+1 if you like poetry.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

My New Year's resolution By Robert Fisher

My New Year's resolution By Robert Fisher

I will not throw the cat out the window
Or put a frog in my sister's bed
I will not tie my brother's shoelaces together
Nor jump from the roof of Dad's shed
I shall remember my aunt's next birthday
And tidy my room once a week
I'll not moan at Mum's cooking (Ugh! fish fingers again!)
Nor give her any more of my cheek.
I will not pick my nose if I can help it
I shall fold up my clothes, comb my hair,
I will say please and thank you (even when I don't mean it)
And never spit or shout or even swear.
I shall write each day in my diary
Try my hardest to be helpful at school
I shall help old ladies cross roads (even if they don't want to)
And when others are rude I'll stay cool.
I'll go to bed with the owls and be up with the larks

More By Robert Fisher:

Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Christmas Bloggers!!! Recipe for Christmas All Year Long By Joanna Fuchs

Recipe for Christmas All Year Long
Take a heap of child-like wonder
That opens up our eyes
To the unexpected gifts in life—
Each day a sweet surprise.
Mix in fond appreciation
For the people whom we know;
Like festive Christmas candles,
Each one has a special glow.
Add some giggles and some laughter,
A dash of Christmas food,
(Amazing how a piece of pie
Improves our attitude!)
Stir it all with human kindness;
Wrap it up in love and peace,
Decorate with optimism, and
Our joy will never cease.
If we use this healthy recipe,
We know we will remember
To be in the Christmas spirit,
Even when it's not December.

By Joanna Fuchs

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

sweet sunshine song by Kailyn Coleman

sweet sunshine song : Kailyn Coleman
and id write you a song, oh darling, but i bet its all been written, once before. cuz i am not originality, i am just a pen, paper, and ears for listening. and my skin, it shivers, at the taste, touch, the look of your body. and this inspiration in my brain, is a tune that sings sweetly in my ear, that influence these winds, in this, full empty room, to twist and consume. i told you once before, in my sleep, its your promises, that were lies, that hold me prisoner here. the water tastes dry, and the lights have grown, more and more dull, while this years spring, looks alot like last years fall. when the sun went out, and then bursted aloud, "im shining so bright yet, you still can not see me!" i smiled til i realized, i was miles into the sky, looking down at myself, and couldnt help but cry. but the tears froze somewhere, halfway between my face, and miles below me, and turned into that same tune, i had heard once before, singing sweeter, than i had heard it sung before

Sunday, December 19, 2010

The Land Of Dreams by William Blake

Awake, awake my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother's only joy:
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.

"O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the lillies by waters fair.

Among the lambs clothed in white
She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn— 
O when shall I return again?"

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams;
But though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.

"Father, O Father, what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star."

Friday, December 17, 2010

3000 yr old Love Poem from Egypt

Extract from a 3,000 year-old papyrus.
She is one girl, there is no one like her.
She is more beautiful than any other.
Look, she is like a star goddess arising
at the beginning of a happy new year;
brilliantly white, bright skinned;
with beautiful eyes for looking,
with sweet lips for speaking;
she has not one phrase too many.
With a long neck and white breast,
her hair of genuine lapis lazuli;
her arm more brilliant than gold;
her fingers like lotus flowers,
with heavy buttocks and girt waist.
Her thighs offer her beauty,
with a brisk step she treads on ground.
She has captured my heart in her embrace.
She makes all men turn their necks
to look at her.
One looks at her passing by,this one, the unique one.

More info here:

Wednesday, December 15, 2010



I shuffle through the fresh new snow while strolling in the park, 
Seeing shadows start to form as it is getting dark. 
So quietly and peacefully new snowflakes hit the ground, 
And form a pure white layer and they never make a sound. 
The soft flakes feel like drops of ice when drifting on my face, 
And everything feels fresh and clean as I walk through this place. 
The trees are covered with a coat of freshly fallen snow, 
Then some have icy branches that give off a crystal glow. 
The only sound that I can hear is little wisps of wind, 
But only for a moment then the air is still again. 
My heart is overflowing with a feeling from within, 
A gentle, soothing, calming feeling comes to me again. 
I stop to meditate and feel the breeze upon my face, 
I need this time alone to touch my feelings and embrace, 
The constant nagging question in my mind that causes doubt, 
Once again I ask myself "what is it all about?" 
December is upon us and the holidays are near, 
It is a month when peace on earth is echoed loud and clear. 
It is a month when people try to have good will toward man, 
But always seems that good will ends as quick and it began. 
If only people took the time to stop and smell the air, 
If only people took the time to treat all others fair. 
If only people did not feel they had to leave their mark. 
If only there were peace on earth as I feel in this park, 
As... I stood there thinking of the words that I just said, 
I recalled words, something like this, that long ago I read. 
It came to me as silently as snow upon the breeze, 
"If my people turn to me and fall upon their knees" 
I knew there was much more to it, those words were just the start, 
But those few words were all I needed deep within my heart. 
I did not need the other words, the meaning I had felt, 
And in the freshly fallen snow, I bowed my head and knelt. 
I felt the tears roll down my face and glisten in the snow, 
Tears of joy or tears of sorrow, that I did not know. 
I knew what I was feeling I could not feel on my own, 
And as I spoke these words I know I was not there alone. 
I understand I'm just one man, and lowly, meek and poor, 
And as I understand the words you said you wanted more. 
So peace I will not pray for but instead I'll pray for these, 
I pray that all who call your name will fall down on their knees. 
And at this Christmas season as so many times before, 
Understand the reason what this season was made for. 
Lift your prayers to heaven and then pray that they increase, 
Remember that this season was made for the Prince Of Peace. 
Copyright © James A. Kisner

