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| | So ya wanna be a poet?Page 39 of 42 (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42) | a great poem if I say so myself ^^^ the naked truth - beautiful as to the previous page
1015
My Legacy
26 August 2000
Another moment to express
helped by loneliness if not stress
In living a life perhaps not planned
yet one certainly maned
On this flight of fancy
at this time without Nancy
She just a suitable name in use
to give this psalm an excuse
So much put down to marking time
then turned over to rhyme
A pastime some would criticise
while this is more an exercise
Plainly just mucking around
while still above ground
To leave this legacy
with works set free
© 2006 Christopher W Herbert (a New Zealand Poet)
a poet who cares
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| No more tears
Posted: 2/24/2006 11:51:28 PM | Grind my soul to pieces;
rip apart my heart
let the onslaught happen,
dont delay its start.
I did the very best I could;
so curse my soul to hell!
Release the bloody judgement seat
my story then to tell.
bring your best and beat me,
whip me in your rage
violated, ripped apart,
I'll break out of your cage
the mighty hulk you made of me
but secrets I do own
love the path to peace again
and so the victory shown
hate me in your madness
in that I will not dwell
I've had all of my sadness
I'll skip the trip to hell. | |
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| No more tears
Posted: 2/25/2006 12:19:26 AM | Poetry, the self expression of ones emotion, put into words, beauty beyond..
Dwelling in the confines of my padded Cell
Insanity lingers
My own blistering hell
I hear the voice calling from beyond
Beckoning me closer
Trying to ignore it, trying to be strong
It tells me of my restless fate
To move beyond
I cant even Contimplate
My Destiney of creating sentence from word
By my own designation
Writing a scene beyond verb
The voice is louder then it was before
I cannot breath
Shivers down my spine chilling me to the core
To break from my own self made restraint
To become one in my own
Would seal my fate. | |
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| No more tears
Posted: 2/25/2006 12:21:37 AM | You told me that you loved me
I told you i loved you too
So many hours i spent opening
up for you
We talked and held each other
and days into months grew
Our love was flawless
on gossamer wings i flew
unfinished diva ... | |
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| No more tears
Posted: 2/25/2006 12:34:12 AM | Little did i know it you had
another too
Telling her the way we used
to do
So now the sparks have faded
i don't know what to do
One things for sure i can't let
love through.
diva ...
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| The Keep
Posted: 2/25/2006 8:27:29 AM | Parging up the castle walls
the prisoner in his keep
dreaming of a shallow life
while surviving waters deep
to frolick in the fields again
among flowers that it shows
to stop and smell the roses then
as to the end life goes
but mortar, trowel, filling holes
its what my heart has done
not yet understanding it
how can it be undone? | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 957 | |
| Ladies on the Edge
Posted: 2/25/2006 10:15:18 PM | she wandered off into a thought
not always available to be bought
a slip of the tongue
a little fun
twenty for your pleasure
swallowed evidence
a smoke then off to another job of leisure
in the city
available pity
time and nothing to do
hangin loose till sunrise
callin' for juice from sad eyes
table talk lies between smooth satin thighs
added lubrication for quick good-byes
my my the only cry was a whimpering sigh
its sexy fun to hold one
watch the gun explode
know its gonna reload
a smile, a pat, a kiss
a tip of the hat
you miss the love and that is that
you love the miss and that is that
in the city
readily available pity
three dollars per minute can keep us alive
a beauty you don't know/jump jive and blow
forgotten pride inside pleasure to provide
you too can help a kid survive
so you're destroying another mother sister or brother
we just don't know when we go down or when we'll go down
all around the ground looks the same in the dark
some do it for a lark
some bark and howl like dogs
some just lay like logs
some jog on-bye
some just lie
ancient obsession depression high
exploitation depends on why
squirming squeels with a sigh
thank you very much good-bye
["Reflection on the Second day after Toronto's sights" by Thorb]
some editing Dec5/97 , dec22/03 | |
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| Ladies on the Edge
Posted: 2/26/2006 7:11:15 AM | My wife could spot a hooker
a hundred yards away
and point and yap and criticize
in hurtful things she'd say.
