Poem | |
A man with impeccable charm, sophistication and grace,
Fred Astaire was at once both marvelous and enchanting
As the twentieth century’s greatest dancer and master artist.
He made his sublime dancing (“hoofing”) seem effortless.
Capturing the American spirit with both panache and verve
Fred Astaire glided across some quite wonderful movie sets:
Top Hat (1935), Swing Time (1936), Shall We Dance (1937)
Done magnificently—all harken back to a different America.
This America tho’ more old fashioned was one of “can-do”
And boasted a gutsy bravado even in times great hardship.
Fred Astaire with others was a sturdy star symbol of the then
Greatest Generation that helped bring peace to a war torn world.
Fred Astaire was part of this Greatest Generation entertaining
Packed audiences and dazzling them with steps of joy and perfection.
Tho’ now gone Astaire’s past accomplishments serve as a prologue
For new generations to come and to seize opportunities for greatness.
Where are you Fred Astaire?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 2, 2014)
Poem | |
New Future Of The
Cable cost are up
You turned to the
internet and so have
My Youtube channel
is the way to go
Now I can even make
I group the videos
to make a show
To bring you the
best of where I go
For kids the mower
and stove videos
I also have vehicles
and some scarecrows
Kids can watch from
morn til night
with lots of things
for a kids delight
Light houses, ship
building, and horses
Antique barn yards
and tractor pulls
just for you
and crafty wood
has all the quirks
The historical homes
make a great tour
Contest and oxen
pulls are never a
Animal friends, I
I have horses, dogs,
cows and sheep too
Plenty of petting
pens and milking for
And a simple click
is all you have to
A lot of shows with
a mix for all
derby or a stunt so
So if you dropped
the cable and you
have a need
I have three
channels for you to
By: Doris Anne
Poem | |
I fight my sleep in a drain.
Oh ! My brain why art thou so vain.
I glow at night when the city sleeps.
To my dears who weep.
Tales aren't glowing at this end.
You lucky to choose the path you trend.
I am a glow worm of the bountiful sky.
I weave silk with my words each night,
Which fades in the darkness of the waving dream.
I wonder the worth of it all.
A vain pursuit, I say.
My soul is in that cave...
Pity! Warm breeze take me away to the morning light.
Let me fly through these strum less clogs of wheel.
Drudgery breeds it's contempt.
Amaya! Shower on me thy calm to tread the brightest star.
(A poem for those who work at night)
Contest:- Any poem under 15lines#2
Sponsored By:- A Poet Destroyer
Poem | |
I am so tired of forever.
Seems there was something I left behind in another life.
I asked the mirror and the mirror said,
“You can do better.”
There are papers spread across my bed,
Books strewn, open as wide as my eyes at five—
"Where were you last night?"
When she left I barely replied.
I asked the mirror, and the mirror said,
“You’ll rest only when you’re dead.”
I’ve come all this way to sell myself;
I can’t tell you how many selves I’ve killed,
Just to keep from standing still.
How many times I’ve wanted to smash all the high hopes,
That tower god.
I’ve given the keys back to my jailor
In a cell that smothers me with my failure
And beats my nature into a stranger.
How is the pedestal still so very clean?
I watch them kill to snatch their dream
From the hands that rightfully receive;
A Stockholm syndrome of high esteem.
I’ve seen so many knives go in my thigh.
I’ve taken them out with no reply.
We all beseech for that unreachable lie
To the sound of years just dredging by.
But here we are at last.
I stood as the suits opened up the door.
Now that I've made it all this way,
I don’t want it anymore.
Poem | |
It’s all about pain, frustration, tears. Fears, it’s all about fighting temptation
Watch the sun rise and set to the darkest thoughts of contemplation
My heart smiles not, my lungs laugh not to restoration
My light shines not it dims even the most vital motivation
From the day I was born to the day I shall die with lamentation
The question to my satisfaction still stands without fortification
The course of my education, my certificates sleep in nullification
The restoration of my sanity, my greatness, my dream is in a state of decomposition
As I watch it decay to a fossil plant without inspiration
I`m the brown leaf without respiration or perspiration
I am the unlubricated machine imprisoned in storage without life or action
The anger trapped in me bleeds my heart to death
It hurts my soul to a coma, to a collapse, to a faint
The pain and rage within me sends my brain to a trauma
To a clot of dangerous damaged stage of acts and drama
The finger pointing at me with pity soils my confidence
The mouth laughing at me spoils my happiness to a gloom.
