee cups,blowing past, look so forlorn. The Merchant of Copan [In English and Spanish] English VersionThe Merchant of Copan[480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras courtyard in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the founder of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the spouse of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins. Satirical Poetry About Tony Blair All Hail.Is your hospital full of aliens, despite new cleaning firms,Antenna waving buggies, And creepy crawly germs,Then dont waste another second, now were into election spin,Just complain, over and again, and up pops smiley smiley grin. Tsunami Day A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like any other and mother, father, sister, brother, were carrying out the customs of their land.When suddenly without warning, Mother Nature came calling,shook the earth and stole the ocean from the sand. Walt Whitman, Romance With a Stranger The concept of brief encounters, even romantic encounters, with a stranger recurs often in the verses of Walt Whitman.Take, for example, these lines from one of the inscriptions that Whitman wrote to his 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass. A World That Doesnt Care War bombs may explode demolishing man and land.Hurricanes may devastate and leave us entirely bare.
|
| home | site map | contact us |