Poet's Corner

[Mindful]

No matter how mature and experienced you are,
the moment comes again and again
where you realize what a little child you are after all,
Helpless before the tales of life
and its mighty writer, who stands "Fate"... ♡..

[The Poet, thank you
Art unknown]

 

[miketx]

No matter how mature and experienced you are,
the moment comes again and again
where you realize what a little child you are after all,
Helpless before the tales of life
and its mighty writer, who stands "Fate"... ♡..

[The Poet, thank you
Art unknown]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Chocolate is good
And my cat has a rash

 

[Mindful]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Chocolate is good
And my cat has a rash

I love my cat.

 

[miketx]

I love my cat.

I love chocolate cats!

 

[Mindful]

I love chocolate cats!

I bet you do.

 

[Likkmee]

Post your favorite poems and/or any original poems--here is one of my favorite poets:

I Know the Way You Can Get
by Hafiz

I know the way you can get
When you have not had a drink of Love:

Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.

Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.

Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one's self.

O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:

You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.

You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.

You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.

I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love's
Hands.

That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.

That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!

All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!

Got my dick caught in my zzzipper, and I dunno what to do.
It hurt like a mother, I hopes it happenz ta you.

I'll finish it shortly

 

[Mindful]

I'll finish it shortly

Don’t bother.

 

[miketx]

I bet you do.

Yes, now lets go out and night stick some democrats! You up for it?

 

[Mindful]

Yes, now lets go out and night stick some democrats! You up for it?

Absolutely.

 

[miketx]

Got my dick caught in my zzzipper, and I dunno what to do.
It hurt like a mother, I hopes it happenz ta you.

I'll finish it shortly

His dick caught in his zipper
was said to be a poor tipper
But when he dollared the stripper
Caught his dick in her zipper
Low tippers with zippers
Were known to be bong rippers

 

[Mindful]

“In today’s rush, we all think too much...seek too much ...want too much...and forget about the joy of just being.”

Eckhart Tolle

Sarah Paxton Ball Dodson - Butterflies, 1891.

 

[Mindful]

"Ever tried. Ever failed.
No matter.
Try Again.
Fail again. Fail better."

~ Samuel Beckett.

 

[beautress]

The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk

Ogden Nash

 

[miketx]

The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk

Ogden Nash

(photo by Ambroz via rgbstock.com)

She frowned and called him Mr.
Because in sport he kr.
And so in spite
That very night
This Mr. kr. sr.

 

[JoeMoma]

I call this poem I wrote Blank Canvas. Enjoy!












.

 

[lg325]

Bed In Summer
Poet: Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue.
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

 

[lg325]

Wet dirt road from the rain
Walking alone an oak limb as a cane
Air is still and warm on this night in June
My only companion a full strawberry moon.

 

[Mindful]

The Tree of Idleness - Lawrence Durrell​

I shall die one day I suppose
In this old Turkish house I inhabit:
A ragged banana-leaf outside and here
On the sill in a jam-jar a rock-rose.
Perhaps a single pining mandolin
Throbs where cicadas have quarried
To the heart of all misgivings and there
Scratches on silence like a pet locked in.
Will I be more or less dead
Than the village in memory’s dispersing
Springs, or in some cloud of witness see,
Looking back, the selfsame road ahead?
By the moist clay of a woman’s wanting,
After the heart has stopped its fearful
Gnawing, will I descry between
This life and that another sort of haunting?
No: the card-players in tabs of share
Will play on: the aerial springs
Hiss: in bed lying quiet under kisses
Without signature, with all my debts unpaid
I shall recall nights of squinting rain,
Like pig-iron on the hills: bruised
Landscapes of drumming cloud and everywhere
The lack of someone spreading like a stain.
Or where brown fingers in the darkness move,
Before the early shepherds have awoken,
Tap out on sleeping lips with these same
Worn typewriter keys a poem imploring
Silence of lips and minds which have not spoken.
–
From the collection The Tree of Idleness (1955)

 

[JoeMoma]

The Tree of Idleness - Lawrence Durrell​

I shall die one day I suppose
In this old Turkish house I inhabit:
A ragged banana-leaf outside and here
On the sill in a jam-jar a rock-rose.
Perhaps a single pining mandolin
Throbs where cicadas have quarried
To the heart of all misgivings and there
Scratches on silence like a pet locked in.
Will I be more or less dead
Than the village in memory’s dispersing
Springs, or in some cloud of witness see,
Looking back, the selfsame road ahead?
By the moist clay of a woman’s wanting,
After the heart has stopped its fearful
Gnawing, will I descry between
This life and that another sort of haunting?
No: the card-players in tabs of share
Will play on: the aerial springs
Hiss: in bed lying quiet under kisses
Without signature, with all my debts unpaid
I shall recall nights of squinting rain,
Like pig-iron on the hills: bruised
Landscapes of drumming cloud and everywhere
The lack of someone spreading like a stain.
Or where brown fingers in the darkness move,
Before the early shepherds have awoken,
Tap out on sleeping lips with these same
Worn typewriter keys a poem imploring
Silence of lips and minds which have not spoken.
–
From the collection The Tree of Idleness (1955)

I've never been to a Turkish house.

 

[Mindful]

I've never been to a Turkish house.

They’re nice.