Сategory: Poetry

Sing

Friday, 24 Feb 2017

sing until your heart gives out
that’s what they all say
but what is left after that
if the music takes it all away?

if you sing until your lungs give out
what breath is left to tell anyone
just how you feel about them?
you’re finished before you’ve even begun.

all I’m trying to say
is that when you sing
let the music take you high above the clouds
until you’ve forgotten everything.

music is equal to love
that’s what they tell me
but what if you love someone greatly
and there is no way to sing them down onto one knee?

your heart will break
your lungs will start crying
for air and all you will know to say
is not to worry, you will still be flying.

 Brittany

Get Lost In The Music

Friday, 24 Feb 2017

Music is part of my everyday life,
it’s the one thing that makes me feel alive.
No matter what it could be,
all music influences me.

Music teaches me everything I do,
After hearing the words, you know it suits you.
Without music I don’t know what I would do,
when I’m feeling bad it’s the only place I can go to.

Music is my life, my desire,
As I listen, it builds me higher.
No matter what kind, rock, country, or rap,
you can’t convince me that any of it is crap.

Whatever you’re feeling, whether its happy, sad or fear,
just turn it up and listen to what you hear.
To me music could never go wrong,
I could listen to it all day long.

by Roxane Faulkner

Annabel Lee

Friday, 24 Feb 2017

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;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

By Edgar Allan Poe

Bear In There

Friday, 24 Feb 2017

There’s a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire–
He likes it ’cause it’s cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He’s nibbling the noodles,
He’s munching the rice,
He’s slurping the soda,
He’s licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he’s in there–
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.

by Shel Silverstein

A Dream Within A Dream

Friday, 24 Feb 2017

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow–
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

by Edgar Allan Poe

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Friday, 24 Feb 2017

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.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

by Robert Frost

Wind On The Hill

Thursday, 20 Oct 2016

No one can tell me,

Nobody knows,

Where the wind comes from,

Where the wind goes.

It’s flying from somewhere

As fast as it can,

I couldn’t keep up with it,

Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding

The string of my kite,

It would blow with the wind

For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,

Wherever it blew,

I should know that the wind

Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them

Where the wind goes…

But where the wind comes from

Nobody knows.

By A. A. Milne

Twelve months

Thursday, 20 Oct 2016

January brings the snow,

Makes our feet and fingers glow/

February snows again

And sometimes it brings us rain.

March brings sunny days and winds

So we know that spring begins.

April begins the primrose sweet,

We see daisies at our feet.

May brings flowers, joy and grass

And the holidays for us.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses.

Fills the children,s hands with posies.

Hot July brings apples and cherries

And a lot of berries.

August brings us golden corn,

Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings us school,

Days are shorter, nights are cool.

Fresh October brings much fruit

Then to gather them is good.

Red November brings us joy,

Fun for every girl and boy.

Cold December brings us skating,

For the New Year we are waiting.

The three little kittens

Thursday, 20 Oct 2016

 The three little kittens

They lost their mittens,

And they began to cry

“Oh mother dear

we sadly fear our mittens we have lost”

“What! Lost your mittens? you naughty kittens!

Then you shall have no pie”

“Meow, meow, meow, meow, we shall have no pie”

The three little kittens

They found their mittens,

lying on the ground

“Oh mother dear,

see here see here our mittens we have found”

“What? Found your mittens? you good little kittens!

Now you shall have some pie”

“Meow, meow, meow, meow, we shall have some pie”

If

Thursday, 20 Oct 2016

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:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

By Rudyard Kpling