I'd look to try and find the one
that she had criticized;
but I could never see them there
the view escaped my eyes.
Morals are for people
who like to throw their stones
while forgetting about their targets
who do their troubles own.
lawyers, soldiers, hookers, tramps
addicts on the ground
policemen, politicians,
all to their struggles bound.
Who's to say whats right or wrong
as on this way we go?
All I know is it wont be long
before I wound my head
if ever I should toss a stone
at something someone said.
Drink it in and think of it,
the strange things that I read
and know that on my way Im bound
and there is no end to need.
Wisdom in the choosing, if ever choose I do
know Im not confused at all in my choice of you.
Feed me in compassion, as hunger hits us all
and know that I will answer when your voice does call. | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 959 | |
| morning
Posted: 2/26/2006 9:13:21 PM | all that dreaming
oh what can you do
all the fantasies
all the blues
waiting and hoping for
one who's not there
wondering if anyone will care
you stare at the wall
the window
the screen
it seems shallow,
hollow,
you want to scream.
Could it all be a dream
just add yellow and green
whites for pastels
you don't have to tell
do what you like
no one to stop you now
yea whatever anyhow
then I'll wake up
put coffee in a cup
make toast and jam
think about Pam
and crap
my mind snaps
my heart drops
my feet get cold again
so I pick up a pen
and then
when I least expect it
I have to take a shIt
will the irony ever quit
it eases my mind a bit
as I take another sip
then try not to slip
on the rug that catches the drips | |
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| Of life and work and pleasures
Posted: 2/27/2006 10:12:13 AM | Spinning little spider, fastening the silk
cows off in the pasture, not time for giving milk.
Birds aloft in sky above seeking other things
or sitting there in nest somewhere
with hatchlings where it sings
Sleeping dogs of summer never cease to growl
when the mailman brings his work with monday morning scowl
pepper spray protection stuffed inside his vest
a smiling face at front door tells him of his rest.
the dogs that may be growling, the birds lost in their flight
the wolves that may be howling are in their place aright.
Passage is the terror while in the tunnel then
but rest assured that when endured the light will shine again.
Keep on in the darkness on the track you find
settle your direction, and ease your weary mind
to everything a season, and all things in their time
tunnels dark and lonely lead to other places fine.
The error in their travel that some may choose to make
is to stand and stare at tunnel walls, and their journey never take.
One foot then the other, and let the tyrant cry
embrace the noise and walk your way, you'll watch the horror die.
And if in walking you should err and fall upon the ground,
you're hardly ever lost to care when good friends can be found. | |
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| So ya wanna be a poet?
Posted: 2/27/2006 11:15:15 AM | I agree, and would add that the legacy is not merely contained in verse left behind, but in the dominos that fall from their reading. Inspiring.
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| So ya wanna be a poet?
Posted: 2/27/2006 9:20:07 PM | does anybody know where al the blood does go
does anybody care
does anybody have fresh bandages to share
do you know where my feverish brow mopping sponge is
i killed most of them and didnt even realise
on the bright side i invented the pie chart | |
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| the legacy
Posted: 2/27/2006 9:32:20 PM | Of those who made a comment on my words entitled "My Legacy" . The poem, or so called poem, is a classic case of forced rhyme and stupid verse. More of a joke, than to be taken seriously. When I could add, the works or psalm as I refer to my own form of writing, was a token contribution - a reason to write - maybe in way of catering to an unseen quota, or more the need to put some words down upon a naked page.
Plainly just mucking around
while still above ground
To leave this legacy
with works set free
5132
I Hate Poems
28 February 2006
I hate poems
I hate the ones
that start the same
I hate all those poems
of one word to name
This act of repeating
one word several at a time
I hate those kind of poems
even if this was not a crime
I hate poems
I hate each line
I hate those poems
the ones that waste my time
This reign of repeat
that sensation lost in accord
I hate poems - since in life
hate was a word to ill afford
“No man can serve two masters: for either
he will hate one, and love the other; or else
he will hold to the one, and despise the other.
