Title: Poems
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Date Posted：10/03/2018 10:38 AMCopy HTML

Feel free to ad one of your's or leave a comment,

Fall

Yes Tis the proper name for the season

because the temperature,

leaves and snow are falling

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Date Posted：25/03/2022 8:42 AMCopy HTML

  
One’s-Self I Sing. by Walt Whitman
ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
 
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the
   Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
 
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.

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Date Posted：24/03/2022 9:42 AMCopy HTML

Written by Pam Ayres |

Woodland Burial

Don’t lay me in some gloomy churchyard shaded by a wall
Where the dust of ancient bones has spread a dryness over all,
Lay me in some leafy loam where, sheltered from the cold
Little seeds investigate and tender leaves unfold.
There kindly and affectionately, plant a native tree
To grow resplendent before God and hold some part of me.
The roots will not disturb me as they wend their peaceful way
To build the fine and bountiful, from closure and decay.
To seek their small requirements so that when their work is done
I’ll be tall and standing strongly in the beauty of the sun.

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An August Midnight by Thomas Hardy
I

A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:
On this scene enter--winged, horned, and spined -
A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;
While 'mid my page there idly stands
A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .

II

Thus meet we five, in this still place,
At this point of time, at this point in space.
- My guests parade my new-penned ink,
Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink.
"God's humblest, they!" I muse. Yet why?

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I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazedâ€”and gazedâ€”but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

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Monet's Waterlilies by Robert Hayden
Today as the news from Selma and Saigon
poisons the air like fallout,
I come again to see
the serene, great picture that I love.

Here space and time exist in light
the eye like the eye of faith believes.
The seen, the known
dissolve in iridescence, become
illusive flesh of light
that was not, was, forever is.

O light beheld as through refracting tears.
Here is the aura of that world
each of us has lost.
Here is the shadow of its joy.

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Have You Earned Your Tomorrow
By Edgar Guest
Is anybody happier because you passed his way?
Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today?
This day is almost over, and its toiling time is through;
Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you?

Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along?
Or a churlish sort of "Howdy" and then vanish in the throng?
Were you selfish pure and simple as you rushed along the way,
Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today?

Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that's slipping fast,
That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said;
Does a man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?

Did you waste the day, or lose it, was it well or sorely spent?
Did you leave a trail of kindness or a scar of discontent?
As you close your eyes in slumber do you think that God would say,
You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today?

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The Lesson by Maya Angelou
I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.

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Date Posted：17/03/2022 8:16 AMCopy HTML

  
Father's Day In Heaven© Ron Tranmer
Published: June 2014
I love you and I miss you, Dad,
and though you've passed away,
you'll never be forgotten,
for I think of you each day.

If heaven celebrates this day
how special it will be.
A gathering of the many dads
upon our family tree.

Your father and grandfather
and great grandfather too.
How wonderful it is, if they
can spend this day with you.

May you know how much I love you,
though I'm here and you are there.
Happy Father's Day in heaven
to the best dad anywhere!

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Picture Puzzle Piece by Shel Silverstein
One picture puzzle piece
Lyin' on the sidewalk,
One picture puzzle piece
Soakin' in the rain.
It might be a button of blue
On the coat of the woman
Who lived in a shoe.
It might be a magical bean,
Or a fold in the red
Velvet robe of a queen.
It might be the one little bite
Of the apple her stepmother
Gave to Snow White.
It might be the veil of a bride
Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.
It might be a small tuft of hair
On the big bouncy belly
Of Bobo the Bear.
It might be a bit of the cloak
Of the Witch of the West
As she melted to smoke.
It might be a shadowy trace
Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.
Nothing has more possibilities
Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.

