The drive for perfection exhausts me,
The drive to insanity ever closer.
The speed of thought slower and in decay.
Why must this body fail me?
Why tease me with unfulfilling potential.
The dreamer brings me a wine,
And I gather my thoughts again.
Perfection is beautiful when you see so much ugliness within a tortured soul.
You can dream as I, to live but not to fulfill deep passions buried.
Life is funny and tragic,
You’re given with two hands, then taken with one.
But the hand is bigger, so don’t be fooled by numbers.
One can get caught on such little observations.
Dare not judge my failings,
For I would have given if I could.
This body and mind limited, maybe for a reason,
But a cruel way to serve my life this way.
Yet maybe perfection, is in the flaws it gives us,
That the flaws, are a greater lesson,
One can, I suppose, feel content in being delirious,
Believing all is well and meant to be.
One can live with others who show their flaws,
In eyes that see everything.
“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.”-T. S. Eliot
I have many favorite poets . They include the wistful and delicate lines of Emily Dickinson. I love Gerard Manly Hopkins, Robert Frost and Wallace Berry. I love as well T. S. Eliot. It is these poets who truly make my life worth while. They express, what I cannot, in exqusite ways and with perfection that I do not find in my life.
Rudyard Kipling is one of my favorites. “If” gathers more wisdom than any other poem and gives parents a way to think to their children. It’s something like: If you want your troubled teens to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibilities on their shoulders. Boys Ranch
Well, now, I dabble in poetry and was lucky enough to have what I consider the
one really good poem I have written published in my Junior College Literary
Magazine, and I took a couple of Creative Writing classes in college, focusing
mostly on short stories – and I do scribble a lot!
This tale is told, after many years of silent despair, the many roads i wandered upon, blind and crippled, in mind, body and spirit, not knowing what it was that i sought, and as it is with all evil deeds, eventually this trail to came to an end, and i became one of the many lost souls walking the streets of the living dead, searching outside of myself for some purpose, some reason to live, and i found it naught, until the night came down and i found myself nailed to my self erected cross, with no one to give a thought for me, all my bridges burned down to the ashes behind me, so came the time, when my feet crossed over the final threshold, and i entered deaths door.
But my Lord remembered me, though i had forgotten him, and he sent an angel to rescue me, for he knew my hopes, my fears, my dreams, so much more than i, and that it was not my time to die, for i had not yet realized my destiny, so he watered that seed within my soul, struck the shackles that bound my feet and provided soil for the seed to root, to flower free in all its glory, underneath the sun, the moon and the stars above.
For this absolute forgiveness, i possess not the words to say, except that i love him and shall do so until the end or eternity, my first and greatest love, that comes before all others, my Lord, The Lord of Infinity.
The More Loving One by W. H. Auden Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.
Poetry is one of my only forms of amusement/expression. I am actually pretty anti-social. Through poetry, I can "be who I am yet be anonymous to others".
Heartless lover why do you pretend why do you try to destroy innocent lives why do you use and decieve the ones who truly love you Is it todays fashion that has affected you or the stuff you see on tv If you were fake in the begginning will you ever truly be real in the face of those who come across you or will you just tear their heart apart Everytime i see you i lose my breathe but it means nothing because you suffocate me with your actions then i hit reality to find out its nothing more then heartbreaks and headaches And because of you i will never love the same again
Why do i have this feeling of hate.,.,.,Everytime i have hapy thoughts the hatred just comes along and takes over my body,.,.,, I try hard to get that hate out of me but everytime i see someone i always think their trying to hurt the ones icare for the most.,,,.,Am i just a bomb ready to explode I want this feeling gone and i just want to be happy again..,,.,Why do these feelings take over me could it be these conceited girls who only go for money and looks and leave people like me last in line and what kills me the most when these girls get hurt im there for them even though they left me hanging..,.,,Am i fit to live here if something is always killing me then why do i bother to move cause every step i take hurts me just as much as the step i took before,.,.,.,., My footprints are small in this Big World of loneliness i could barely see them as if im dead already to the world,.,,.,.,Its hard to live life knowing that the other half of your heart is not complete
My body's numb from the fear of loving again. The thoughts running through my head like a person with insomnia. He was thinking is this world really meant for me because if it was why do i have so many problems. He said the Lord put us here for a reason but can we define that reason that which the Lord put us here. People said he put us here to find the true happiness in a loved one. But the weirdest thing of all is we really dont know how much we love someone until their gone. Why make such a precist gift of life if their going to die in this cruel world of anger and hate. The person who is happy and found that meaning of love why do they always get taken away. And he said to himself is this world meant for me or is it some game thats put on extreme with one lonely life left to live.
I like you for being you but why do you despise me so much to not even look my way Why not be yourself and discover all the good things you can accomplish in life I know in this world today its hard to get anywhere without friends and you take their opinion on your love life but in your heart you know you like him but you dont want to disappoint your friends. Why go down that path of being hurt always you can just follow your heart and it will lead you to happiness. Why yould you want to be extincit to love and worship hatred and loneliness and be miserable your whole life knowing you ounce coulda been happy with that guy.
through my eyes i see sadness and sorrow, threw the years ive seen the utmost horror ... days have gone nights have faded all the misery and hatred are coming like a bird whose wings have been pierced by the scarring bullet of life, so as it slowly becomes dust in the wind he realized this is the end
To: Aww, know. The Truth Meant Only For This Box And Little Thought. Yes, the garbage just below my pallid avatar.
