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Montanaman · M
Most recent one written.
Only got 4 views and two hearts...
But that's not what really matters.
Desire Turns To Dust-
Have you ever felt that feeling,
When desire turns to dust
A summer's rain,
That lies to you
The heat of reality leaves you Thirsty with lust.
Choking on promises,
Your empty eyes can't possibility understand
That you're just like all the rest,
All jazz and whiskey
Poker face and sparkling eyes,
You can't believe you fell for his lies.
That's when desire turns to dust.
-Kelly.
Only got 4 views and two hearts...
But that's not what really matters.
Desire Turns To Dust-
Have you ever felt that feeling,
When desire turns to dust
A summer's rain,
That lies to you
The heat of reality leaves you Thirsty with lust.
Choking on promises,
Your empty eyes can't possibility understand
That you're just like all the rest,
All jazz and whiskey
Poker face and sparkling eyes,
You can't believe you fell for his lies.
That's when desire turns to dust.
-Kelly.
View 11 more replies »
bijouxbroussard · F
@Montanaman It’s beautiful. I’m astonished that anyone wouldn’t be honored to be its subject. 🙁
I’m glad you didn’t stay away.
I’m glad you didn’t stay away.
Montanaman · M
@bijouxbroussard Thank you very much. 👍🤗🌹
Abstraction · 61-69, M
I have many from many ages. It depends on my mood what I love best at the time. Here's a powerful poem from an obscure poet. I think because I've worked in countries where people have laid down their lives for freedom, or have watched their children die in front of them and the situation is skipped over as 'not newsworthy'...
burial ceremony Hungary 1956-62
Bury them deep
under the muffling weight
of six years’ trivia
Heap over them
the shining excrement of those
who feed on forgetting.
Under the bright
inconsequence of headlines
shut them up good.
Under the recurring
tragedy of the football star’s
slipped cartilage,
Under the ticker-taped
processionals of beauty-queens, all
gloriously living,
Under the fretful barrage
of politicians breaking public wind
to ease the embarrassment
Of breathing when so many
better men lie
elsewhere breathless
Under the brute siesta
of nation-states where freedom
remains a quaint local custom…
...and beat drum, beat
For these Hungarian souls
Whom anger simplified
Until all answers seemed
The same, a bloody sum,
And every schoolboy in the torn-up streets
Wept to see fulfilled
The aching paradox
That life belongs to those alone
Who loving it, stand ready
To pay it the smoke-blackened
Compliment of their death...
Beat, drum, beat...
burial ceremony Hungary 1956-62
Bury them deep
under the muffling weight
of six years’ trivia
Heap over them
the shining excrement of those
who feed on forgetting.
Under the bright
inconsequence of headlines
shut them up good.
Under the recurring
tragedy of the football star’s
slipped cartilage,
Under the ticker-taped
processionals of beauty-queens, all
gloriously living,
Under the fretful barrage
of politicians breaking public wind
to ease the embarrassment
Of breathing when so many
better men lie
elsewhere breathless
Under the brute siesta
of nation-states where freedom
remains a quaint local custom…
...and beat drum, beat
For these Hungarian souls
Whom anger simplified
Until all answers seemed
The same, a bloody sum,
And every schoolboy in the torn-up streets
Wept to see fulfilled
The aching paradox
That life belongs to those alone
Who loving it, stand ready
To pay it the smoke-blackened
Compliment of their death...
Beat, drum, beat...
This is not my favourite, but the last one I wrote...
It is called one thousand and one nights...
One thousand and one nights
dreaming of you in the melancholy of desire
hoping for an eternal night, no dawn to arrive
One thousand and one kisses
sliding on your skin in the fever of temptation
One thousand and one fantasies
inhaling your dreamy masculine scent
whispering your name in your ears
One thousand and one desires
dreaming of dreaming of you with my face resting on your chest,
One thousand and one tears
reminding me of the story that never belonged to me
One thousand and one silent songs spreading the sorrow of us aparting
It is called one thousand and one nights...
One thousand and one nights
dreaming of you in the melancholy of desire
hoping for an eternal night, no dawn to arrive
One thousand and one kisses
sliding on your skin in the fever of temptation
One thousand and one fantasies
inhaling your dreamy masculine scent
whispering your name in your ears
One thousand and one desires
dreaming of dreaming of you with my face resting on your chest,
One thousand and one tears
reminding me of the story that never belonged to me
One thousand and one silent songs spreading the sorrow of us aparting
Abstraction · 61-69, M
@Soossie Farsi - I think it must be a beautifully expressive language? I almost listed the English translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, as it's one of my favourites. I can be lost inside it. The imagery is second to none. Have you read the English and the Farsi and how would you compare them?