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Danny O'Dare by Shel Silverstein
Danny O'Dare, the dancin' bear,
Ran away from the County Fair,
Ran right up to my back stair
And thought he'd do some dancin' there.
He started jumpin' and skippin' and kickin',
He did a dance called the Funky Chicken,
He did the Polka, he did the Twist,
He bent himself into a pretzel like this.
He did the Dog and the Jitterbug,
He did the Jerk and the Bunny Hug.
He did the Waltz and the Boogaloo,
He did the Hokey-Pokey too.
He did the Bop and the Mashed Potata,
He did the Split and the See Ya Later.
And now he's down upon one knee,
Bowin' oh so charmingly,
And winkin' and smilin'--it's easy to see
Danny O'Dare wants to dance with me.

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The Benefits Of Exercise
© Alan Balter
Published: October 4, 2017
All my life I've been extra large, plus
I'm known as a very large fellow.
I would easily pass as a school district bus
If somebody painted me yellow.

"No secret to losing weight," I've been told.
"Just cut the fat from your diet."
"Get up and about even if it's cold."
Once again, I decided to try it.

But jogging was something senseless to me,
And riding a bike seemed insane.
Joining a gym involved a large fee,
And lifting weights was a pain.

So for exercise I choose horseback riding.
It's fun and easier than it sounds.
It's a very effective form of dieting
'Cause my horse lost forty pounds.

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started Early -- Took my Dog -- by Emily Dickinson
I started Early -- Took my Dog --
And visited the Sea --
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me --

And Frigates -- in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands --
Presuming Me to be a Mouse --
Aground -- upon the Sands --

But no Man moved Me -- till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe --
And past my Apron -- and my Belt --
And past my Bodice -- too --

And made as He would eat me up --
As wholly as a Dew
Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve --
And then -- I started -- too --

And He -- He followed -- close behind --
I felt his Silver Heel
Upon my Ankle -- Then my Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl --

Until We met the Solid Town --
No One He seemed to know --
And bowing -- with a Mighty look --
At me -- The Sea withdrew --

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Les Silhouettes by Oscar Wilde
The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.

Etched clear upon the pallid sand
Lies the black boat: a sailor boy
Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.

And overhead the curlews cry,
Where through the dusky upland grass
The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.

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Picture Puzzle Piece by Shel Silverstein
One picture puzzle piece
Lyin' on the sidewalk,
One picture puzzle piece
Soakin' in the rain.
It might be a button of blue
On the coat of the woman
Who lived in a shoe.
It might be a magical bean,
Or a fold in the red
Velvet robe of a queen.
It might be the one little bite
Of the apple her stepmother
Gave to Snow White.
It might be the veil of a bride
Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.
It might be a small tuft of hair
On the big bouncy belly
Of Bobo the Bear.
It might be a bit of the cloak
Of the Witch of the West
As she melted to smoke.
It might be a shadowy trace
Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.
Nothing has more possibilities
Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.

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September 1913 by William Butler Yeats
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone?
For men were born to pray and save:
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
Has maddened every mother's son':
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they're dead and gone,
They're with O'Leary in the grave.

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 Broken Family Tree
© Lori McBride
Published: February 2006
I am one of many
Small branches of a broken tree,
Always looking to the ones above
For guidance, strength and security.
One little branch trying
To keep the others from breaking away.
Who will fall?
And who will stay?
Now I stand alone,
Looking at the earth through the rain,
And I see the broken branches I knew
Scattered about me in pain.
There are those who have taken an ax
To the root of our very foundation
And who have passed this destruction
Down to every new generation.
If I could take that ax,
I would toss it deep into the sea,
Never to return again
To harm the generations that follow me.
I am one of many,
But alone I will go
And plant the new seeds
Where a beautiful tree will grow.

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Dreams
© Jane A Beresford
Published: April 2, 2017
We slip beneath the pillow's spell
And drift from heaven and into hell
To lose control of conscious mind
The secrets of our soul to find.

A timeless journey fills our being.
The blind man now becomes all-seeing.
The lonely now becomes the lover.
The childless wife a loving mother.

Reflection of our dormant fears
Once woken may reduce to tears.
With sleep the master free to prey
On untold thought which nightly stray.

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Tristitiae by Oscar Wilde
O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees.