That blossom to an irrational and uncontrollable doom.
The tongue that betrays me kills my authenticity
Usurp my serenity; launch a highly tactical robbery of my ecstasy
My peers are at the lecture room behind desks reading and writing
I am standing behind the lifeless tiles cleaning
Standing behind the stove cooking.
That was not the vision that was not the mission.
That was not my dream, it was not the operation
Poem | |
They hate you because your you
They make up lies and call it true
They're fake behind your back
Hoping someday that you'll crack.
They hate you because your real.
no matter what they say you always heal
They're surprised to see you rise,
That you're not affected by all these lies
They hate you because you smile at them
It shows them that your a real gem
You are always true and do your best :)
Sometimes these haters just cant test
They hate you for no reason
Despite it all, you smile
whatever the reason
At the end of the day
All i'm gonna say
All i plan to be
-Sanderline Fleury :)
Poem | |
My Son Moon and Star ~
Approaching the celebration of his Birth
cherishing the gift I received
within weeks of conception I knew
something amazing was in Creation ~
the Stars held a party
sending me with one of their own
Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky
It was magic It was destiny taking its flight.
In love with an October full moon
drawing and painting I liked
thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
caught in a loss of time
Hours going by as choosing my color
a wittness to three falling stars
A clear night sky sparkle's
A once Famous Star was sent
inspiring the tiny child inside ~
Never a doubt in my mind at all
child bearing was worth any pain received
yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
one to cherish and hold
My Son was born the following August ~
working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year
as the set of Leverage for 3 years .
Has done a Indie movie here
In Paris it was seen and honored
coming soon filmed in Portland ~
"The House of Last Things "
awaiting the credits , you will see
1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant
My Young Lion Mans dream ~
A proud mom I watch every show and the credits
as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
My Son & Moon and Star
A name you will all know ~
Happy Birthday to my creative Son
you will exist in my heart forever~
Poem | |
heights without ceilings
climber’s roster for success
Poem | |
Surrounded by various profession
Business, medicine, soldiership and education
It's heaven-sent and planned for Him to labour
To work manually with strength and effort
True hardships; entails a great man of honor
He picked up woods and tools to craft
From small drawers and tables to houses that will last
An impression of humility and expression of equality
Though He is reverence; a Saviour from heaven
Joseph was the adoptive father
Where His skill of carpentry originated
He worked night and day; perspired with pain
He asked of no demand and with no complain
The name is Jesus born in Betlehem
The only begotten son of our Father in heaven
He could have worked in another occupation
But chose to make a living from down-below
They take the common and make it something to consider
Equipped with right materials they bind things altogether
The reason-being, for us to know He's a builder
Don't you know that we're under construction?
Whenever our hearts broken and the world is all we know
When we pray and call, Jesus is at work
To fix us and forgive; improving mind and soul
No work is greater if hardwork is shared
Truly, Jesus had proven that a carpenter's noble
To help us build our dreams and make the world stronger
"In Him, all things hold together"'.
Poem | |
The familiar faces that I'll long to see.
The beauty of a place where my soul once laid.
The bests of memories that will linger in mind.
How hard to tell everyone , "goodbye".
A year of struggles,pain and defeat.
How I love to recall the moment I wept.
A painful experience that leads to success.
Now I'm bringing a torch to lit the path that I'll take.
Tears may gently flow from these eyes.
The laughter we had shared still echoe from afar.
Though my heart is dying each time we depart.
I'll treasure those days when you cheer me high.
This journey I'll be taking isn't be that long.
I'll leave you with a sweet kiss while the sky is dark.
So tomorrow we'll greet the sun with a smile.
Facing a new beginning, in the world we survive.
