For poems we have written or have enjoyed reading.

ALL WELCOME.

Life

What is our life? A play of passion,
Our mirth the music of division,
Our mother's wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss.
Our graves that hide us from the setting sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.

- Sir Walter Raleigh

Lost Generation

I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.
And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it.

Now read the above poem in reverse :)

here are some haikus i wrote about while baseball player phil rizzuto shoukld not be in the hall of fame

phil never could hit
he thanks the veterans
let's kick his ass out

beloved broadcaster
in the Hall as a player
smacking veterans

phil's many errors
career OPS plus ninety-three
why did he get in

phil rizzuto sucks
he is a piece of dog poo
bugger phil rizzuto

how in the hell did
this scrub win the mvp
i blame the yankees

hes not good at all
not a hall of famer nope
not at all no way

saw phil on tv
mystery guest - what's my line
sucked on game shows too

That Phil Rizzuto
Should not be in our famed halls
Dinosaur cheesesteak

dinosaur cheesesteak
its very good its my fav
woops phil rizzuto

there are lots of things
better than phil rizzuto
for example aids

Phil Rizzuto sucks
he isn't David Eckstein
Eckstein the grinder

what a lunatic
phil sold his mvp plaque,
three world series rings

and dirty old hat
with some chewing gum on it
right before he died

instead of selling
he should have returned the stuff
and apologized

but no, phil blew it
gave the money away too
to the smacking blind

http://easy-rio.com/images/Rio2-full.jpg


The Statue

From this moutain I look down
on the children you despise
and I see terror and fear
brandishing their face everywhere.

Rest and peace have fled a country
that has buried its head in the sand of denial
This form of policy addresses poverty and sickness
as a nightmare recognises life.

A conscience of stone for law
and a bullet for every impoverished child
with a reward for those who pursue the defenceless
as though it were a game.

These sins are committed in full view of my face
and I do remember them all
just like the children who fall
and are hidden away
in the thick of night.

My tolerance to all this is gone
for I am no silent statue
I have always been an omen
of your impending judgment.

I grant you this prophesy as a gift
Take it ... for it's yours to keep.

(Originally written by me in Greek whilst at Uni .. as a protest against the institutionalization of child abuse in Corcovado Brazil)

http://static.indianexpress.com/m-images/Sun%20Jan%2025%202009,%2013:22%20hrs/M_Id_58394_middle_east_conflict.jpg


This War

White sheets become stained red.
In the corner a little child lays dead.
People struggle just to survive.
A mother is hoping her child will revive.
Her baby was playing just moments before ..
now everything's changed, because of this war.

The town's buildings slowly collapse.
A community's nerve finally snaps.
People don't know what to do.
Where can they go ? They haven't a clue.
Their own home just isn't safe anymore ..
because everything's changed, thanks to this war.

People ask questions, hoping for an answer.
This war continues to spread hatred like cancer.
Both sides crave peace whatever the cost,
as long as they never admit that they've lost.
But the long lasting peace which both sides will get,
may be when this war ends .. but there'll be nobody left.

(Written by me in 2009 ... in response to the never ending conflict in the Middle East)

I love the reverse poem.

Also a fantastic pic of the Rio statue. Is that Molak staring back at him?

"This War".
Don't forget that you voted in favour of it.

Keep writing poetry Lisa. We all need to express ourselves. It's part of our spirituality. I do it by playing music and I paint landscapes and seascapes (not very well).

I disagree.  We do not all need to express ourselves, and some people are better off not expressing themselves at all and focusing on other parts of life.

If writing poetry makes Lisa feel better she should do it.  If she's good at writing poetry then that would be another reason to do it.

The Dash ... by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

There may be a different meaning behind the phrase "Done your dash" than I had first thought.

Yes Amadd .. I do believe you're right!

Quote:

Yes Amadd .. I do believe you're right!

That's just an off the cuff observation. It could mean anything.

My real opinion is that you are being just a little more than a tad hypocritical by writing a poem against a war that you personally, knowingly, and consciously voted for.
That's absolutely amazing IMO.
Wow!! How do you manage to rationalise that?

My real opinion is that you are being just a little more than a tad hypocritical by writing a poem against a war that you personally, knowingly, and consciously voted for.

- Amadd

The subject matter of most poetry reflects the poet's thoughts and innermost conflicts.

Insofar as this poem is concerned .. I was commenting on the futility of a pyrrhic victory.

As regards my voting criteria .. I don't vote FOR war .. I vote FOR efficient national economic management policy direction.

Quote:

The subject matter of most poetry reflects the poet's thoughts and innermost conflicts. Insofar as this poem is concerned .. I was commenting on the futility of a pyrrhic victory. As regards my voting criteria .. I don't vote FOR war .. I vote FOR efficient national economic management policy direction.

