Here you will find poetry by some
of my friends And other well know poets. I hope you enjoy everything
here.. and please remember not to steal other people's work..
Night
No traffic's noise, no bird's song,
no mosquito's bite,
Just the peaceful night.
No angry crowds, no teacher's scream,
no children looking for a fight,
Just the calming night.
It's the time you throw your arms
out wide and bid come what might.
All that answers is the night.
No police sirens, no alarm bells,
no one telling you what is wrong and what is right,
Just the quiet night.
No crying babes, no barking dogs,
no complaints about dirty sights,
Just the tranquil night.
It's the time that problems seem
to disappear with the fleeting light.
It is the blessed night.
Goodnight
Goodnight fair world. Goodnight.
Goodnight to all the babes secure
in mothers’ arms
Tucked safely away and protected
from all harm.
Goodnight to the children too excited
to lay
From all the experiences of the
busy day.
Goodnight to the teens who carry
it all
When in reality, their worries
are small.
Goodnight to the newly married
who's worries are true,
But because of their love, they
haven't a clue.
Goodnight to the middle aged who
are still young at heart
Who with their youth are unwilling
to part.
Goodnight to those who are over
the hill.
Much life lies behind, but much
life lies ahead still.
Goodnight to the seniors who's
hair is now white
Who's long life has shown them
both wrong and right.
Goodnight to myself who isn't as
wise.
I go now to bed to rest my tired
eyes.
Fleeting Love
I have lost at love for I've never
loved at all.
Trying and failing more times than
I care
Leaves me feeling so insignificant
and small.
Love is always fleeting, but still
I dare to try again.
I cannot resist the Siren's call.
I have tried and fled while staring
in love's face,
Pulling myself from its embrace.
I have tried and stepped away from
her care
When I realized that love was never
there.
I have tried and was shoved aside
without any sign
Moments before I thought love would
be mine.
Now I stand and turn to face love
once again
Not knowing what she has to give.
I will not give up until my heart
is slain
And I lay lifeless in my grave.
I have nothing to lose and
everything to gain.
Hallow’s Eve
Knocking on doors, begging for
treats,
Disguised in costumes to keep spirits
at bay,
Children stuff their mouths with
sweets
As they run around and play
Before turning again for more to
eat.
Bobbing for apples, rides on the
hay,
Feeling live organs that's only
just meat,
And caramel apples are all ways
to say,
“Isn't this eve ever so neat?”
This night is the death of the
day.
Spooks and freaks, ghosts and ghouls,
The walking dead, and all things
cursed,
Smoking brew with stench so foul
Around of which the witches verse,
Flickering images of possessed
dolls,
Brutal killings, and eyeballs burst,
And howling wolf and screeching
owl
Who's songs by fear coerce
All gather before the day so hallowed.
Night of evil, do your worst.
These poems were written by a dear
friend, Ballad
FootPrints
One night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along
the beach with the LORD.
Across the sky flashed scenes from
his life. For each scene ,
he noticed two sets of footprints
in the sand.
On belonged to him, the other to
the LORD.
When the last scene of this life
flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints
in the sand..
He noticed that many times along
the path of his life
there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened
at the very lowest
and saddest times of his life.
This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it.
"LORD, you said that once i decided
to follow you,
you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during
the most troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints,
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me"
The LORD replied "My precious,
precious child,
I love you and I would never leave
you.
During those times of trail and
suffering ,
when you see only one set of footprints.
It was then that I carried you.
Unknown Author
THE POET'S TASK & PRAYER
By: William Blake,
Trembling I sit day and night,
My friends are astonished at me,
Yet they forgive my wanderings,
To open the eternal worlds,
To open the immortal eyes,
Of man inward into the worlds of
thought,
Into eternity,
Ever expanding in the bosom of
God,
The human imagination,
O savior pour upon my thy spirit
of meekness & love!
Annihilate the self hood in me:
Be thou all my life!
Guide thou my hand,
Which trembles exceedingly upon
the rock of ages,
While I write,......
The Poet's Motto
By: W. Blake
I must Create a System or be enslav'd
by another Man's.
I will not Reason & Compare:
My business is to Create.
The Tyger
By: W. Blake
Tyger! Tyger! burining bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart begans to beat,
What dread hands? & what dread
feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
When the stars threw down their
sprears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmery?
The Haunted Chamber
By: Heny W. Longfellow
Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!
And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the past,
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.
A form sits by the window.
Thats not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.
It sits there in the moonlight,
Itself as pale and still, And points
with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.
Without, before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs waves upwards and
downward
As wave these thoughts of mine.
And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon lie's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.
What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night returns again?
What are ye, O paillid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?