From: The Counter Socrates Division.
The more I read the repetitious garbage that piles up along my bedside, the more I understand my connection to the world. Yes! When the Internet becomes my bedside and the comments below begin to rot, I must roll over or seek out new sleeping quarters. Good lord if it means holding belly firm under running car.
Mizspell and steal from cliche you poor little whores! Roll around in the flames- burn off dead skin so that we might tar you once more, spread pillow pith over your quite thimble-shaped head. You poor little whore, I want to roll you around in the dirt under my kitchen sink. Of course your trash sports cherry lip gloss, and puckers for someone's sweet kiss in the form of a praise, yes smell and taste the real trash, become the trash, and maybe we'll hint at something of a progression. Stamp it with a c(h)ord that extends from your center- that attaches to your center, you poor little whore- if you can, if you do more than pretend to fly, you'll flap true with burnt skin, but you'll never take flight, no no, you poor little whore.
Perhaps this is a first stage. We were there, I'm sure. But your big desperate eyes or 3y3s, so bold- 6 many posts! Under "poetry" you term it, you poor little whore, I say more in a stream now not than garbage itself, and once more a commandment, damn this be it "poetry." Poor, poor little whore. Who do you hand it so gracefully? Wash your hand, we all live here too.
Poetry is the best way to express yourself. The best way to escape from reality . The best way to enjoy life.......
I like poetry so much....I have wrote a hundedths of them. About school, life, family, friends, heartaches, stress, and even har feelings for other people.
Comments
I LOVE poetry and enjoy reading/writing every chance I get.
I’d love response on some of my poetry! http://pic2.piczo.com/theatersaurus/?g=21808923&cr=2
POEM -“Perfection”
The drive for perfection exhausts me, The drive to insanity ever closer. The speed of thought slower and in decay. Why must this body fail me? Why tease me with unfulfilling potential.
The dreamer brings me a wine, And I gather my thoughts again. Perfection is beautiful when you see so much ugliness within a tortured soul.
You can dream as I, to live but not to fulfill deep passions buried. Life is funny and tragic, You’re given with two hands, then taken with one. But the hand is bigger, so don’t be fooled by numbers. One can get caught on such little observations.
Dare not judge my failings, For I would have given if I could. This body and mind limited, maybe for a reason, But a cruel way to serve my life this way. Yet maybe perfection, is in the flaws it gives us, That the flaws, are a greater lesson, One can, I suppose, feel content in being delirious, Believing all is well and meant to be.
One can live with others who show their flaws, In eyes that see everything.
kevin saunders December 2006
“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.”-T. S. Eliot
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I have many favorite poets . They include the wistful and delicate lines of Emily Dickinson. I love Gerard Manly Hopkins, Robert Frost and Wallace Berry. I love as well T. S. Eliot. It is these poets who truly make my life worth while. They express, what I cannot, in exqusite ways and with perfection that I do not find in my life.
Rudyard Kipling is one of my favorites. “If” gathers more wisdom than any other poem and gives parents a way to think to their children. It’s something like: If you want your troubled teens to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibilities on their shoulders. Boys Ranch
the best things are exemplified in poems :D
A fragment of Lady Lazarus, by Sylvia Plath
” These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone,
Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.”
The bold, raw, morbidity of the poem captures me again and again.
i sometimes write poetry, mainly about love i have one on my profile
i'm a slow dying flower
of the frost killing hour
but the sweet sound makes me untouchable
xxxxxxxx mwah!
i've got a new one up on my page
read! xD
I like reading it.
trisan writes the most amazing poetry ever
Poe. Demented, horrifying, breathtaking. love.
poetry is amazing because it is like a fusion of music and more common communication somethings
Well, now, I dabble in poetry and was lucky enough to have what I consider the one really good poem I have written published in my Junior College Literary Magazine, and I took a couple of Creative Writing classes in college, focusing mostly on short stories – and I do scribble a lot!
W.B. Yeats Forever!!
Written by Poof. The Lord of Infinity.
This tale is told, after many years of silent despair, the many roads i wandered upon, blind and crippled, in mind, body and spirit, not knowing what it was that i sought, and as it is with all evil deeds, eventually this trail to came to an end, and i became one of the many lost souls walking the streets of the living dead, searching outside of myself for some purpose, some reason to live, and i found it naught, until the night came down and i found myself nailed to my self erected cross, with no one to give a thought for me, all my bridges burned down to the ashes behind me, so came the time, when my feet crossed over the final threshold, and i entered deaths door.
But my Lord remembered me, though i had forgotten him, and he sent an angel to rescue me, for he knew my hopes, my fears, my dreams, so much more than i, and that it was not my time to die, for i had not yet realized my destiny, so he watered that seed within my soul, struck the shackles that bound my feet and provided soil for the seed to root, to flower free in all its glory, underneath the sun, the moon and the stars above.