Don't get me wrong, I like your poem. I may even have a crack at one myself.
There once was a man from Namtucket.. nah needs a little more thought.

The role of a poem I suppose, is to promote some thought or emotion, and that you've managed to do. Maybe not in the way that you may have liked, because what stands out to me is that you will put your economic principles above the principles of not involving the nation in an "unprovoked" war.
A poem or a prayer doesn't bring back little Ackmar's arms and legs, but listening to "God's voice" (also known as common sense) can prevent it from happening in the first place.

Anyway, this is about poems, not debates, so I won't continue with it here.

Have a go at writing some poetry Amadd .. it's like lifting up a mirror to your soul and seeing all that's in there.

I love writing poetry because as I said earlier .. it gives me an opportunity to reflect upon my thoughts and innermost conflicts.

Quote:

Have a go at writing some poetry Amadd .. it's like lifting up a mirror to your soul and seeing all that's in there. I love writing poetry because as I said earlier .. it gives me an opportunity to reflect upon my thoughts and innermost conflicts.

Hmm.. :-/
Yeah maybe, but knowing that you can go to confession and still gain a pass to God's kingdom doesn't do much for me personally.
It's a form of non-sequitor rationalisation.
It doesn't make any sense to point yourself in that direction. You don't gain "credits" from God by comparing yourself to others, you gain credits by exceeding yourself and not needing, expecting or wanting any reward for doing so.
Can't honestly say that I can do that myself. I'm pretty crap at it actually  ::)i

Yeah maybe, but knowing that you can go to confession and still gain a pass to God's kingdom doesn't do much for me personally.
It's a form of non-sequitor rationalisation.
It doesn't make any sense to point yourself in that direction. You don't gain "credits" from God by comparing yourself to others, you gain credits by exceeding yourself and not needing, expecting or wanting any reward for doing so.
Can't honestly say that I can do that myself. I'm pretty crap at it actually.

- Amadd

Huh???

Who here goes to confession? I know I certainly don't... nor have I ever been to confession. That's something Catholics do .. right???

In any event .. I've stated to you in another topic that I'm not Catholic nor have I ever been one.

I'm not entirely sure what the rest of your post is on about. Also I'm not sure how it all ties into my post for that matter. Sorry.

Quote:

Huh??? Who here goes to confession? I know I certainly don't... nor have I ever been to confession. That's something Catholics do .. right??? In any event .. I've stated to you in another topic that I'm not Catholic nor have I ever been one. I'm not entirely sure what the rest of your post is on about. Also I'm not sure how it all ties into my post for that matter. Sorry.

I'd rather continue this topic on another thread actually.

What I'm meaning is that it's imperative to listen to God's word before the fact, not after.
It's no use writing poems (as a form of confession) after little Ackmar has had his arms and legs blown off.
You supposedly "know" God, and yet you don't even listen.
All of the media tripe, all of the political tripe wasn't seen for the bs that it was. Where was God? He obviously deserted your common sense if you hold the opinion that the wars were/are unjust.

On the other hand, you may honestly be of the opinion that it was imperative to intiate these wars and the poems are a way of consoling yourself for your beliefs which will not change in the future.
It may be a bit remiss of me to ask right now that if given the current circumstances, and if you could've seen into the future, would you have changed your vote to labor if they were the best hope for not involving our nation in an unjust war?

Is your poem an acceptance of the mistake of going to war and all of the horrors that war brings, or is it an acceptance that others must die for you?

I'll hop off my moral high horse and confess that I was in favour of the invasion of Iraq. I imagined that if the WMD's were non-existent then those governments would never ever be trusted again. I was wrong.
Maybe that can be the subject of a poem. I'm totally disallusioned there.

I'm now more of the belief that "confession" means to seek forgiveness for what one has done, and for what one will do again.

No Amadd .. you totally misunderstood my previous post wherein I stated:


Have a go at writing some poetry Amadd .. it's like lifting up a mirror to your soul and seeing all that's in there.

I love writing poetry because as I said earlier .. it gives me an opportunity to reflect upon my thoughts and innermost conflicts.


For me .. it has nothing at all to do with confession etc ..

If anything Poetry is a very spiritual form of communication btwn my heart and my soul. It's almost a type of prayer.

Quote:

It's almost a type of prayer.

I was asking if it is a request for the impossible changing of the past, or
an acceptance of the future?
Does it change your future actions at all?

Perhaps a separate topic focusing on confession etc may be more appropriate Amadd?

Quote:

Perhaps a separate topic focusing on confession etc may be more appropriate Amadd?

Yes, I suggested that earlier. But now we've come down to it, a simple yes or no would suffice.

I was asking if it is a request for the impossible changing of the past, or
an acceptance of the future?
Does it change your future actions at all?