O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone.

But well for him whose foot hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life.
Builds ladders to be nearer God

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An Unholy World by Raymond A. Foss
We live in a time
a world that Paul warned us about
violence and righteousness claimed in your name
the name of God to justify the slaughter
the maiming of innocents
the unholy partnership
the fellowship of light and darkness
the incongruity, the iniquity
that converted apostle of Christ
foretold, urged to be avoided

We are called to be separated,
to be in this world
but not of this world
to prune and to focus
to use the thorns in our lives
heed their quiet call
to cleave to you almighty savior
redeemer of our sins
when we fall into the trap
let down our guard
and knock the temple off its foundation
seeking easier paths
sharing too much with the enemy

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Sonnet On Approaching Italy by Oscar Wilde
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned,
Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
And when from out the mountain's heart I came
And saw the land for which my life had yearned,
I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:
And musing on the marvel of thy fame
I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.
The pine-trees waved as waves a woman's hair,
And in the orchards every twining spray
Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam:
But when I knew that far away at Rome
In evil bonds a second Peter lay,
I wept to see the land so very fair.

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A Calendar of Sonnets: April by Helen Hunt Jackson
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.

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Hold Hard, These Ancient Minutes In The Cuckoo's Month by Dylan Thomas
Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's month,
Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan's hill,
As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time;
Time, in a folly's rider, like a county man
Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel,
Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south.

Country, your sport is summer, and December's pools
By crane and water-tower by the seedy trees
Lie this fifth month unskated, and the birds have flown;
Holy hard, my country children in the world if tales,
The greenwood dying as the deer fall in their tracks,
The first and steepled season, to the summer's game.

And now the horns of England, in the sound of shape,
Summon your snowy horsemen, and the four-stringed hill,
Over the sea-gut loudening, sets a rock alive;
Hurdles and guns and railings, as the boulders heave,
Crack like a spring in vice, bone breaking April,
Spill the lank folly's hunter and the hard-held hope.

Down fall four padding weathers on the scarlet lands,
Stalking my children's faces with a tail of blood,
Time, in a rider rising, from the harnessed valley;
Hold hard, my country darlings, for a hawk descends,
Golden Glamorgan straightens, to the falling birds.
Your sport is summer as the spring runs angrily.

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The Waking by Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

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Fire and Ice by Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

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Forgotten Language by Shel Silverstein
Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

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Weekend Glory by Maya Angelou
Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.

They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks.
Buying big cars
they can't afford,
ridin' around town
actin' bored.

If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.

My job at the plant
ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.

Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.

Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.

They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.

My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.

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If I Thought
© Dana Schwartz
Published: February 2015
If I thought for just one moment that this would be my last breath,
I'd tell you I'll love you forever, even beyond death.
If I thought for just one moment that your face would be the last I'd see,
I'd take a million pictures and save them just for me.
If I thought for just one moment that your voice would be the last I'd hear,
I'd listen attentively and promise not to shed a tear.
If I thought for just one moment that your touch would be the last I'd feel,
I'd embrace you and know that this has all been real.
If I thought for just one moment that my heart would beat its last beat,
I'd thank the Lord for allowing us to meet.

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A Toast To Forever
© Josh Mertens
Published: October 2013
You're the one I can't live without
This fact is true, I have no doubt
I love the way you smile at me
I love the way together we're free
You may be strange and slightly loony
But all this means nothing to me
Because you are who you are
And I can see your beauty
Inside and out
Which is what threw me

When everyday I see you
Till then I cannot wait
To know what we will go through
Are in the hands of fate
The first time that I saw you
I knew I must steal your heart
I hope that it's mine for ever
And that we never do part

You are the one I love the most
And to this here fact I propose a toast;
May we grow old and still have fun
Because I love you and my heart you've won

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Spirits Of The Dead by Edgar Allan Poe
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

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One’s-Self I Sing. by Walt Whitman
ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
 
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the
   Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
 
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.