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Snowman Blues by Paul Curtis

Snowman Blues by Paul Curtis

Out of the snowy lawn 
The snowman grew 
Wearing a hat and scarf 
The way that you do 

With pebbles for eyes 

pressed into the snow 
A smiley twig mouth 
And a large carrot nose 
He’s a magnificent site 
The snowman that grew 
But he’s just snow and ice
And no substitute for you 
I wish you were here 
To chase the blues away 
I wish you’d come back 
To me for Christmas day

Sunday, December 12, 2010

The Stary Night - John Masefield

That starry Night when Christ was born,
The shepherds watched by Dead Man’s Thorn;
They shared their supper with the dogs,
And watched the sparks flick from the logs
Where the coppings from the holly burned.
  Then the dogs growled, and faced turned
To horsemen, coming from the hill.
  A Captain called to them, ‘Keep still…
We’re riding, seeking for a sign
Than human beings are divine…
Is there such marvel, hereabout?
  The shepherds said, ‘Us don’t know nowt.
We’re Mr Jones’s shepherd chaps.
Old Mr Jones might know, perhaps…
But if you’ve come this country road,
You’ve passed his house and never knowed.
There’s someone in the town might know;
A mile on, keeping as you go’.
  Long after all had disappeared,
More horsemen (from the woodland), neared;
And one, a King, with a dark skin,
Cried, ‘Friends, are gods and men akin?
A wonder tells of this, they say.
Is it near here? Is this the way?’
  ‘Why, no’ the shepherds said….’Perhaps.
We’re Mr. Jones’s shepherd chaps.
Old Mr. Jones would know, I wis,
But he’ll be gone to bed  by this.
  After the troop had passed away
A third came (from the River way)
And cried, ‘Good friends, we seek to find
Some guidance for the questing mind,
Eternity, in all this Death,
Some life out-living flesh and breath.
Can we find this, the way we ride?
  ‘You’d better picket down and bide,’
The shepherds said ‘And rest your bones.
We’re shepherds here to Mr. Jones.
When morning comes, you ask of he,
For he’d know more of that than we.
We’re only shepherds here; so bide.’
  ‘We cannot wait’ the horseman cried.
‘Life cannot wait; Death cannot stay;
This midnight is our only day.
Push on, friends; shepherd all, farewell.
This living without Life is Hell’.
  The clatter of the horse-hoofs failed,
Along the wood a barn-owl wailed;
The small mice rustled in the wood;
The stars burned in their multitude.
  Meanwhile, within the little town,
The camping horsemen settled down;
The horses drank at stream and fed
On chaff, from nose-bags, picketed.
The men rolled blankets out, and stretched;
Black Nim their hard cheese supper fetched;
Then, after spirit from the gourd,
Each turned to sleep without a word,
But shortly roused again to curse
A some-one calling for a nurse
To help a woman in her woe.
  All this was very long ago.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Ryunosuke Akutagawa - Haiku

  • Sick and feverish
  • Glimpse of cherry blossoms
  • Still shivering.

i believe this is how im feeling today. -,-

Thursday, December 9, 2010




Let them bathe in the blood of another,
it will not be mine and they will not
send their own kin or kind
off to fight in their wars
for privilege and an office
on the sixty sixth floor.

Their power is the hammer.
Their wealth the anvil they beat against.
And we,
the living are the molten rod
they rage against.
Trying to form and shape us
into something different
than what we are.
They ever try
to pry more,
always more,
from an earth
that has drank her fill
of the living’s blood.

She is throwing up now,
back in their faces,
and they do not recognize it
though it be the very thing they desire,
blood ancient blood of souls long departed
from this dying place shocked and awed
to submission by their beauty.

A gorging gorgeous
that the living will never know.
Does not want to know or have.
The rich, the famous, the fabulous,
on their red carpet ride long stroll
over the blood of men forced to war
for them now long dead.
While the living scream
in a rage no more.