Yulianna · 22-25, F
favourite? no, there are too many great poems to select just one.
among my favourite poets in English language are
TS Eliot
Dylan Thomas
GM Hopkins
John Donne
in Ukrainian, of course Shevchenko, Lesya Ukrainka.
🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦
i have written a lot of poetry. i have posted many poems on EP and SW.
among my favourite poets in English language are
TS Eliot
Dylan Thomas
GM Hopkins
John Donne
in Ukrainian, of course Shevchenko, Lesya Ukrainka.
🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦
i have written a lot of poetry. i have posted many poems on EP and SW.
TheSirfurryanimalWales · 61-69, M
Father was a Miner.
My father was a miner, He worked deep underground;
The rush of drams and clanking chains. They were his daily sounds.
He worked so far below the ground, Where coal was hewed by pick,
The work so hard and wages small He didn't dare go sick.
He crawled upon his belly. In drifts so low and narrow,
The wind it whistled down the shaft. It chilled him to the marrow.
He ate his food from a Tommy box, Shaped like a slice of bread,
While squatting down upon the ground, Where spit and crumbs were shed.
His water, it was in a Jack, to wet down clouds of dust,
That gathered in his throat and lungs. Where it formed a deadly crust.
We would listen for his footsteps, He then come into sight:
This man, our Dad, as black as black, just like the darkest night;
His bath was always ready, Set down in front of fire,
My mother then would wash his back , and tell us to retire;
Right down his back white rivers ran amongst the dirt and grime,
But you cannot wash away blue scars. That you get down in the mine.
Years now have passed. My father gone, But I am proud to say,
MY FATHER WAS A MINER, UNTIL HIS DYING DAY.
Poem by William Holman.
Dad wasn’t a miner.Grandad was.
My father was a miner, He worked deep underground;
The rush of drams and clanking chains. They were his daily sounds.
He worked so far below the ground, Where coal was hewed by pick,
The work so hard and wages small He didn't dare go sick.
He crawled upon his belly. In drifts so low and narrow,
The wind it whistled down the shaft. It chilled him to the marrow.
He ate his food from a Tommy box, Shaped like a slice of bread,
While squatting down upon the ground, Where spit and crumbs were shed.
His water, it was in a Jack, to wet down clouds of dust,
That gathered in his throat and lungs. Where it formed a deadly crust.
We would listen for his footsteps, He then come into sight:
This man, our Dad, as black as black, just like the darkest night;
His bath was always ready, Set down in front of fire,
My mother then would wash his back , and tell us to retire;
Right down his back white rivers ran amongst the dirt and grime,
But you cannot wash away blue scars. That you get down in the mine.
Years now have passed. My father gone, But I am proud to say,
MY FATHER WAS A MINER, UNTIL HIS DYING DAY.
Poem by William Holman.
Dad wasn’t a miner.Grandad was.
Montanaman · M
@TheSirfurryanimalWales I so respect miner's. Beyond words. I work closely with them at The Plant.
TheSirfurryanimalWales · 61-69, M
Abstraction · 61-69, M
@TheSirfurryanimalWales So many lives spent in the most claustrophobic conditions, coating their lungs with god-knows-what, hard physical labour for little return whilst the self-satisfied wealthy scraped the profits up and squeezed down wages to misery level. And they did it for their families. They often couldn't give their kids everything they wanted to with the indignity of struggling to get by.
And here, in your poem, they are recognised. This. Was. Their. Life. Every day. No hope of anything much else. But they were probably better men than you and I, and made of sterner stuff.
And here, in your poem, they are recognised. This. Was. Their. Life. Every day. No hope of anything much else. But they were probably better men than you and I, and made of sterner stuff.
thewindupbirdchronicles · 46-50, M
One more I love from Leonard Cohen, the imagery of the song is just so clear,
I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me
But the room just filled up with mosquitos
They heard that my body was free
Then I took the dust of a long sleepless night
And I put it in your little shoe
And then I confess that I tortured the dress
That you wore for the world to look through
I showed my heart to the doctor: he said I just have to quit
Then he wrote himself a prescription
And your name was mentioned in it!