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Rank：Diamond Member Score：16720 Posts：3344 From：USA Register：18/12/2008 10:21 PM	Date Posted：10/03/2018 10:38 AMCopy HTML Feel free to ad one of your's or leave a comment, Fall Yes Tis the proper name for the season because the temperature, leaves and snow are falling
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：25/03/2022 8:42 AMCopy HTML One’s-Self I Sing. by Walt Whitman ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person; Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse. Of Physiology from top to toe I sing; Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the Form complete is worthier far; The Female equally with the male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：24/03/2022 9:42 AMCopy HTML Written by Pam Ayres \| Woodland Burial Don’t lay me in some gloomy churchyard shaded by a wall Where the dust of ancient bones has spread a dryness over all, Lay me in some leafy loam where, sheltered from the cold Little seeds investigate and tender leaves unfold. There kindly and affectionately, plant a native tree To grow resplendent before God and hold some part of me. The roots will not disturb me as they wend their peaceful way To build the fine and bountiful, from closure and decay. To seek their small requirements so that when their work is done I’ll be tall and standing strongly in the beauty of the sun.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：22/03/2022 9:14 AMCopy HTML An August Midnight by Thomas Hardy I A shaded lamp and a waving blind, And the beat of a clock from a distant floor: On this scene enter--winged, horned, and spined - A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore; While 'mid my page there idly stands A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . . II Thus meet we five, in this still place, At this point of time, at this point in space. - My guests parade my new-penned ink, Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink. "God's humblest, they!" I muse. Yet why?
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：21/03/2022 9:14 AMCopy HTML I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee; A poet could not be but gay, In such a jocund company! I gazedâ€”and gazedâ€”but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：20/03/2022 8:46 AMCopy HTML Monet's Waterlilies by Robert Hayden Today as the news from Selma and Saigon poisons the air like fallout, I come again to see the serene, great picture that I love. Here space and time exist in light the eye like the eye of faith believes. The seen, the known dissolve in iridescence, become illusive flesh of light that was not, was, forever is. O light beheld as through refracting tears. Here is the aura of that world each of us has lost. Here is the shadow of its joy.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：19/03/2022 8:52 AMCopy HTML Have You Earned Your Tomorrow By Edgar Guest Is anybody happier because you passed his way? Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today? This day is almost over, and its toiling time is through; Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you? Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along? Or a churlish sort of "Howdy" and then vanish in the throng? Were you selfish pure and simple as you rushed along the way, Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today? Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that's slipping fast, That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed? Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said; Does a man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead? Did you waste the day, or lose it, was it well or sorely spent? Did you leave a trail of kindness or a scar of discontent? As you close your eyes in slumber do you think that God would say, You have earned one more tomorrow by the work you did today?
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：18/03/2022 8:15 AMCopy HTML The Lesson by Maya Angelou I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs, Rotting flesh and worms do Not convince me against The challenge. The years And cold defeat live deep in Lines along my face. They dull my eyes, yet I keep on dying, Because I love to live.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：17/03/2022 8:16 AMCopy HTML Father's Day In Heaven © Ron Tranmer Published: June 2014 I love you and I miss you, Dad, and though you've passed away, you'll never be forgotten, for I think of you each day. If heaven celebrates this day how special it will be. A gathering of the many dads upon our family tree. Your father and grandfather and great grandfather too. How wonderful it is, if they can spend this day with you. May you know how much I love you, though I'm here and you are there. Happy Father's Day in heaven to the best dad anywhere!
