Citatepedia^®.com

Sweet and sour pain

born to sacrifice the life that is shared and entrusted
by the giver of life, a perfect test to His will; worthy
and faithful to the commandment received

life as it diluted to the spring of ocean and river, fish
learn to swim, adapt what is given and accept any
failure encounter, for everything experienced would
mean a beginning of living

life all the way is a taste of sweet and sour, a venue of
wondering where, every success and failure becomes
the opportunity to challenge, a way to make another
step to achieve what is dream off and what is envision
of what is life ahead

children as they grown up, push us to the limit, where
parents become always the willing sacrifice for what is
ever planted will be harvested at the end, we have to do
the right way and pursue our strength for everything, for
what is done is a prelude to their success

[...] Read more

poem by Antonio Liao
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sweet And Sour

but some mornings
while of course you’d like to write
a poem, there’s nothing there;
so you read a poem that ‘someone else’ wrote
though of course it’s your mind reading it

and after you/I read it,
there drifted into the mind the phrase
‘the sweetness of life’…

a phrase more common,
even more evocative -
‘douceur de vie’
(or even plural.. ‘petit douceurs’…))
in French writings..

how wonderful the workings
of the mind: that first, tiny
explosion of consciousness in the mind
instantly offers in language

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Cairo Jag

Shall I get drunk or cut myself a piece of cake,
a pasty Syrian with a few words of English
or the Turk who says she is a princess--she dances
apparently by levitation? Or Marcelle, Parisienne
always preoccupied with her dull dead lover:
she has all the photographs and his letters
tied in a bundle and stamped Decede in mauve ink.
All this takes place in a stink of jasmin.

But there are the streets dedicated to sleep
stenches and the sour smells, the sour cries
do not disturb their application to slumber
all day, scattered on the pavement like rags
afflicted with fatalism and hashish. The women
offering their children brown-paper breasts
dry and twisted, elongated like the skull,
Holbein's signature. But his stained white town
is something in accordance with mundane conventions-
Marcelle drops her Gallic airs and tragedy
suddenly shrieks in Arabic about the fare

[...] Read more

poem by Keith Douglas
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Bible in Poetry: Revelation 10

1Another mighty angel came
Down from heaven, robed in a cloud,
With a rainbow above his head;
His face shone brightly like the sun,
His legs were like fiery pillars.
2He held an open scroll in hand.
He planted his right foot on sea
And placed his left foot on the land,
3His voice was loud like lion’s roar;
As if the seven thunders spoke.
4And when the seven thunders spoke,
Just as I was about to write,
I heard a voice from heaven say,
'Seal up what seven thunders said
And do not write it down at all.'
5The angel raised his right hand to heaven.
6 He swore by Him who lives forever,
Who created all the heavens
And everything that is in them,
The earth and all that is in it,

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Priorities

PRIORITIES

Today’s priorities tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed one day before
turns sour before its zest to rest is laid,
incorporated into causal braid,
what’s left sewn through waft-weft of life’s rapports.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
Timed candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh thrilled head’s held high, yet soon
both silver spoon and slum lie dumb, stilled tune.

f[l]ame = flame fame lame l'âme aim am me

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Little Women

little women of my childhood gravel lane,
fill out a part of my memory of
linked-wooden houses built on stilts.
their crowning glories still so vivid;
how they flipped like a pendulum from
shoulder to shoulder as they ran;
those different-styled hair
each carving a story and character in
my own little women world;
straight, graceful tresses,
shoulder-length lioness-styled crown,
and their varied-toned skins;
fair, dark, palsy so many different shades
in one family, it's a wonder how genes work.
all these differences held tight by a love
that flowed so abundantly from shy mom and salt fish market businessman dad.
how they had run helter skelter
from their games of rope jumping, hide and seek, hopscotch, ....
for home when they saw daddy
strolling home with his straw basket round his elbow, the dollars and cents of the day to get the family runnning.

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Life At Obelisk

Through the flood we shall rise and float
On tenterhooks of tomorrow(s)
We shall abide beyond the gallows
Of each daybreak, ours to calculate

Life, on the gigantic obelisk we etched
As history have our joys and sorrows
On the walls of each steeple chamber
There the tale goes engraved on marbles

Embroidered on silky clothes of kings
By bare hands and simple weapons
On the jars of blood, we reached to day
Molded us people in silver and clay

We may be buried underground
Still peace may not be found
It may not look good and sound
We have to make show all-round

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Time's Tide

Those cause/effect relations seek to investigate
ask why life’s lamentations can’t flow past pearly gate,
why can’t hope’s expectations some sects anticipate
show we’re wheeled incarnations, frustrations, fears, negate

Why worry what tomorrow may offer if at all,
share laughter, spurning sorrow, ignoring wailing wall,
each wakes one day, hopes hollow, must piper pay as shawl
in winding sheet few follow, no trumps for final call.

Time's tide has been extended beyond the sands of hope,
free ride from heyday ended, frayed tether, broken rope,
recount lost time expended, events' ghost mirage grope,
as most proud man intended black hole's Time's telescope.

Bright spark - life's candle gutters - so swiftly movements cease,
one cry before heart flutters, before 'Here rests in peace! '
one sigh then parting’s shutters are drawn with no surcease,
one dies while crowd bread butters inheritance apiece.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

This Compost

SOMETHING startles me where I thought I was safest;
I withdraw from the still woods I loved;
I will not go now on the pastures to walk;
I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea;
I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh, to renew
me.

O how can it be that the ground does not sicken?
How can you be alive, you growths of spring?
How can you furnish health, you blood of herbs, roots, orchards,
grain?
Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead? 10

Where have you disposed of their carcasses?
Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations;
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?
I do not see any of it upon you to-day--or perhaps I am deceiv'd;
I will run a furrow with my plough--I will press my spade through the
sod, and turn it up underneath;

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Bedtime Story

It was just after midnight and I’d been reading in bed for an hour
when a sweet sickly smell wafted in, which turned horribly sour.
Cursing, I got out of bed and opened the window some more,
which seemed to cause a draft that slammed shut the door.

I reopened the door much wider this time and returned to my bed,
a draught blew the pages losing the place to where I’d read.
The temperature dropped so I again got out of bed and closed the door,
and also the window slightly, but it was still cold, so I closed it more.

Large goose bumps formed along my arms as I got back into bed,
I picked up the book and tried to find the last page that I’d read.
It was warmer now, but I still pulled the covers up to my chest;
I found my page and carried on reading with keen interest.

The atmosphere in the room seemed somehow unusual and strange
with an unpleasant smell and sudden coldness change.
Above the top of my page I saw a movement at the foot of the bed
and I saw someone standing there, so I raised my head.

[...] Read more

poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!