Then he locked himself in a library shelf
With the details of our honeymoon
And I hear from the nurse that he's gotten much worse
And his practice is all in a ruin
I heard of a saint who had loved you
So I studied all night in his school
He taught that the duty of lovers
Is to tarnish the golden rule
And just when I was sure that his teachings were pure
He drowned himself in the pool
His body is gone but back here on the lawn
His spirit continues to drool
An Eskimo showed me a movie
He'd recently taken of you
The poor man could hardly stop shivering
His lips and his fingers were blue
I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes
And I guess he just never got warm
But you stand there so nice, in your blizzard of ice
Oh please let me come into the storm
I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me
But the room just filled up with mosquitos
They heard that my body was free
Then I took the dust of a long sleepless night
And I put it in your little shoe
And then I confess that I tortured the dress
That you wore for the world to look through
I showed my heart to the doctor: he said I just have to quit
Then he wrote himself a prescription
And your name was mentioned in it!
Then he locked himself in a library shelf
With the details of our honeymoon
And I hear from the nurse that he's gotten much worse
And his practice is all in a ruin
I heard of a saint who had loved you
So I studied all night in his school
He taught that the duty of lovers
Is to tarnish the golden rule
And just when I was sure that his teachings were pure
He drowned himself in the pool
His body is gone but back here on the lawn
His spirit continues to drool
An Eskimo showed me a movie
He'd recently taken of you
The poor man could hardly stop shivering
His lips and his fingers were blue
I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes
And I guess he just never got warm
But you stand there so nice, in your blizzard of ice
Oh please let me come into the storm
@thewindupbirdchronicles
I havent read any individual poems by him... I know most of his lyrics written for songs...
I'd loce to read some of his poems...
I havent read any individual poems by him... I know most of his lyrics written for songs...
I'd loce to read some of his poems...
thewindupbirdchronicles · 46-50, M
I have written one or two, often to someone significant to me, so there they stay those poems.
I do love this one, not sure my favourite but it definitely talks about the human condition and with one I trust could write of it, by Leonard Cohen:
"Recitation"
You came to me this morning and you handled me like meat.
You’d have to be a man to know how good that feels, how sweet.
My mirrored twin, my next of kin, I’d know you in my sleep and who but you would take me in, a thousand kisses deep.
I loved you when you opened like a lily to the heat, you see I’m just another snowman standing in the rain and sleet, who loved you with his frozen love, his second hand physique, with all he is, and all he was,
A thousand kisses deep.
I know you had to lie to me, I know you had to cheat, to pose all hot and high behind the veils of shear deceit, our perfect porn aristocrat so elegant and cheap, I’m old but I’m still into that,
A thousand kisses deep.
I’m good at love, I’m good at hate, it' s in between I freeze.
Been working out, but its too late, it’s been to late for years.
But you look good, you really do, they love you on the street.
If you were here I’d kneel for you,
a thousand kisses deep.
The autumn moved across your skin, got something in my eye, a light that doesn’t need to live, and doesn’t need to die.
A riddle in the book of love, obscure and obsolete, till witnessed here in time and blood,
A thousand kisses deep.
And I'm still working with the wine, still dancing cheek to cheek, the band is playing Auld Lang Syne, but the heart will not retreat.
I ran with Diz and I sang with Ray, I never had their sweep, but once or twice they let me play
A thousand kisses deep.
I loved you when you opened like a lily to the heat, you see, I'm just another snowman standing in the rain and sleet, who loved you with his frozen love, his second hand physique, with all he is, and all he was,
A thousand kisses deep.
But you don’t need to hear me now, and every word I speak, it counts against me anyhow,
A thousand kisses deep.
I do love this one, not sure my favourite but it definitely talks about the human condition and with one I trust could write of it, by Leonard Cohen:
"Recitation"
You came to me this morning and you handled me like meat.
You’d have to be a man to know how good that feels, how sweet.
My mirrored twin, my next of kin, I’d know you in my sleep and who but you would take me in, a thousand kisses deep.
I loved you when you opened like a lily to the heat, you see I’m just another snowman standing in the rain and sleet, who loved you with his frozen love, his second hand physique, with all he is, and all he was,
A thousand kisses deep.
