I love chocolate cake.
And when I was a boy
I loved it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it for tea
and Mum used to say,
'If there's any left over
you can have it to take to school
tomorrow to have at playtime.'
And the next day I would take it to school
wrapped up in tin foil
open it up at playtime
and sit in the corner of the playground
you know how the icing on top
is all shiny and it cracks as you
bite into it,
and there's that other kind of icing in
and it sticks to your hands and you
can lick your fingers
and lick your lips
oh it's lovely.
once we had this chocolate cake for tea
and later I went to bed
but while I was in bed
I found myself waking up
Anyone here had a go at themselves
for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists
with a blade in the bath? Those in the dark
at the back, listen hard. Those at the front
in the know, those of us who have, hands up,
let's show that inch of lacerated skin
between the forearm and the fist. Let's tell it
like it is: strong drink, a crimson tidemark
round the tub, a yard of lint, white towels
washed a dozen times, still pink. Tough luck.
That too was an evening in February
When in your dreamy eyes
The rainbow of my desire had descended
When I realized this
For the light in my life
You must be
This is also an evening in February
That too was an evening in February
In which were scattered colors of desire
Writing a poem is not about bringing some words together to create some charming sentences. It's so much deeper than that. Writing poetry is a bridge that allows people to express their feelings and make others live every single word they read. Poetry is to educate people, to lead them away from hate to love, from violence to mercy and pity. Writing poetry is to help this community better understand life and live it more passionately. PoemHunter.com contains an enormous number of famous poems from all over the world, by both classical and modern poets. You can read as many as you want, and also submit your own poems to share your writings with all our poets, members, and visitors.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
I want you to know
You know how this is:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
Kind words better than hatred and war!
Enhancing the beauty of life with the truth;
This is the land of me,
This is the land of thee,
I will stare at thee,
Thou too will stare at me
Keep me in your lovely arms! !
Enable me to kiss your lovely lips!
Love it! Love life with the muse of the truth! !
Onward with positive works on earth;
Viewing life with righteous eyes!
Earth needs the truth,
There is light all around, light in every direction
In the darkness that your eye sees me
Right now I'm awake or tired
An eye sees me through the light of a lamp
I've been pregnant for years
But now I'm choosing abortion
I was told it carried life
But it was only a distortion
Chacha Chaudhary Visited his Friend's House. His Friend's Name was Raghuram.
Chacha Chaudhary Said to Raghuram.
Sitting in Lucca surrounded by ancient medieval churches, I listen to a violinist play, old people and children's laughter fills the air as the balloon man ties another animal creation. Church bells ring as people cycle over the town square. Lovers hold hands and kiss drinking each other with their loving eyes.
The low lands call
I am tempted to answer
They are offering me a free dwelling
Without having to conquer
Beautiful is the 'thank you'
Wrapped with gratitude,
Offered to peace prone people
Who offer what is real-themselves
Indoors by technology, outdoors by speedy transport
I travel the world
Today in Japan, tomorrow in Rome,
Next day by an ancient civilization or in Hawaii or Coast Ivory,
The Peace Warrior Of Mzansi, among heroes - a colossus!
Sun Of The Nation; A rare gift of Providence.
Once, entangled in the web of racist succubus;
Unruffled he declares before High Justice:
No earthquake, no thunder, no volcanic eruption
Or even there was not any of other natural calamities,
A sudden loud sound broke out all through the bush
With whizzing, shuddering, cracking, tearing, echoing,
As you see universally
There is a great fall
Let love stretch its hands being universal
To love and teach us to love all,
Sweet moment, stay with me,
and pray do not flee so soon,
Let me enjoy the bliss of that
first kiss beneath the moon.
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
TO AMARANTHA; THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL HER HAIRE.
Amarantha sweet and faire,
you put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from you put this pen
On this dry prepared path walk heavy feet.
This is not "dinner music." This is a power structure.
"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ'd to serve her deity:
If you had the choice of two women to wed,
(Though of course the idea is quite absurd)
And the first from her heels to her dainty head
Was charming in every sense of the word:
A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.