Poem | |
NIGHTINGALE'S SOUL LIGHTS
Plain spotless uniform so pure and white
Modest neat gear rendering tender loving fight
Day, night 'till wee hours, eyes a must wide awake
Extending a hand, shaking off all aches
Tiptoeing like a sly in and out of rooms
Dim ~ quiet same as white garden tombs
Grace under pressure upon first newborn's cry
Wiping tears from a gentle old man's dying eye
Evenings so dark and mornings so bright
Everyday a nurse sees life kaleidoscope lights
Despite some voice rudeness to foul remarks
Kindness,her soul's sweet perfume, larks
A nurse appears unfeeling firm when mankind bleeds
Within her are hidden soft golden beauty deeds
July 06, 2014
Poem | |
kuchh karna hai,kuchh kar dikhana hai mujhe
par roshni nhi hai jivan me, par talashna hai mujhe
kuchh sapne hai mere,unhe pura kar dikhana hai mujhe
chahe mushkile aaye jivan me,sapno ko pura kar dikhana hai mujhe
mot ko savikar kar lege hum, agar sapne ho jaye pure
dekhna hai mujhe khush sabhi ko
shayd kuchh karna hoga mujhe
kuchh jarur karege hum aisa
ydi aisa wakt aayega jivan me
Poem | |
Mama I want to be a star
I want to grace stages that host the world's revered faces
Fantasies shameless my pipe dreams contagious
I want to be famous
Not one for fictional frivolity
I speak of what's in front of me
A new city called Poetry,
I watched as the has-beens soaked their dreams in sewage streams
Unphased by rodent plagues
These ones embrace their own rat race
I still try to navigate the avenues
Negotiate the ones and twos and find a way to tell the truth
Young and unstable I stumble in the giant footprints of those who stood before me
Tip toe on verbal terrain as desperately I pray the weight of immaturity won't bury me,
Admittedly this spoken world is new to me
Is it possible in any way the gift of verse will carry me?
I see me breaking grounds, earth shattering and in my dreams these words resound
I'll turn cacophony into somewhat of a sacred sound
I want to craft phrases that serenade, deliver sweet-somethings that emancipate
I want, in some way to bring meaning to confusion
Dear world of poetry
Sometimes when they're floored I'm in awe of how my flow's flawless, I hear applause no pauses, waving arms and stinging palms bear tribute to those timeless charms, classic tales still bent with intent to succumb to new pens
Pave way for insecurity
For fear of gift escaping me
See I fail to write when I'm trying to
I get it right with no intention to
Am I...within my right to claim potential true?
Tear ink off her hinges, her blue ball point cringes
Left hand in debt
My blank page bereft
But in the back of my mind
I see standing ovations and soul drenched invasions..
I want to pierce every being I encounter,
I want to penetrate faith, tear doubt asunder,
Let me to speak to the valleys
negotiate peaks and make friends with epitome
I want to part oceans and in the grips of my - pause - tempt emotions,
mold momentum to set in motion the wheels of adoption so that poetry.....may adapt herself for me
I want to write poetry, I want to speak
I want to reach within,
A remote reflection of her
This...this brand new city
I present this piece as fantasy
when in all reality
I do hope she's prepared for me
Poem | |
Wilderness is a crowded street.
Silence stings the ears of the hearer,
Cacophony of sound, unheard.
Loneliness turns to solitude,
Converse without a word.
Wilderness is a crowded street.
A passer-by nobody sees.
Togetherness now disjointed,
Run! I feel their disease.
Money is their mind set
Full wallet yet they're poor.
A heart of gold inside me,
Theirs, an open sore!
Some own the World, yet are bankrupt,
Emotionally discharged black-holes.
Shiny shoes that point to nowhere,
Prices, still on their soles.
All the broken people,
Nobody tells me why.
Orphaned, divorced, mistaken,
I'll not lay down to die.
To roll over and just take it,
Is what they'd like us to do.
So let's all speak out, be counted,
Not be part, of the Zoo!
Poem | |
They call me hairdresser, hairstylist, barber,
but really I am just a therapist with shears in my hands and the ability to cut memories out of peoples orbits.
Donna says she has twenty seven great-grandchildren,
and six kids.