- Amadd

Well .. for me it's more of an opportunity to revisit and understand what has happened in my past and to reflect on its lessons.

Now .. does all this change my future actions at all?

Quite possibly .. I guess my future actions would be affected in some way .. it all depends on the subject matter of course.

Mirrors

Mirrors reflect back
the emotional images we cast;
but our inner thoughts do track
the trajectories of our past.

And honesty is such an image
for it's reflected in our eyes
along with strength and courage
and the truth we hide in lies.

Trust and faith are others
though they're very hard to find
I've met many players
but I've left them all behind.

And if loyalty exists
I've yet to see its glare
in all the turns and twists
of the images we wear.

(Written by me in 2008)


I wrote this poem for example after a period of deep reflection on past significant relationships/friendships.

LOVE POEM FOR AN ENEMY

I, as sinned against as sinning,
take small pleasure from the winning
of our decades-long guerrilla war.
For from my job Ive wanted more
than victory over one whod tried
to punish me before he died,
and now, neither of us dead,
we haunt these halls in constant dread
of drifting past the others life
while long-term memory is rife
with slights that sting like paper cuts.
Weve occupied our separate ruts
yet simmered in a single rage.
Weve grown absurd in middle age
together, and should seek wisdom now
together, by ending this row.
I therefore decommission you
as constant flagship of my rue.
Below the threshold of my hate
you now my good regard may rate.
For I have let my anger pass.
But, while you're down there, kiss my ass.


- Richard Katrovas

CONCEIT

It is conceit that kills us
and makes us cowards instead of gods.

Under the great Command: Know thy self, and that thou art mortal!
we have become fatally self-conscious, fatally self-important,
fatally entangled in the cocoon coils of our conceit.

Now we have to admit we can't know ourselves,
we can only know about ourselves.
And I am not interested to know about myself any more,
I only entangle myself in the knowing.

Now let me be myself,
now let me be myself, and flicker forth,
now let me be myself, in the being, one of the gods.


- D H Lawrence

Maybe

Maybe he believes me, maybe not.
Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.

Maybe the wind on the prairie,
The wind on the sea, maybe,
Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.

I will lay my head on his shoulder
And when he asks me I will say yes,
Maybe.

- Carl Sandburg

Our Ashes,


The Ashes, steeped in history, steeped in tradition

No longer in our possesion, nor for the forseeable future


The wheels of time bring about a change that is hard to accept

It's only a game isn't it? Just a bat and a ball?


The game has survived where others have not

Throughout the wars of the world, the game has provided hope


A rulebook, a piece of wood and a wrapping of leather

The hope that wars will not be

The hope that self-importance will be aligned to the same significance


We want the ashes, we want them dearly

Anything more than a wayward beam ball is unacceptable

We have rules which don't involve wars


Fight it out with a bat and a ball

The ashes belong to all.i

THE ARBOR

He seems to be a god, that man
Facing you, who leans to be close,
Smiles, and, alert and glad, listens
To your mellow voice

And quickens in love at your laughter
That stings my breasts, jolts my heart
If I dare the shock of a glance.
I cannot speak,

My tongue sticks to my dry mouth,
Thin fire spreads beneath my skin,
My eyes cannot see and my aching ears
Roar in their labyrinths.

Chill sweat glides down my back,
I shake, I turn greener than grass.
I am neither living nor dead and cry
From the narrow between.


Sappho (612 B.C.)
Translated by Guy Davenport

Wonder

Wonder,
A garden among the flames!

My heart can take on any form:
A meadow for gazelles,
A cloister for monks,
For the idols, sacred ground,
Ka'ba for the circling pilgrim,
The tables of the Torah,
The scrolls of the Quran.

My creed is Love;
Wherever its caravan turns along the way,
That is my belief,
My faith.


- Ibn Arabi
     
     

     
     

LOVE without interior and exterior

this all encompassing compassionate forgiveness

is within you now

take a bow

-:)

Maybe

Maybe he believes me, maybe not.
Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.

Maybe the wind on the prairie,
The wind on the sea, maybe,
Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.

I will lay my head on his shoulder
And when he asks me I will say yes,
Maybe.

- Carl Sandburg

Yesterday

Yesterday we walked apart
Separate and cold and mortal.
Now the sacred kiss has joined us,
Now we stand inside the portal

That permits of no returning
And my heart is burning, burning.

I know not what the word may be,
Or what the charm, or what the token
That has filled us with this glory,
But never let the spell be broken;

Let it stay a mystery
For all times to be.

Yesterday, with lighter joys
We wantoned at the outer portal.
Now, with love's old alchemy
We have made ourselves immortal.

- Elsa Gidlow

Hope is the thing...

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the 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 kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.


- Emily Dickinson

When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!


- Rudyard Kipling