I know you had to lie to me, I know you had to cheat, to pose all hot and high behind the veils of shear deceit, our perfect porn aristocrat so elegant and cheap, I’m old but I’m still into that,
A thousand kisses deep.
I’m good at love, I’m good at hate, it' s in between I freeze.
Been working out, but its too late, it’s been to late for years.
But you look good, you really do, they love you on the street.
If you were here I’d kneel for you,
a thousand kisses deep.
The autumn moved across your skin, got something in my eye, a light that doesn’t need to live, and doesn’t need to die.
A riddle in the book of love, obscure and obsolete, till witnessed here in time and blood,
A thousand kisses deep.
And I'm still working with the wine, still dancing cheek to cheek, the band is playing Auld Lang Syne, but the heart will not retreat.
I ran with Diz and I sang with Ray, I never had their sweep, but once or twice they let me play
A thousand kisses deep.
I loved you when you opened like a lily to the heat, you see, I'm just another snowman standing in the rain and sleet, who loved you with his frozen love, his second hand physique, with all he is, and all he was,
A thousand kisses deep.
But you don’t need to hear me now, and every word I speak, it counts against me anyhow,
A thousand kisses deep.
thewindupbirdchronicles · 46-50, M
@Abstraction He had a way of borrowing stories and then turning them into his own in a way that was entirely original. Alexandra Leaving is beautiful, something about it so sweet, accepting, and sentimental at the same time.
thewindupbirdchronicles · 46-50, M
@Abstraction I think the song Alexandra Leaving also has references to ancient times. Somewhere mythological to the time of Alexandria ? My historical references are always weak, as I often more love the emotional aspects... when sometimes the two are connected somewhere.
That if you listened to him, he understood in words more they many can express. No wonder a tortured soul that way.
That if you listened to him, he understood in words more they many can express. No wonder a tortured soul that way.
@thewindupbirdchronicles
This is one his most beautiful songs... thank you for making me realize hiw I miss listening to his music...
This is one his most beautiful songs... thank you for making me realize hiw I miss listening to his music...
Eidolon · M
Do you have a favourite poem?
Favourite is Shakespeare's Sonnet 116
Have you written one yourself?
Save to be heard, not read
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Selfless poets, forego your name
Write not for "I", ink not for fame
Ensemble your words, and step one back
Epilogue your purpose but don't retract
Poetry should indeed be written
Not necessarily to be read
Outwardly 'tis one's inner expression
Thoughts that rage before going to bed
Flee from the futile fugue of fools
Efforts wasted in sonnet's tools
Even the planes of rhymes and prose
Treasure the qualities, not the rose
Before the end, evolve your wit
Encourage not love, nor hate, just writ
This message was deleted by its author.
SweetMae · 70-79, F
@thewindupbirdchronicles Thank you! I think I did.
Picklebobble2 · 56-60, M
IndigoSavage · 22-25, F
SarahAndSamantha · 46-50, F
SledgeHammer · 46-50, M
Bright light almost blinding
Black night still there shining
I can't stop, keep on climbing
Looking for what I knew
Had a friend, she once told me
You got love, you ain't lonely
Now she's gone and left me only
Looking for what I knew
Mm, I'm telling you now
The greatest thing you ever can do now
Is trade a smile with someone who's blue now
It's very easy
Black night still there shining
I can't stop, keep on climbing
Looking for what I knew
Had a friend, she once told me
You got love, you ain't lonely
Now she's gone and left me only
Looking for what I knew
Mm, I'm telling you now
The greatest thing you ever can do now
Is trade a smile with someone who's blue now
It's very easy
SW-User
Yes there's a popular one called The dummy by michael mack that I like too. I've written over 80 but lost the desire to write.. my fav of mine is called oh well..
DomusOmnibusUna · 22-25, F
@SW-User Can I read it?
SW-User
@DomusOmnibusUna the dummy by michael mack is easy to find 🙂
thepreposterouspanda · 36-40, M
I've written a couple along the way, but I'm more of a songwriter. :)
As far as my favorite poem, it's probably this one: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56159/this-is-just-to-say . :3
As far as my favorite poem, it's probably this one: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56159/this-is-just-to-say . :3
valobasa4ever · F
BlueSkyKing · M
My favorite kind of poem has a particular rhyming pattern and sometimes mentions the region of Nantucket.
Thevy29 · 41-45, M
A bush christening by Banjo Patterson
TheBannibalOne · 61-69, M
No I never did..😎
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