A Poem

[cheranne]

Courage

I have found the courage

I've always had

I found it in the fireplace of my soul

I found it in the salt of my tears

I found it in the beatings of my heart

And the struggles to exist

I found it in anger

I found it in peace

I found it in rage

I found it in darkness

I found it in light

I found courage in life

I found courage in death

I found it in your eyes

I found it in your smile

I found it in your touch

I found it in our child

I found it in the sunrise and the sunset

I found it in every breath

Have any poems to share? I didn't see a poetry corner but I would like to hear yours

if you want to share,even if they are funny or weird or scary

[waysider]

THE ROOM

Reap the harvest once again

Pile your treasures high

Lock them in a barren room

That reaches toward the sky

Lock them in where they'll be safe

From avaricious hands

Taking care to hide the key

In distant, foreign lands

Journey there in secrecy

Let no one see the chart

Keep it in that dismal tomb

You boldly call your heart

In the tomb the chart is safe

To while away the day

Danger there does not exist

For none can pass that way

You'll return next harvest time

To add more to the store

Cries shall fill your empty room

Cries---and nothing more

[cheranne]

HARVEST The flowers grow from tiny seeds

They grow and they are beautiful

and their essence is so sweet

as we should beas children of the Lord

They grow from water,from soil

and care from the Creator

It is always with His hands

whether it is rain or uncertain

climates During the seasons of our lives

These flowers grow because He is God

Through the loving hands

of thebody of Christ-

In the hearts of men and women,

children and watering with seeds

with "pure" water of Gods word.

Compassion and Mercy

Wisdom and Patience

Yet for a season as we are

...but a VaporFor His Glory-

It is most BEAUTIFUL THE BODY OF CHRIST

Edited December 17, 2008 by cheranne

[RumRunner]

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

[Mark Clarke]

COURAGE

What makes a King out of a slave?

Courage!

What makes the flag on the mast to wave?

Courage!

What makes the elephant charge his tusk,

in the misty mist or the dusky dusk?

What makes the muskrat guard his musk?

Courage!

What makes the sphinx the seventh wonder?

Courage!

What makes the dawn come up like thunder?

Courage!

What makes the Hottentot so hot?

What puts the "ape" in apricot?

What have they got that I ain't got?

...Courage!

(you can say that again!)

[waterbuffalo]

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

[geisha779]

Have any poems to share? I didn't see a poetry corner but I would like to hear yours

if you want to share,even if they are funny or weird or scary

Cheranne,

You said weird. . . . right?

I took a writing course once. . . nothing pleased this Prof--a published poet. Frustrated, I wrote a sarcastic poem--took me a five minutes. This one he LOVED! Go figure??

It was a joke.

I Killed My Neighbors Dog with Anti-freeze

Runny eyes peering from matted fur.

Slobbering mouth, howling

at sounds beyond the human ear

a concophony of echoes down the block

Noise, worse than a burn

on the tip of my tongue.

Blue haired woman, deaf to the nightly chorus

ignored his plea.

The yellow, green, neon called out to me.

A tempting crystal rainbow glimmering on

the asphalt.

When he eagerly lapped

Made his end complete.

That is my contribution. I never was much for poetry, but I do love Shelley. Whoever posted that. . . Thanks!

Edited December 19, 2008 by geisha779

[waterbuffalo]

geisha,

I LOVE your first verse. How profound.

Keep writing, girl!

[JesseJoe]

The Walls

The walls are tight, suffocating

Built one experience at a time

Reinforced by steel phrases

Mortared by insensitive hearts

The thickness impenetrable

Height overwhelming

Seamless, no doors

No hope of escape

Pressure builds

Explosions occur

The tongue slashes

Bleeding hearts left behind

The walls are tight, suffocating

Torn down one experience at a time

Weakened by tender words

Chiseled by caring hearts

The thickness permeable

Height insignificant

Seamless, no doors

Hope

Pressure released

Explosions prevented

The tongue controlled

Healing heart left behind

[GrouchoMarxJr]

My name is Bertram

I am a redneck

All my friends,

They call me Burt

All my family

From down in Texas

Make their livin'

Diggin' dirt

Come out here to Californy,

Just to find me

Some pretty girls

The ones I seen

Gets me so horny

Ruby lips

N' teeth like pearls!

Wanna love 'em all!

Wanna love'em dearly

Wanna pretty girl-

I'll even pay!

I'll buy 'em furs!

I'll buy 'em jewelry!

