Just like a philosopher can never throw away his stone, the poet can never toss his pen out the window
Joy breaks through all barriers. Tzvi Freeman
Wherever you are, be there. Jim Rohn
I am packing all my clothes.
I’m packing my pants and my shirts.
I’m packing my socks, my drawers,
And I’m packing my shoes in pairs.
My clothes, I’m taking them all.
Clothes for when the seasons fall.
And clothes for when they rise,
To spring forth my demise.
I’m packing all my clothes.
I’m packing to go home,
Where in I will settle
To sleep for many nights.
I’m packing all my clothes.
My shoes, my shirts and my pants.
I’m packing them all.
My socks and my drawers all.
I’m packing all my clothes.
I’m packing them all,
Leaving nothing behind
For someone else to find.
I’m packing them all.
To go home,
Though I’m already home.
© 2019 The Poets Peace
Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.
Whats wrong with me today?
Why can’t I just say
What it is I want to say?
Why can’t the point I want to make
Not cross the turbulent lake
Of my thoughts into the flowing stream
Of words leaving my empty mouth?
What’s wrong with me today?
Why can’t I hear beauty
In the words tumbling from my mouth
Even though they leave me out of breath?
Why can’t I craft art
From what I feel in my heart?
Why can’t I articulate myself
As well as a book on a shelf?
I hope she left me not! My muse.
For a poet with no muse is of no use.
I don’t know
What’s wrong with me today
For ever since I woke from my lay
I noticed I had lost my vocabulary
On the road back from a world imaginary
That left me worn out and very wary.
© 2019 The Poets Peace
If you have the guts to keep making mistakes, your wisdom and intelligence leap forward with huge momentum.
Holly Near
father forgive me, for i have sinned.
in thy eyes, as well as those of men.
that see wrong, even though they be blind.
to the deeds that take place in thy den.
i know for fact, i would'v seen the light.
had i not been blind to what was right.
and with my eyes, saw only the wrong.
that my mind, perceived would make me strong.
i will admit, my spirit is weak.
when before thee, i do come to speak.
and to beg, for thy forgiveness.
so i may return to thy fortress.
and again b'free from the temptation.
that hath brought about my suspension.
© 2019 The Poets Peace
Just when the caterpillar thought the world was ending, he turned into a butterfly.
Proverb
It has been long since my fall from Eden.
That beautiful place that gave me much to eat.
Because apple trees prospered in the summer heat.
And red grapes tasted like a meal made in heaven.
By the Gods themselves to please my stomach.
So that my feet have the strength to tread the path.
Walked upon by those that came before me.
It has been long since my fall from Eden.
Now i am here, in the Jungle of Urban.
This atrocious place; that has not much to eat.
Nor a place in nature for a man to sit.
And ponder in silence like a scientist.
How best to spread love with an iron fist.
In Urban; my feet have walked on the path.
Not tread upon by the fore-brethren.
Whom my feet have lost all hope and faith.
Since its been long since my fall from Eden.
I have taken the path that leads deeper into Urban.
Since its been so long since my fall from Eden.
One day, when i was alone and lonely.
I decided to walk to the ceremony.
Where gathered were my modern day brethren.
To tell them that true bliss is indeed a wish.
Unless one decides to demolish.
The last lush green Garden in Eden.
© 2019 The Poets Peace
Inspired by a list of 8 words:
Eden, scientist, heat, feet, ceremony, demolish, alone, urban
Where hope grows, miracles blossom.
Elna Rae
Last night i slept
Beneath the stars.
Above the city i call home.
On a rock ledge
That gave me scars.
When i let my dreams start to roam.
It was cold out
But i didn't shout.
For i knew well
The world would tell
If something bad came about.
So i did slip
Into deep sleep.
Til the morn when i did awake.
Before the sun
Set rays on skin.
© 2019 The Poets Peace
The heaviest thing you can carry is a grudge.
Anonymous
My eyes, have spied the King of fishermen.
On his throne, in his simple brown fishing boat.
Cast his net out in order to catch trout.
In as great a number as he well can.
"He is the best fishermen here" they say.
When he comes into the busy bay.
Carrying many buckets filled with fresh fish.
He brings home so his wife can make a dish.
I have seen him set out during high tide.
To return at low tide smelling of Pike.
That he caught using the long mighty spear.
He sometimes used to keep sharks clear.
There were times he caught Cod in the cold.
And gathered Salmon by the light of moon.
Just to make sure his household had food.
Enough to last till the end of monsoon.
The King of fishermen taught them all how to fish.
Even though learning to fish, was his only wish.
© 2019 The Poets Peace