Ye cannot serve God and mammon. [Worldliness]”
Matthew 6: 24 KJV
[word in brackets added]
© 2006 Christopher W Herbert (a New Zealand Poet)
a poet who cares | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 965 | |
| time to go
Posted: 2/28/2006 12:12:12 PM | you may want to serve God
but I want you to serve lunch
my mind may be like a bog
swallowing anything in a bunch
Timely quotes from long ago
bring my mind into extra slow
hey, yea pal, I think I know
look at the clock its time to go
Guess I'll have to wait for the next go round
for that lunch though I liked its sound
Mammon can be so full of mamories
I kinda like to say "can I have some please"
Oh the wanton images in the mist of my head
the desires and dreams sometime fulfilled in bed
keeps me bound to this earthly plane
I might be crazy but at least I'm sane
Poems can reflect or invent reality
some may bring enlightenment or pity
others can enrich your tormented soul
or make you laugh if that's their goal
hate is a word I choose to delete
from my limited vocabulary sheet
By doing so I may also shove
that other word they call love.
Now there are hundreds of threads on that subject
and I can only refer you to some other's intellect
for I try to avoid too much reference to them
I'd rather have a stiff drink or get stabbed by a pen
Now I see I'm rambling once again
time to go and find some friends
to take me out of this cyber space
relink my body with the human race. | |
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| and what came next
Posted: 2/28/2006 12:25:29 PM | 5133
Was It Called Love
28 February 2006
What was faith
this honour to give
Words to understand
things that were to live
The kind of faith given in hope
this charity of Jesus Christ to hold
Such was a feeling in being a believer
not to be void of happiness or true gold
So was it true - His death was part of a plan
this point of time to be crucified and true
In standing up for conviction as to lies
others might just say would never do
Nails to hang by in evidence scarred
hands pierced to the point of blood
Saved from dishonour - safe to be real
this faith - was it called love
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him
should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
John 3: 16 KJV
© 2006 Christopher W Herbert (a New Zealand Poet)
a poet who cares | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 967 | |
| zod ipsing doodle
Posted: 3/1/2006 12:21:18 PM | I thought I'd go and buy a poodle
maybe call her Zod ipsing doodle
take her for a walk down to the park
or leave her at home and let her bark
I wouldn't bother quoting phrases
of people long dead from other places
I'd just play with a frisbee and my dog
that's a good girl my sweet little Zod
I think its funny how somany get bent
with misconceptions and time just spent
I have seen it before and will see it again
philosophising though pipe fulls in the den
Where can we go and still feel right at home
who are you with that makes you feel alone
A benevolent being surely doesn't need you
if you split it in half do you think you have two
Me and my little dog Zod think quite alike
we enjoy time together down bye the dyke
watching the seagulls play greedy games
trying to remember each others name
Is it still that one is the sum of the parts
like souls and love and broken hearts
If God is all and everything we should sing
but praise isn't needed and there nothing to bring
See all and everything is just that
not only goodness but ugly and fat
everything you see and all that you do
is part of this God you think is all true.
We don't need some book to show us the way
Me and Zod can make paths on any given day
God must be always in and around us
for we're part of everything we can trust | |
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| Having Nothing
Posted: 3/1/2006 5:45:44 PM | If I had nothing to offer
not one red cent in the coffer
would it make any difference to you
if I showed up and said hi to you?
would it matter at all if I took your dog Zod
around to the tree and picked up her clod?
if I was as broke as I truly am found
would it matter at all if I came around?
If you owned the forest and all of the glade
would it then matter if I showed up and stayed?
Is there anything I can bring you my friend?
Can I send you a drink or a fine feather pen?
Nothing I am, and nothing I do
but still I believe I am something to you.
So I show up and do whatever I can
worthless it is, but I'd do it again.
