Poems

[SirumemKez20]

Fill Free to contribute your favorite poems by authors, here are some of mine:

 

 

Slow Tears

by Martini

 

I look up

as a tear rolls slowly

down my cheek

I think about better days

and wonder if I'll feel that way again

you look at me

with those eyes I know so well

always serious, so deep and insightful

as though you're always in control

But not today

not now

Now you look so scared

like for once you don't have the answer

I gaze at you

looking deep into those hazel eyes

Hoping to understand

why you've said those things you did

I wonder for a moment

if this is all a dream

if I shall wake in the morning

and be relieved

you look at me

with a confusion I have never seen

slowly pull me towards you

and wipe the tears from my cheek

 

Corrupted Love

by Angelgirl020

 

A warm sensation fills my body

My heart races with every touch

The softness of your voice soothes

My soul

As I lay there hoping the moment

Will never end

Calling out for you

Praying that you'll never let me go

The sensation so strong

I can no longer feel my body

Slowly I fade in and out of reality

In an instant the warm sensation

Fades away

My heart empty

My soul torn apart

Lying there; wondering where I went

Wrong

Calling out for you, only to find

there is no answer

My mind invaded with thoughts

So cruel and unrefined

The sensation of fear of what's to come

Slowly the reality over powering

The lust and fantasy

Leaving me empty

Confused on how to think or feel

The loneliness I feel

So wretched and compelled

Betrayal to myself

Revealing the terrors of my love

[Dan]

Hello, Sirumemkez..

 

My all-time favourite poem is the following:

 

In Flanders Fields

 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place: and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch: be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

 

John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

[Dan]

And this one - a "love" poem (a little bit long, but bear with me... )

 

Two Loves

 

I dreamed I stood upon a little hill,

And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed

Like a waste garden, flowering at its will

With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed

Black and unruffled; there were white lilies

A few, and crocuses, and violets

Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries

Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets

Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun.

And there were curious flowers, before unknown,

Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades

Of Nature's willful moods; and here a one

That had drunk in the transitory tone

Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades

Of grass that in an hundred springs had been

Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars,

And watered with the scented dew long cupped

In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen

Only God's glory, for never a sunrise mars

The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt,

A grey stone wall. o'ergrown with velvet moss

Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed

To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair.

And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across

The garden came a youth; one hand he raised

To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair

Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore

A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes

Were clear as crystal, naked all was he,

White as the snow on pathless mountains frore,

Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes

A marble floor, his brow chalcedony.

And he came near me, with his lips uncurled

And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth,

And gave me grapes to eat, and said, 'Sweet friend,

Come I will show thee shadows of the world

And images of life. See from the South

Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.'

And lo! within the garden of my dream

I saw two walking on a shining plain

Of golden light. The one did joyous seem

And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain

Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids

And joyous love of comely girl and boy,

His eyes were bright, and 'mid the dancing blades

Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy;

And in his hand he held an ivory lute

With strings of gold that were as maidens' hair,

And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute,

And round his neck three chains of roses were.

But he that was his comrade walked aside;

He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes

Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide

With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs

That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white

Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red

Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight,

And yet again unclenched, and his head

Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death.

A purple robe he wore, o'erwrought in gold

With the device of a great snake, whose breath

Was fiery flame: which when I did behold

I fell a-weeping, and I cried, 'Sweet youth,

Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove

These pleasent realms? I pray thee speak me sooth

What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.'

Then straight the first did turn himself to me

And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame,

But I am Love, and I was wont to be

Alone in this fair garden, till he came

Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill

The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'

Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will,

I am the love that dare not speak its name.'

 

Lord Alfred Douglas

 

Note: those are the 2 poems that have influenced me MOST in my life.. and i identify with both.

Edited December 11, 2003 by Dan

[ED]

Davit 11 years old

 

 

 

The piercing of the Moon

 

The light of a bright angel flashes beneath her eyes

so she laughs and laughs, but you will never see her cry

death must never attend to scare her, she is one with it

she has experienced the feeling with the scrapings on her tombstone

she will loose her body but never she has the chance to loose her faith

she is a small toddler confused and young,

she never understood the damages from a gun

so as the clock struck zero she began to gasp

dropping the last tear as you have seen from her past

she got struck with no air, no breathe, no sign with what’s wrong

10 seconds later her parents thought she was gone

she is a pretty angel only 3 years old she never had the chance to live on her own

with the last breathe she attended to take, she saw a beautiful light

she couldn’t believe her sight, she started to giggle she had no clue

everything was so perfect what did she do?

This a is sick place for a young girl to grow up.

The society has by far been toured a part

so for every beautiful angel with a crushed heart

I donate this poem from the bottom of my heart

[Anileve]

Davit 11 years old

 

 

 

The piercing of the Moon

 

The light of a bright angel flashes beneath her eyes

so she laughs and laughs, but you will never see her cry

death must never attend to scare her, she is one with it

she has experienced the feeling with the scrapings on her tombstone

That is a very disturbing poem, but pretty impressive from an 11 year old. Who is Davit?

 

Transferring a poem for a moment of self glorification called "State of Confusion" by me.

 

State of confusion

Is a fusion of:

Analysis protrusion,

Mind transfusion

An ounce of insanity intrusion

Followed by a delusion

Yet in the state of illusion

It is known to find its solution

And perhaps only with the help of seclusion

One is able to come to a conclusion

 

Just love the look of the "ion" ending, sort of reminds me of "ian" like my name. Agh vanity vanity!

[angel4hope]

hmmm i write many poems myself, i would like to post them, but i havent yet published my new ones, and dont want people taking my work and putting their names on it--not accusing members of the forum!

[ED]

That is a very disturbing poem, but pretty impressive from an 11 year old. Who is Davit?

Well, I wouldn’t call it disturbing, more like he was very touched/moved by the event that took place here in los angeles couple of years ago, and thank you for the complement, Davit is a very creative and/yet very sensitive. The poem was his way of expressing what he felt. He has written many other poems since then and I have to ask his permission, again, to post them here.

 

Davit is my son

[Anileve]

Well, I wouldn’t call it disturbing, more like he was very touched/moved by the event that took place here in los angeles couple of years ago, and thank you for the complement, Davit is a very creative and/yet very sensitive. The poem was his way of expressing what he felt. He has written many other poems since then and I have to ask his permission, again, to post them here.

 

Davit is my son

Well Edward you have yourself a prodigy there! I guess following the footsteps of the father. Very impressive, only 11 years old? Apres!

[Harut]

one of the favorites... an all-timer

 

http://www.movsesjan.com/ps/flash/2.htm