She tells me that her late husband died,
and that if I cut her hair too short she will wring my neck.
She calls me superhero.
Dustie tells me about her child passing,
that the autopsy couldn’t tell why,
just a selfish god wanted her precious to be with him instead of her.
I don’t cry.
I try not to fill the shampoo suds with salt tears.
I try not to use the tape in my pocket to keep me together,
but sometimes I need it when I bite the bitter from my fingernails.
The cut hair sticks to my leggings-
their stories itching away at me.
I try not to cradle their shortcomings in my cereal spoon,
try not to feel guilty if my advice doesn’t take,
try not to kill the blue jays,
or miss the sunrise.
I try not to forget their names,
or their fingers,
but I will never forget their stories.
Cut me like an a-line
because I am asymmetrical to their words.
Listening but forgetting.
Sweeping up the hair and moving on,
always snip, sweep, snip, sweep,
dust off my shoulders and I’m back up again.
Glass house salon chair,
I hold their hair at a ninety degree angle.
They sink in the seat
always looking back at me.
180 degree angle, modified ninety,
texture with razor but don’t cut off the length of their stories.
Remember their fingers.
Remember their formulas for changing.
Remember their eye color and the size of their pupils,
the way they look when they talk to you.
Remember to take notes like Marilee’s hair is resistant and takes a longer time to process.
Remember the process,
the hilite weave,
the caramels, golds, coppers, blondes.
Remember their voices,
the stable and shaky and cracked and firm.
Remember to snip, sweep, snip, sweep,
dust off your shoulders and get back up again.
I’ve got to sit up straight,
grip the watermelons,
eat the pepper seeds,
tame the lions.
I have to crawl when the soles of my feet are covered in sorrows
And my knees harbor hopes for holding me up,
joining my joints together,
connecting me from floor to foot, to stomach, to lung, to heart, to heart, to dust off your shoulders and get back up again.
Donna comes in again, for a perm this time.
She walks slowly to the salon chair.
My stomach is hollow.
I weep into my lungs.
As I begin to put on my suit she looks up at me
and says, “Hello, Superhero.”
Poem | |
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Poem | |
Long Day at work
as a red-eyed wolf
and shiny desks
His minds keep busy
on wet pavements
No more Fire
Then I See You
crow's feet landing on my eyes
even a thick glass
cannot stop your anger
There is Fire
in all working people
They all need a spark plug
Created 12th May 2014
For Poem Contest Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
Poem | |
The sky fades
I'll be free
The good day
Poem | |
You have my soul, but you have your fate
Whatever your words, I’m willing to take
You have my word; I’ll give you my breath
It’s like a chain that would never be break
You are my love with all my heart,
I’ll fight for you with all my might.
And in the way, you admire your goals,
You hold my hands, but not so close.
As you go to your chosen path,
I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart.
In the dark side, I leave behind
Within my faith, that you’ll arise
Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still
I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near
I accept my fate for what it does,
I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was?
You reach your goals, as you want to have,
Would you remind the man that gave what he had?
As you reach the stars, and be the one
Be a sun that shines its own.
After the rain, the rainbow comes,
Like dark in the moon, when the light flash
A glimpse from you at least a short
For then I knew my pain is worth.
Poem | |
You are the salt of the earth;
Farmer, we say that to you;
You are hardworking and true;
We recognize your worth.
To the crop you give birth,
The soil, you subdue,
Cornstalks break through,
to avert famine and dearth.
But where is your son?
He’s not learning how.
He won’t be outdone—
living the life of high brow,
He forfeits work in the sun,
renounces his seed and the plow.
Poem | |
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
Poem | |
The poem is dedicated to my Mom..My bestest buddy ever..
wrote by Mrs.Madhavi.Suyog.Pagare
Mom - You are my harmonious World!!!!
MOM you are a beautiful angel who always had an great heart of making my problems simpler..just cant compare you with anyone in this world..You have been moonlighting in my life since many years..you are my shadow,you are my strength,you are great friend of my mine..thanks for being the bestest mom ever in my life..you struggled so hard for curving my career,u painted ma life with colourful rainbows,thanks for ur patience when I get panicked,you knw how to handle me..My life will be incomplete without you..I can't spend a single day without having thought abt you..you always shower with an unconditional love..you are the mesmerised persona..who lime lighted my life..my world..Wish you a very happy birthday and happy mother's day too..Love you mummy..