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：16/03/2022 9:02 AMCopy HTML Picture Puzzle Piece by Shel Silverstein One picture puzzle piece Lyin' on the sidewalk, One picture puzzle piece Soakin' in the rain. It might be a button of blue On the coat of the woman Who lived in a shoe. It might be a magical bean, Or a fold in the red Velvet robe of a queen. It might be the one little bite Of the apple her stepmother Gave to Snow White. It might be the veil of a bride Or a bottle with some evil genie inside. It might be a small tuft of hair On the big bouncy belly Of Bobo the Bear. It might be a bit of the cloak Of the Witch of the West As she melted to smoke. It might be a shadowy trace Of a tear that runs down an angel's face. Nothing has more possibilities Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：15/03/2022 8:05 AMCopy HTML Danny O'Dare by Shel Silverstein Danny O'Dare, the dancin' bear, Ran away from the County Fair, Ran right up to my back stair And thought he'd do some dancin' there. He started jumpin' and skippin' and kickin', He did a dance called the Funky Chicken, He did the Polka, he did the Twist, He bent himself into a pretzel like this. He did the Dog and the Jitterbug, He did the Jerk and the Bunny Hug. He did the Waltz and the Boogaloo, He did the Hokey-Pokey too. He did the Bop and the Mashed Potata, He did the Split and the See Ya Later. And now he's down upon one knee, Bowin' oh so charmingly, And winkin' and smilin'--it's easy to see Danny O'Dare wants to dance with me.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：13/03/2022 11:30 AMCopy HTML The Benefits Of Exercise © Alan Balter Published: October 4, 2017 All my life I've been extra large, plus I'm known as a very large fellow. I would easily pass as a school district bus If somebody painted me yellow. "No secret to losing weight," I've been told. "Just cut the fat from your diet." "Get up and about even if it's cold." Once again, I decided to try it. But jogging was something senseless to me, And riding a bike seemed insane. Joining a gym involved a large fee, And lifting weights was a pain. So for exercise I choose horseback riding. It's fun and easier than it sounds. It's a very effective form of dieting 'Cause my horse lost forty pounds.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：12/03/2022 12:58 PMCopy HTML started Early -- Took my Dog -- by Emily Dickinson I started Early -- Took my Dog -- And visited the Sea -- The Mermaids in the Basement Came out to look at me -- And Frigates -- in the Upper Floor Extended Hempen Hands -- Presuming Me to be a Mouse -- Aground -- upon the Sands -- But no Man moved Me -- till the Tide Went past my simple Shoe -- And past my Apron -- and my Belt -- And past my Bodice -- too -- And made as He would eat me up -- As wholly as a Dew Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve -- And then -- I started -- too -- And He -- He followed -- close behind -- I felt his Silver Heel Upon my Ankle -- Then my Shoes Would overflow with Pearl -- Until We met the Solid Town -- No One He seemed to know -- And bowing -- with a Mighty look -- At me -- The Sea withdrew --
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：11/03/2022 8:37 AMCopy HTML Les Silhouettes by Oscar Wilde The sea is flecked with bars of grey, The dull dead wind is out of tune, And like a withered leaf the moon Is blown across the stormy bay. Etched clear upon the pallid sand Lies the black boat: a sailor boy Clambers aboard in careless joy With laughing face and gleaming hand. And overhead the curlews cry, Where through the dusky upland grass The young brown-throated reapers pass, Like silhouettes against the sky.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：10/03/2022 9:17 AMCopy HTML Picture Puzzle Piece by Shel Silverstein One picture puzzle piece Lyin' on the sidewalk, One picture puzzle piece Soakin' in the rain. It might be a button of blue On the coat of the woman Who lived in a shoe. It might be a magical bean, Or a fold in the red Velvet robe of a queen. It might be the one little bite Of the apple her stepmother Gave to Snow White. It might be the veil of a bride Or a bottle with some evil genie inside. It might be a small tuft of hair On the big bouncy belly Of Bobo the Bear. It might be a bit of the cloak Of the Witch of the West As she melted to smoke. It might be a shadowy trace Of a tear that runs down an angel's face. Nothing has more possibilities Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：09/03/2022 8:36 AMCopy HTML September 1913 by William Butler Yeats What need you, being come to sense, But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, until You have dried the marrow from the bone? For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave. Yet they were of a different kind, The names that stilled your childish play, They have gone about the world like wind, But little time had they to pray For whom the hangman's rope was spun, And what, God help us, could they save? Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave. Was it for this the wild geese spread The grey wing upon every tide; For this that all that blood was shed, For this Edward Fitzgerald died, And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, All that delirium of the brave? Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave. Yet could we turn the years again, And call those exiles as they were In all their loneliness and pain, You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair Has maddened every mother's son': They weighed so lightly what they gave. But let them be, they're dead and gone, They're with O'Leary in the grave.