"Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity."
--Khalil Gibran
She returns here every May sixteenth,
the day she was to marry.
I saw her GHOSTLY visage there
at the GATES of the cemetery.
I went, as I've done everyday,
to lay flowers upon her GRAVE.
I, the GRIEF-STRICKEN groom
just striving to be brave.
Just as the sun set and darkness fell
I heard a ghastly GROANING.
I ran to where the sound had been
from a tomb I heard her moaning.
Just by the rusted, wrought iron gate
stood a GODFORSAKEN soul
in gown of white GOSSAMER and grave dirt.
My weak heart beat out of control.
Then suddenly a flash of light,
and she was as she had been.
I was in my good white suit...
they must have buried me in.
Together, hand in hand again
we finally got to marry!
Then we entered our eternity
through the gates of the cemetery.
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself."
~ Khalil Gibran
If words of my fortune cookie were by Confucius written,
he must have been deeply in love and completely smitten
to know the taste of it is as sweet as pollen to the bees
and as beautiful as Springtime buds blooming on trees.
Each happy tear that falls is ambrosia upon my tongue
The suckle of his lips is worthy of a love song to be sung
Honeyed kisses, more succulent than a flower's nectar
and I am the fortunate one for being his chosen collector.
The good fortune in life is beyond all means of measure
As a musician's inspiration brings him a source of pleasure,
so does the heart find its nourishment in the revelation
that passion is the drink that fills love's need for libation.
Fruit of the vine is not the only choice in which lovers imbibe.
The taste of honeyed kisses is the ale that I would prescribe.
by Khalil "The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind."
The teacher I remember as the best
stood out easily from all the rest.
She taught creative writing. At that time,
I had no clue when older how I’d love to rhyme.
She’d have us sit in a circle, for that
encouraged students more to want to chat.
Instead of seeing others from the rear,
we got to see the faces of each peer.
In our giant circle, we would discuss
our own opinions, and it is a plus
when students can feel comfortable and free
to say what’s on their mind; that’s great to me!
After learning different ways to write,
we’d write at home, and it was a delight
to share our poems and short stories too
with one another and get points of view.
On work I handed in, feedback I would get.
Critiques this teacher gave to us, and yet
I felt this teacher cared for us because
she helped us know our strengths, not just our flaws.
Our teacher made class fun with games we played.
With these activities, our teacher made
us be creative, for she did not preach.
I hope like her I’ve been wise when I teach.
quot: "The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind.".. Khalil
I met him at a square dance, beneath the stars,
A square of joy where laughter filled the air.
Not long before he saw beyond my scars,
And asked me to change my path with care.
His lessons weren't just found within the class,
But in the way he taught me how to see—
No pressure placed, just guidance when I'd ask,
A teacher, yes, but more—a friend to me.
In the darkest days, he stood by my side,
A mentor, a teacher, a steadfast guide.
When pockets were empty, and hope ran thin,
His hand reached out, pulling me in.
Through trials and pain, his smile remained,
A beacon of light when all else waned.
How can I forget the strength he gave,
The reason i survived, the way i stayed brave?
With every step, he lit my way,
His kindness helping me seize the day.
In this foreign land, I owe so much,
To a heart so warm, to a soul’s gentle touch.
Quote: “Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.” ~ Khalil Gibran
In the stillness of a pond, pure and clear,
The lilies dance, their beauty sincere.
Each petal reflected, every detail near,
In the mirror of water, devoid of fear.
A calm ocean mirrors the skies above,
Where larks soar high, on wings of love.
Their graceful flight, a sight to behold,
In the vast expanse, their stories unfold.
But alas, when algae cloud the pond's embrace,
Or waves disrupt the ocean's tranquil grace,
The reflections fade, lost without a trace,
Obscured by nature's chaotic chase.
So too, the pure heart, a spotless mirror,
Reflects infinite beauty, clearer and clearer.
But when veiled by doubts or tainted by fear,
The images blur, unable to adhere.
Let us tend to our hearts with utmost care,
Keeping them clean, and free from despair.
For in their depths, lies a beauty rare,
Reflecting the universe, in a love affair.
Quote: I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves, and behold the reality beneath.” – Khalil Gibran
Faces, like pages in an unwritten book,
Each line, a story untold, waiting to be explored.
Eyes, the windows to hidden galaxies,
Reflecting the universe of emotions within.
In the depth of gaze, secrets reside,
Echoes of joy and shadows of sorrow intertwine.
Cheeks, a canvas brushed by the hand of time,
Touched by the hues of laughter and tears.
Every curve tells of moments lived,
A sculpture carved by the passage of years.
Lips, poets of unspoken verses,
Uttering tales in smiles and silences.
Whispers of love, and echoes of pain,
Spoken and unspoken, a language plain.
Faces, landscapes shaped by life's sculpting hands,
A fusion of light and shadow, where stories expand.
In the mosaic of humanity, diverse and vast,
Faces, the poetry of the present and the past.
Every day I feel like I love her,
But she does not feel the same,
She says there is no more loving feeling between us,
Go find someone, let us keep moving on.
When love disappears from loving souls,
The hope drowns in the mirage lake of love,
The emotional sand castle vanishes in the bouncing ocean waves,
There is no getting back, let us keep moving on.
“If you love somebody, let them go,
For if they return, they were always yours,
And if they don’t, they never were,” - (Khalil Gibran)
Leave the hurt behind, keep on moving on.