For this absolute forgiveness, i possess not the words to say, except that i love him and shall do so until the end or eternity, my first and greatest love, that comes before all others, my Lord, The Lord of Infinity.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
Poetry is one of my only forms of amusement/expression. I am actually pretty anti-social. Through poetry, I can "be who I am yet be anonymous to others".
poetry is basicly the only thing i do to tell u the trueth
I love reading poetry… I write simple ones when the mood hits me…
poetry reduces my anxiety and depressions in life :]
THE ABUSED HEART
Heartless lover why do you pretend
why do you try to destroy innocent lives
why do you use and decieve the ones who truly love you
Is it todays fashion that has affected you or the stuff you see on tv
If you were fake in the begginning will you ever truly be real in the face of those who come across you or will you just tear their heart apart
Everytime i see you i lose my breathe but it means nothing because you suffocate me with your actions then i hit reality to find out its nothing more then heartbreaks and headaches
And because of you i will never love the same again
-ch33sepuff
Dreams come with disasters
I see you everytime I close my eyes so perfect no flaws just like a dreamgirl.
I love this feeling holding you but I know that its to good to be true nothing good happens without disaster following it.
Then I wake up and this flawless girl was just something my mind was thinking of but reality cant handle
-ch33sepuff
The Hate I Have Inside Me
Why do i have this feeling of hate.,.,.,Everytime i have hapy thoughts the hatred just comes along and takes over my body,.,.,, I try hard to get that hate out of me but everytime i see someone i always think their trying to hurt the ones icare for the most.,,,.,Am i just a bomb ready to explode I want this feeling gone and i just want to be happy again..,,.,Why do these feelings take over me could it be these conceited girls who only go for money and looks and leave people like me last in line and what kills me the most when these girls get hurt im there for them even though they left me hanging..,.,,Am i fit to live here if something is always killing me then why do i bother to move cause every step i take hurts me just as much as the step i took before,.,.,.,., My footprints are small in this Big World of loneliness i could barely see them as if im dead already to the world,.,,.,.,Its hard to live life knowing that the other half of your heart is not complete
-ch33sepuff
Finding That Meaning
My body's numb from the fear of loving again. The thoughts running through my head like a person with insomnia. He was thinking is this world really meant for me because if it was why do i have so many problems. He said the Lord put us here for a reason but can we define that reason that which the Lord put us here. People said he put us here to find the true happiness in a loved one. But the weirdest thing of all is we really dont know how much we love someone until their gone. Why make such a precist gift of life if their going to die in this cruel world of anger and hate. The person who is happy and found that meaning of love why do they always get taken away. And he said to himself is this world meant for me or is it some game thats put on extreme with one lonely life left to live.
-ch33sepuff
A Girl Who Lost Her Way In Life
I like you for being you but why do you despise me so much to not even look my way Why not be yourself and discover all the good things you can accomplish in life I know in this world today its hard to get anywhere without friends and you take their opinion on your love life but in your heart you know you like him but you dont want to disappoint your friends. Why go down that path of being hurt always you can just follow your heart and it will lead you to happiness. Why yould you want to be extincit to love and worship hatred and loneliness and be miserable your whole life knowing you ounce coulda been happy with that guy.
-ch33sepuff
SaDness N Sorr0w
through my eyes i see sadness and sorrow, threw the years ive seen the utmost horror ... days have gone nights have faded all the misery and hatred are coming like a bird whose wings have been pierced by the scarring bullet of life, so as it slowly becomes dust in the wind he realized this is the end
-ch33sepuff
To: Aww, know. The Truth Meant Only For This Box And Little Thought. Yes, the garbage just below my pallid avatar.
From: The Counter Socrates Division.
The more I read the repetitious garbage that piles up along my bedside, the more I understand my connection to the world. Yes! When the Internet becomes my bedside and the comments below begin to rot, I must roll over or seek out new sleeping quarters. Good lord if it means holding belly firm under running car.
Mizspell and steal from cliche you poor little whores! Roll around in the flames- burn off dead skin so that we might tar you once more, spread pillow pith over your quite thimble-shaped head. You poor little whore, I want to roll you around in the dirt under my kitchen sink. Of course your trash sports cherry lip gloss, and puckers for someone's sweet kiss in the form of a praise, yes smell and taste the real trash, become the trash, and maybe we'll hint at something of a progression. Stamp it with a c(h)ord that extends from your center- that attaches to your center, you poor little whore- if you can, if you do more than pretend to fly, you'll flap true with burnt skin, but you'll never take flight, no no, you poor little whore.
Perhaps this is a first stage. We were there, I'm sure. But your big desperate eyes or 3y3s, so bold- 6 many posts! Under "poetry" you term it, you poor little whore, I say more in a stream now not than garbage itself, and once more a commandment, damn this be it "poetry." Poor, poor little whore. Who do you hand it so gracefully? Wash your hand, we all live here too.
Poetry is the best way to express yourself. The best way to escape from reality . The best way to enjoy life.......
I like poetry so much....I have wrote a hundedths of them. About school, life, family, friends, heartaches, stress, and even har feelings for other people.