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：08/03/2022 8:34 AMCopy HTML Broken Family Tree © Lori McBride Published: February 2006 I am one of many Small branches of a broken tree, Always looking to the ones above For guidance, strength and security. One little branch trying To keep the others from breaking away. Who will fall? And who will stay? Now I stand alone, Looking at the earth through the rain, And I see the broken branches I knew Scattered about me in pain. There are those who have taken an ax To the root of our very foundation And who have passed this destruction Down to every new generation. If I could take that ax, I would toss it deep into the sea, Never to return again To harm the generations that follow me. I am one of many, But alone I will go And plant the new seeds Where a beautiful tree will grow.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：07/03/2022 8:49 AMCopy HTML Dreams © Jane A Beresford Published: April 2, 2017 We slip beneath the pillow's spell And drift from heaven and into hell To lose control of conscious mind The secrets of our soul to find. A timeless journey fills our being. The blind man now becomes all-seeing. The lonely now becomes the lover. The childless wife a loving mother. Reflection of our dormant fears Once woken may reduce to tears. With sleep the master free to prey On untold thought which nightly stray.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：06/03/2022 10:37 AMCopy HTML Tristitiae by Oscar Wilde O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rain, The crashing down of forest trees. O well for him who ne'er hath known The travail of the hungry years, A father grey with grief and tears, A mother weeping all alone. But well for him whose foot hath trod The weary road of toil and strife, Yet from the sorrows of his life. Builds ladders to be nearer God
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：04/03/2022 8:54 AMCopy HTML An Unholy World by Raymond A. Foss We live in a time a world that Paul warned us about violence and righteousness claimed in your name the name of God to justify the slaughter the maiming of innocents the unholy partnership the fellowship of light and darkness the incongruity, the iniquity that converted apostle of Christ foretold, urged to be avoided We are called to be separated, to be in this world but not of this world to prune and to focus to use the thorns in our lives heed their quiet call to cleave to you almighty savior redeemer of our sins when we fall into the trap let down our guard and knock the temple off its foundation seeking easier paths sharing too much with the enemy
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：03/03/2022 9:00 AMCopy HTML Sonnet On Approaching Italy by Oscar Wilde I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned, Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the mountain's heart I came And saw the land for which my life had yearned, I laughed as one who some great prize had earned: And musing on the marvel of thy fame I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned. The pine-trees waved as waves a woman's hair, And in the orchards every twining spray Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam: But when I knew that far away at Rome In evil bonds a second Peter lay, I wept to see the land so very fair.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：01/03/2022 9:10 AMCopy HTML A Calendar of Sonnets: April by Helen Hunt Jackson No days such honored days as these! While yet Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide For some fair thing which should forever bide On earth, her beauteous memory to set In fitting frame that no age could forget, Her name in lovely April's name did hide, And leave it there, eternally allied To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget. And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth, Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth, A holier symbol still in seal and sign, Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine, When Christ ascended, in the time of birth Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：28/02/2022 9:03 AMCopy HTML Hold Hard, These Ancient Minutes In The Cuckoo's Month by Dylan Thomas Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's month, Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan's hill, As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time; Time, in a folly's rider, like a county man Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel, Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south. Country, your sport is summer, and December's pools By crane and water-tower by the seedy trees Lie this fifth month unskated, and the birds have flown; Holy hard, my country children in the world if tales, The greenwood dying as the deer fall in their tracks, The first and steepled season, to the summer's game. And now the horns of England, in the sound of shape, Summon your snowy horsemen, and the four-stringed hill, Over the sea-gut loudening, sets a rock alive; Hurdles and guns and railings, as the boulders heave, Crack like a spring in vice, bone breaking April, Spill the lank folly's hunter and the hard-held hope. Down fall four padding weathers on the scarlet lands, Stalking my children's faces with a tail of blood, Time, in a rider rising, from the harnessed valley; Hold hard, my country darlings, for a hawk descends, Golden Glamorgan straightens, to the falling birds. Your sport is summer as the spring runs angrily.