Mrs.Madhavi Suyog Pagare
Poem | |
The HR person called me in… I was turning gray… Was he even twenty-one?
I wondered if the interview would go well, as he did fung shui the chairs around.
Offered a caramel expresso mocha late decaf, I told him I took my coffee black.
Alas my friend, it got progressively worse, this: our proverbial generational gap.
He asked me to explain, how I’d be the best personnel fit, for this illustrious job.
Ah! Experience I had in abounds, as I pulled out a 100-page resume, neatly bound.
That question, had me off and running, but I knew, I was in some trouble when…
I saw his eyes glaze over, and he ask me, ‘Have we made it into space yet?’
He smirked, when he ask, about ‘Recent’ applicable education, in the last 5 years.
I condensed my course certifications till he nearly fell off, his crazy chair, my dear!
He ask the projects worked on, unfortunately, all were government secret classified.
So I added some of the numerous skills, that had been applied, till he almost cried.
I started with the job descriptions, but he didn’t like… that the names were so long.
And the abbreviations normally used, in this line of work, almost blew his mind.
Though I also got the feeling, he may have thought that I’d finally, lost mine, since…
My accomplishments had scads of stuff he’d never, ever, be able to comprehend...
You know, ‘things’ about the job, HR doesn’t care about or bother to be clued in.
Luckily all was saved, before the interviewers’ jaw, hit the floor around his chair.
Using a power point presentation, illustrations appeared, giving him a better clue.
I even gave him a burned DVD, set to the music of ‘Live Free or Die Hard’, too.
He ask about items, he’d never heard of, you know, from way before he was born.
But got the feeling he’d be more attentive, talking about a computer game going on.
I didn’t lie about a thing, it’s not my fault some Companies are now closed down!
But I felt things were somewhat a success, as security finally came to lead me out…
Unfortunately, in the end, they hired a young one, and I couldn’t understand why.
He was a quiet, little, studious kid, who didn’t say a thing, but had stars in his eyes.
He didn’t understand any of the work involved, but his pay would be next to none.
But that's whom they got: until that company closed for work that couldn’t be done.
All because the HR Department didn't help them get the workers they did need.
I became self-employed, developing computer games, all the rage! Oh So Sweet!
Yes, I became a millionaire, with my own company, without HR, anywhere seen!
Now, we develop rockets to go into space, where I felt, that HR person should be.
Dedicated to all those Middle aged people stressed out after looking for a job.
Wife and Hubby Collaboration
Poem | |
In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores
for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `
Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
The red album, The blue album , The White album
Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
Ringo's face , something hard to understand underneath~
I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears
For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence
Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died
I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it "
No .. this was not my hero in music and song .
he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes
bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss
One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
his world of secrets
He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
The very sad long and winding Road ~
Let us Bury our real Paul.
No more " Mystery tour "
No more fear
Let him be in peace ~
Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "
Poem | |
Inspirational poem.. Rising Golden red sun all its way..dedicated to all
of you guys..wrote by Mrs.Madhavi.Suyog.Pagare
The Rising Red sun
As like the charming moon and luminous star fades away.
It promises to send the dynamite sun shining in the sky.
Due to which oceano pearl glitters all the day.
Praying god for the happiness in all our way.
The morning sagas made me understand, Me and my vivacious life.
But When I look back and pick up the souvenir of my childhood. Its just nostalgic. Feel like to go back to the teenage. The sustained pain is the only option left that I can’t get those days of my innocence back.
All I could make up my mind and just say, move on. Just move on.
Ray of hope chimed my heart.
Because god gifted me Something and added in my cart.
Provided me and my sincerity towards work can’t depart.
From the very day uplifted to give a quick start.
The moment I realized the magnetising power of the sun.
Felt trust on it and renovated my life again by attenuating my pains.
Rest all I expect peace my thee.
Left with the ray of hope. Bless us MY god, My lord !!!!!