A man never knows how to say goodbye,
But a woman knows when to say it,
That decision becomes final, it can never be changed,
When we fall, we get up, let us keep moving on.
with your permission my lady
i will take my leave
has your heart spoken it all
do not tarry here
do not let quiet pervade
it will destroy the silence of love
where galaxies meld
a thorn in the side
hidden burr in the saddle
if you do not let your heart sing
love is where dreams are shared
where the labor in the vineyard
is hand in hand
where the souls merge
into a quest for one
let your heart sing
give me your dreams
let me be a part of you
love harbors no fear
wine's grapes are crushed
in a gentleness, together
one must not hurt the seeds
it sours the wine
with your permission my lady
i will take my leave
let me depart knowing you
in all of its wonder
may the dreams that fill our vineyard
live in the calluses of our shared labors
OKC 8/04
"My friend, it was but a song of love out of a poet's heart, sung by every man to every woman" Khalil Gibran
Youtube: The Love Song by Khalil Gibran
quite the lesson within this video
I
Think - but don't make THINKING "your aim" -
"Don't look too good ... or lose common touch"
I learned from past masters, one name
Is Kipling. Khalil Gibran. Thanks. Much!
II
He called defeat his "bold companion,"
To be understood "is to be leveled," without
"Defeat, My Defeat," he owned loss & gain;
Life & death. Prepared to dig graves within
K-ind
H-eart
A-lways
L-ets
I-ts
L-ove
G-ive
I-mportance
B-y
R-ightfully
A-pplying
N-iceness
Topic: Birthday of poet Khalil Gibran (January 06)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Arabic script doesn't survive PoetrySoup, I hereby rewrite my previous submitted Arabic poem in FrancoArab letters,
laqad kunt fina al-saraj al-munir .... wa kunt alsadiq wa kunt al-khalil
wa kunt rasul al-mahabati fina .... wa kunt shifa' al-qalb al-alil
ahidna fika al-kholoq al-karim .... ahidna fika al-shahm al-nabil
jasuran shuja'an wa batalan homaman .... ila al-haq taghdu liqasd al-sabil
tajasadat fik asmaa al-ma'anaa .... wa laka fi al-sabr ba'on tawil
fa'an'em birajul qallama .... tu'ti al-hayat lana mathyl
kariman halalata shahidan rahalta .... man ya tura 'ank al-badil
fahna' bi maq'ad sidq aliyan .... bayn al-anhar wa zilen zalil
wa tab mustaqarren yafuh bi'etren .... rubu' al jannati wa al-salsabil
fi janati al-firdaws talqa al-anbia' .... wa jahran tara wajha rabben jalil
kafa'ak Allah bima anta ahloho .... wa a'tak minhu aljaza' aljazil
abi qad motta f matat basmaty .... wa akhtu hayati b khatwen thaqil
tatuaqu lisawtik ozoni fa inhad .... wa qul ya Aliya halum al rahil
satabqaa li hayatoka mathalan aziman .... ba'ad al mamat wa zikron jamil
wa yazallu etruka baynana .... fel manam wa fel suhad badil
It seems life just gets harder.
But through overcoming obstacles
The mind gets stronger.
That's what many explain to me.
I seem to recognize the concept and posses this key
I feel it gets misplaced most of the time
Maybe it will imprint soon
So I can distance myself from crime
Alone and confused was the I've taken,
Education is my only tool, but many say I'm mistaken
I want this search to be over
Be grown, alone, and, not confused
The highest power is recognition.
Be different with strong ambition.
But life only gets harder
To maintain, is the higher power
Now, I find fun locating the key
And its effect is brightening
Khalil Franklin
There was a man;
Whose lived by the mountains for ages.
He was; but to be seen,
Or heard.
He was; truly bizarre,
With no lads by his side,
He lived in the castle;
Of Romania of Britzsit.
When the wolves cried in horror;
When the mountains stood still;
There he was; looking at the moon,
While dine in the blood of daughter of Khalil.
Such sad, sad tragedy indeed,
Of when people in England came
To visit,
He'd waited anxiously;
For his dreams had fulfilled.
Blood-lusted,
Mind-infested,
Sane-filtered,
People-affrighted ,
Bodies-attracted,
Moon-lighted,
And self-powered.
Arose from the dead;
Came the fellow named Vlad,
Whose souls mined in Romania,
Then he alone be named Dracula.
"The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind." Khalil Gibran
Mr. Moore taught us English lit
but more important than that,
he taught us how to use our wit.
He willed us to go way beneath
the surface and there discover
treasures hidden under the heath.
He urged us all to cast our lines
way far out into our waters,
waters of thought, we could refine.
We found Truth was for Mr. Moore
like a shield or coat of armor.
These well-known words tacked to his door -
"Above all, To thine own self be true."
Then, does it really matter much
what others choose to say or do?
Virtue we came to realize
exists in the mind of the man -
his character without disguise.
No, I don't miss you
Certainly not
Creeping around
With your creepy
Willem Dafoe smile
Certainly not
Creeping around
With your creepy
Green eyes
That made me wet
And drowned me
In my very own river
Certainly not
Creeping around
With your creepy
Little lies or
Creepy
Big games
Your love is a joke
I am choking
In laughter
As sunshine hits
My sheets
I rise and rejoice
In the creepy
Absence of you
I know peace now
And that is
Creepy
I don't miss
Your theatrical affection
Or your Shakespeare bull
You are no Khalil Gibran
And Rumi himself
Told me he doesn't like you
He thinks you're pretty creepy
No more Arabian nights
Spent in your chamber
Sitting wide eyed
As you show me the world
As I tell you my stories
You seduced me
To death
With your creepy
Serpentine ways
And I'm happy
To be put
Out of my misery
I'm free now
Free to creep around
In my creepy, little ways
I'm a creep myself
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