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：27/02/2022 11:15 AMCopy HTML The Waking by Theodore Roethke I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go. We think by feeling. What is there to know? I hear my being dance from ear to ear. I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. Of those so close beside me, which are you? God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there, And learn by going where I have to go. Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how? The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair; I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. Great Nature has another thing to do To you and me; so take the lively air, And, lovely, learn by going where to go. This shaking keeps me steady. I should know. What falls away is always. And is near. I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I learn by going where I have to go.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：26/02/2022 8:54 AMCopy HTML Fire and Ice by Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favour fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：25/02/2022 9:16 AMCopy HTML Forgotten Language by Shel Silverstein Once I spoke the language of the flowers, Once I understood each word the caterpillar said, Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings, And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed. Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets, And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow, Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . . How did it go? How did it go?
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：24/02/2022 9:12 AMCopy HTML Weekend Glory by Maya Angelou Some clichty folks don't know the facts, posin' and preenin' and puttin' on acts, stretchin' their backs. They move into condos up over the ranks, pawn their souls to the local banks. Buying big cars they can't afford, ridin' around town actin' bored. If they want to learn how to live life right they ought to study me on Saturday night. My job at the plant ain't the biggest bet, but I pay my bills and stay out of debt. I get my hair done for my own self's sake, so I don't have to pick and I don't have to rake. Take the church money out and head cross town to my friend girl's house where we plan our round. We meet our men and go to a joint where the music is blue and to the point. Folks write about me. They just can't see how I work all week at the factory. Then get spruced up and laugh and dance And turn away from worry with sassy glance. They accuse me of livin' from day to day, but who are they kiddin'? So are they. My life ain't heaven but it sure ain't hell. I'm not on top but I call it swell if I'm able to work and get paid right and have the luck to be Black on a Saturday night.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：23/02/2022 9:46 AMCopy HTML If I Thought © Dana Schwartz Published: February 2015 If I thought for just one moment that this would be my last breath, I'd tell you I'll love you forever, even beyond death. If I thought for just one moment that your face would be the last I'd see, I'd take a million pictures and save them just for me. If I thought for just one moment that your voice would be the last I'd hear, I'd listen attentively and promise not to shed a tear. If I thought for just one moment that your touch would be the last I'd feel, I'd embrace you and know that this has all been real. If I thought for just one moment that my heart would beat its last beat, I'd thank the Lord for allowing us to meet.
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：22/02/2022 9:08 AMCopy HTML A Toast To Forever © Josh Mertens Published: October 2013 You're the one I can't live without This fact is true, I have no doubt I love the way you smile at me I love the way together we're free You may be strange and slightly loony But all this means nothing to me Because you are who you are And I can see your beauty Inside and out Which is what threw me When everyday I see you Till then I cannot wait To know what we will go through Are in the hands of fate The first time that I saw you I knew I must steal your heart I hope that it's mine for ever And that we never do part You are the one I love the most And to this here fact I propose a toast; May we grow old and still have fun Because I love you and my heart you've won
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：21/02/2022 10:17 AMCopy HTML Spirits Of The Dead by Edgar Allan Poe Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness- for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries!
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Rank：Diamond Member Score：639530 Posts：127906 From：England Register：24/03/2010 8:09 AM	Re：Poems Date Posted：20/02/2022 11:37 AMCopy HTML One’s-Self I Sing. by Walt Whitman ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person; Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse. Of Physiology from top to toe I sing; Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the Form complete is worthier far; The Female equally with the male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing.