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.
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
I want you to know
You know how this is:
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
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:
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
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.
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.
A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.
When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.
There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.
Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd do,
And I turned my head - and there watching him was the lady that's known as Lou.
His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze,
Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool,
So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.
It's too nice a day to read a novel set in England.
We're within inches of the perfect distance from the sun,
the sky is blueberries and cream,
and the wind is as warm as air from a tire.
Even the headstones in the graveyard
Seem to stand up and say "Hello! My name is..."
It's enough to be sitting here on my porch,
thinking about Kermit Roosevelt,
Here I am my love,
Dressed in skin tonight.
For your smile tares this heart,
Wich runs for miles apart.
Wrapped in doubt I fear your silence,
For your eyes undress my wants.
Forgive me not for truth I am,
And leave my crown behind.
Oh, Sufi heart, take the leap divine,
Unwavering faith in every line.
Melody of love and devotion true,
Reaching for the divine, our rendezvous.
once upon a time ISIS was killing
every Christian they could find
delighting finding Christians in hiding...
In summary a brief extract
from Syrian Orthodox Archbishop
Nikodimos Daoud in a July interview
with Russia Today.
begging in tears
to save Yazidis
from genocide receives
August 2014 Islamic State genocide of Yazidis
genocide carried out in Sinjar area of northern Iraq
ISIS terror resulted in 500,000 refugees genocide
crime led to exodus expulsion flight effective exile
Sink to the bottom like a cannonball
Screaming inside wasn't good enough
Anything to hide the pain for a little while
Voices clear as the sun shines bright
Never can I forget…
No, never, not ever…
the Islamic State genocide of Yazidis
carried out in the Sinjar area of northern Iraq
resulted in 500,000 refugees the genocide
led to the expulsion flight effective exile
How strange! You are occupied by cares for this world;
How strange! you ignore your religious duties...
...to your God and his people!
This is the real misfortune and calamity...
do not be deceived ISIS crimes against women
were crimes against Allah not acceptable to Muhammad
Muhammad denounced totally rejected infanticide
there are people in all countries
in all lifestyles all religions all genders
who believe they have escaped crimes
Your presence is near
I wish you were here
1. Take a shower you don't want to smell.
2. Pick out an outfit that will blend in with the latest trends and won't make you a laughing stock of the school more than you already are
3. Put on some makeup so you can't even recognize yourself and your face tingles with an unbelievable issue. You can't satisfy otherwise you'll have ruined the hours of meticulous painting you apply to your face.
I will never forget you my dearest soulmate..
these old meomries will never fade...
you've always laid me in your shade...
whenever I trembled or felt afraid....
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
............sitting here in the stillness
...............staring out the window
...at darkness my friend and my foe.
My pan head
Mine you are
And Yours I am
He was before his beloved,
Kneeling on his thighs……..
His shoulders were down,
With his soulful cries…….
I was like a withered flower in a barren desert,
till I breathed your smile that brought life to my heart.
I was like a homeless child looking for a shelter.
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
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.
Between us now and here -
Two thrown together
Who are not wont to wear
Life's flushest feather -
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—