God is in all, but does not one need
we are not God, but we are His seed
What then would happen to me as a friend
in spitting at you while in your forest just then?
What would you tell your dog Zod then to do
If I flung my hand with the bird up at you?
Id have no cloth on the seat of my pants
and while your gun smoked my feet would sure dance.
So is it now in His forest we are, He draws so near yet we run so far.
Nothing He asks for; nothing we own,
nothing but time out of life for His own.
Come, let us walk in the garden again
and reason together Friend unto friend. | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 969 | |
| Having Nothing
Posted: 3/1/2006 8:13:34 PM | I look around and what can I see
nothing has value in totality
nothing to pawn or sell to the angels
nothing to keep when the ferryman sets sail
Its funny how things seem to be posessed
only to vanish with that new thought quest
Family and friends are all you may have
if you have them you should feel very glad
The cloths on you back really aren't yours
they're just another part of society's floors
like the walls and windows that keep you contained
doors open and close with thoughts in your brain
Change your mind and you change yourself
just you being kind is like a form of wealth
you may think you have nothing as you look around
posessions are no better than dust on the ground
remember all and everything is realized in you head
gods devils angels and demons are words someone said.
You can choose to believe whatever you please
Even if you think life's a contageous disease | |
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xchuck
| | Joined: 8/8/2005
Msg: 970 | |
| Fly
Posted: 3/1/2006 8:29:01 PM | Fly
Fly free from your pain
it will past like the
coldness of winter no need
for worry and shame
Fly free from your pain
it will past like a storm
that weakens and blows out
to sea, a gentle breeze
that once was a hurricane
Fly free from your pain
it will past like the darkess
of night, that becomes another
day sunny and bright
Fly free from your pain
let go of the one who
who causes you to cry
let your wings carry you home
to the one who loves you
enough to let you fly | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 971 | |
| Pain
Posted: 3/2/2006 7:26:01 PM | ~One more before I go~
Pain can change all things you do
all that you see and what you feel true
Crouched in fetal position on the floor
wondering if you can answer the door
but only for a moment as the heat begins again
white bright piercing into your soul
nothing has now become your goal
to only feel nothing again a fantasy when
you pray you curse at the volume of ten
still no relief from these bends
can drugs bring it to an end
if only if only my friend
the pain sears again
you spasm twist thats all
you punch with your fist
damn you missed
sure wish I was pissed
or had some demerol | |
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| the legacy
Posted: 3/3/2006 12:59:05 PM | well down
you are realy some babe | |
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Thorb
| | Joined: 7/15/2005
Msg: 973 | |
| a little expansion
Posted: 3/4/2006 8:39:50 AM | well down
you are really some babe
this clown
is hoping to get laid
come on over
Saturday afternoon
I know well have fun
I can make you swoon
I don't always have sex on the brain
there are other times some filled with pain
There are times I am only concerned with flowers
And that can divert me for hours and hours.
The when I say you
I fell into a stew
and just had to
make a pass at you. | |
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| a little expansion
Posted: 3/4/2006 6:51:04 PM | I breathed in the sunshine when I woke again
this morning at dawn there hadnt been rain.
warm in the house quiet and calm
rested and healed as if taken balm.
I thought of a maiden Id taken in view
well really, I thought of maybe the two.
Daydream and wonder and think of it all
and how it had happened that I came to fall.
Pieces of puzzles dance in my head,
early in morning time, fresh out of bed.
Construction, destruction, its all the same
repairing the breach, restoring the name.
When turbulent water washed memory away
the work to remember can take more than a day.
So bathing in thought and cleaning my mind
from ruin and loss and times that I'd pine;
I stand to remember and consider my friends
that lent of their efforts to help me to mend.
Not fully completed and ready for war,
Im better prepared to take on much more.
I'll pause for the moment and think of you
and wish you well in whatever you do. | |
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| a bit of Bill thingee
Posted: 3/8/2006 4:34:53 PM | Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,--
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
William Shakespeare, "King Richard III", Act 1 scene 1
English dramatist & poet (1564 - 1616) | |
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