Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win;

And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
...

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go

...

O night! Why do you bring such cruel thoughts to my mind, thoughts that are as dark, as empty as you? Do you do it to torment me?

To punish me for the 'crimes' I and others of my kin have committed?
Is your purpose is to wreak havoc on my wretched soul?

Thoughts… these nameless, voiceless thoughts… They flood my mind and drown my spirit.

My heart cries out in anguish, for it is in a bandage. It is tethered by the guilt I carry within me.

Every link of this chain drives into my flesh, making me hurt and bleèd.

...

(John, xxi.16)

Hark my soul! it is the Lord;
'Tis Thy Saviour, hear His word;
Jesus speaks and speaks to thee,
"Say poor sinner, lovst thou me?

"I deliver'd thee when bound,
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turn'd thy darkness into light.

"Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.

"Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.

"Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be;
Say, poor sinner, lovst thou me?"

Lord it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love Thee and adore, --

...

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room

...

I often wonder what the trees
Who in their silence seemed
To always have the sound of these
Confounding clamor of troubled dreams?
Are close together as in days
That suffer the weather's inclement
Tempers, struck by their darkly face
That withers and rumbles in the cloud,
And limps & hobbles through the air.
These trees are gently poised and proud

...

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
...

Securely sunning in a forest glade,
A mild, well-meaning snake
Approved the adaptations he had made
For safety’s sake.

He liked the skin he had—
Its mottled camouflage, its look of mail,
And was content that he had thought to add
A rattling tail.


...

I am a flower a deformed flower in garden full of roses I am an uncanny site
I was only able to bloom because the gardener kept me
I was showerd with water and nurtued with soil just because i was their boon
I am a deformed flower in a feild full of beautifull red roses
I am in search of a fly a broken butterfly
Which onece flew high
No perfect fly can & will sit on me as i am no rose in a market for roses
I am waiting for a fly an outsider fly that has seen world as cruel

...