We care little for either hammer or anvil
for they have not got the strength
to wield the weight of the hammer
against our Master
who has a’ready shaped
us into something that
refuses to die for their
fear and amusement.

Canines they are,
but no, they are no match for
the dogs of war.
That is us, the living.
They are pack dogs
tail tucked in fear
knowing there is a line
they can not cross
less they be harmed in understanding
there are them they can not control.

Us the living ready now
Now ready to turn on them
to shred their body magnificent.

© M Durfee

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Suggest Poetry Day

Alright, so ive been thinking, I should dedicate this post to my viewers and their suggestions. You can suggest a poet/poem by simply clicking the "Create a link". Everyones link will be displayed below :D

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Spoken Word Poetry "My Life" Ben Falealili

Today i decided to do things differently. Here is a video of some powerful spoken word. This guy really loves the woman he is with. So sweet.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Sans pretension by Henry Normal

We say 'cul de sac'
To make 'dead end' sound sunny.
We say 'nouveau riche'
Instead of working class with money.

We call art 'avant-garde'
When we don't understand it.
Jumble sales sell 'bric-a-brac'
Which must be French for shit.

Let's call a spud a spud,
No more lies or elaborate word contortions.
Chips are chips
Not pomme frites or french fries.
Why say 'haute cuisine' when you mean 'smaller portions'.

No more saying we had a 'tete a tete'
When you mean you've been nagging
Bragging or just chin wagging,

And no more calling it a 'menage a trois'
When you mean three people shagging.

I would like to thank 

Christina Lindsay for introducing me to this wonderful poet.

Hope is a Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson

Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings a tune without words
And never stops at all.

And sweetest, in the gale, is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That keeps so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never, in extremity
It ask a crumb of me.
 Emily  Dickinson

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Louise Labe : Sonnet VIII - I Live, I Die

Sonnet VIII - I Live, I Die
I live, I die, I burn with fire, I drown.
It matters very little what I feel;
All life is now too real, now too surreal;
Joy comes and endless boredom weighs me down,

And suddenly I laugh and then I cry;
With grief and bliss I’m weeping for the past;
Good feelings go away and yet they last,
And suddenly I bleed and then I sigh.

That’s how it goes. Strange, ever changing love
Has worn me out.  I wish I were removed
From such a star-crossed fate!  I need a truce

With Lady Luck.  Again and yet again,
Her wheel is spinning madly to produce
This wanton, wild, intense, exquisite pain.

Friday, November 26, 2010

tell us of pain : by Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though havy and hard is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

The Turkey Shot Out of the Oven

Writer: Jack Prelutsky

The turkey shot out of the oven
and rocketed into the air,
it knocked every plate off the table
and partly demolished a chair.

It ricocheted into a corner
and burst with deafening boom,
then splattered all over the kitchen,
completely obscuring the room.

It stuck to the walls and the windows,
it totally coated the floor,
there was turkey attached to the ceiling,
where there'd never been turkey before.

It blanketed every appliance,
it smeared every saucer and bowl,
there wasn't a way I could stop it,
that turkey was out of control.

I scraped and I scrubbed with displeasure,
and thought with chagrin as I mopped,
that I'd never again stuff a turkey
with popcorn that hadn't been popped.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Beauty - Charles Baudelair

I am as lovely as a dream in stone;
My breast on which each finds his death in turn
Inspires the poet with a love as lone
As everlasting clay, and as taciturn.
Swan-white of heart, as sphinx no mortal knows,
My throne is in the heaven's azure deep;
I hate all movement that disturbs my pose;
I smile not ever, neither do I weep.

Before my monumental attitudes,
Taken from the proudest plastic arts,
My poets pray in austere studious moods,

For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts,
Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies,
The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.

Charles Baudelaire

Special thanks  too lula for telling my about this great poet. idk how i missed him! 

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Traffic love poem : Me

So I'm changing lanes and there you are, my mind transcends into a plane of existence filled with butterfly kisses,and sweet nothings a few I love yous and tons of cuddling, then the light changes and reality returns back to nothing..

Tags: love

Monday, November 22, 2010

One By One by ChrisChaos

Writer: Christopher Chaos

One by one the fire ants begun, marching to the beat, of a nuclear drum, for a new clear purpose, to fear or not to fear, only one things certain, their all here to hurt us. Turn dust into dollars then hollar loud for a check, sign on the dotted line, then regret the next ten spent, be upset with the man, cause he is the reason ur stranded in the back of a caravan, brokin down in tan camies panicin, feeling like a maniquin, to scared to stand again, cause the last man with arogance, aparently won't have hair again, but god love it, we love americans, we love guns, and we love terrorist. We love being number one, cause then there is no one too compare us with,

Tags: passion