I know they like me

Here's what I say:

"I'm lonesome Cowboy Burt!

Don'cha get my feelings hurt!

Come on in this place

'N I'll buy you a taste

'N you can sit on my face-

Where's my waitress?"

.....Frank Zappa

[kimberly]

I have this poem hanging in my kitchen window and carry a copy in my wallet. I have seen it many times elsewhere yet the author is never credited.

Don't Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low, and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As everyone of us sometimes learns,

And many a failure turns about,

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don't give up though the pace seems slow,

You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,

The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It may be near when it seems so far;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,

It's when things seem worse,

that you must not quit.

[waterbuffalo]

I have this poem hanging in my kitchen window and carry a copy in my wallet. I have seen it many times elsewhere yet the author is never credited.

Don't Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low, and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As everyone of us sometimes learns,

And many a failure turns about,

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don't give up though the pace seems slow,

You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,

The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It may be near when it seems so far;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,

It's when things seem worse,

that you must not quit.

Beautiful. Thank you!

[ClayJay]

One of my very favorites!

Gunga Din

by Rudyard Kipling

YOU may talk o' gin an' beer

When you're quartered safe out 'ere,

An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;

But if it comes to slaughter

You will do your work on water,

An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.

Now in Injia's sunny clime,

Where I used to spend my time

A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,

Of all them black-faced crew

The finest man I knew

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!

You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!

Hi! slippy hitherao!

Water, get it! Panee lao!

You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"

The uniform 'e wore

Was nothin' much before,

An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,

For a twisty piece o' rag

An' a goatskin water-bag

Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.

When the sweatin' troop-train lay

In a sidin' through the day,

Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,

We shouted "Harry By!"

Till our throats were bricky-dry,

Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din!

You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?

You put some juldee in it,

Or I'll marrow you this minute,

If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one

Till the longest day was done,

An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.

If we charged or broke or cut,

You could bet your bloomin' nut,

'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.

With 'is mussick on 'is back,

'E would skip with our attack,

An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."

An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,

'E was white, clear white, inside

When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"

With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.

When the cartridges ran out,

You could 'ear the front-files shout:

"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night

When I dropped be'ind the fight

With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.

I was chokin' mad with thirst,

An' the man that spied me first

Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead,

An' 'e plugged me where I bled,

An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;

It was crawlin' an' it stunk,

But of all the drinks I've drunk,

I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!

'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;

'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:

For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away

To where a dooli lay,

An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.

'E put me safe inside,

An' just before 'e died:

"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.

So I'll meet 'im later on

In the place where 'e is gone—

Where it's always double drill and no canteen;

'E'll be squattin' on the coals

Givin' drink to pore damned souls,

An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!

Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,

By the livin' Gawd that made you,

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

[GrouchoMarxJr]

Thank you Clay Jay...Fantastic!...one of my favorites as well.

[ClayJay]

Yes! It truly is an awesome poem! My big brother (God rest his soul) used to love that one and it was him who first read it to me. Thanks Groucho!

[doojable]

O Captain! My Captain!

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart! 5

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

~Walt Whitman~

[kimberly]

Doojable,

I must return the sentiment. This is my number one favorite. Thank you!!

We had to learn this poem in highschool and I can still quote it word for word. My 10th grade English teacher (she was much more...she was an educator) taught us Whitman wrote this poem about Abraham Lincoln and his assassination. I can still hear her and see her as this work of poetic art rolled off her lips and poured from her heart so succinctly to reflect Whitman's gut wrenching emotion.

[cheranne]

The street is on fire....Ice, Salt and SnowTheir is no passage back to the Yellow Brick Road Our minds are on cruise control...burning tread on the road'We wash it off quicklySo it does not show...the Stain in the paint like the lifethat we know Salt cuts through iceThe Sculptures take timeThe salt in there wounds are Numb at this time You would think salt water "stings in a wound so deepThe fishes don't die the just lull in a freeze Adaption in cult climate change is for sureits a process of alteration in many degrees But one that does not allow you to fall to your kneesTo worship the Jesus that died for your sinsIn order to have freedom of bondage from them. The Way International..NOT the salt of the earthNot Ambassadors for Christ or the Lords church Some people on a farm running a buisnessselling snake oil and classes that said we areThe Way more abundent life for You.. When we found out too late we were all screwed!Frozen in time ...unable to moveUntil a real Christian said this Blood is for You Take it and drink and remember thisJesus Christ died on the Cross for your sins.

Edited January 3, 2009 by cheranne