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WELCOME TO YOUR POEM BLOG.


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Hi Friends.
Welcome to my new blog Public poems for everyone, if you want to see your work posted here, please send me poems and short stories in the contact box or comments box below, and it will be posted here for all the World to view.
Please make sure you leave your full name to get credit for your work…
all poems posted here will be copy written.

Happy writing.

William Sinclair Manson.

Please send your poems or short stories to.

SUBMIT A POEM

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Posted in abbey, architecture, famous poets, keeping poets alive, public poetry, sharing is caring, Worldwide writing, writing with a passion

El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz Malcolm X.


ROBERT HAYDEN 1913-1980

O masks and metamorphoses of Ahab, Native Son

I

The icy evil that struck his father down
and ravished his mother into madness
trapped him in violence of a punished self
struggling to break free.

As Home Boy, as Dee-troit Red,
he fled his name, became the quarry of
his own obsessed pursuit.

He conked his hair and Lindy-hopped,
zoot-suited jiver, swinging those chicks
in the hot rose and reefer glow.

His injured childhood bullied him.
He skirmished in the Upas trees
and cannibal flowers of the American Dream–

but could not hurt the enemy
powered against him there.

Keeping poets alive.

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AQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT. BY ROBERT FROST.


ROBERT FROST.

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Robert Frost, “Acquainted with the Night” from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright © 1964, 1970 by Leslie Frost Ballantine. Copyright 1936, 1942 © 1956 by Robert Frost. Copyright 1923, 1928, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Co. Reprinted with the permission of Henry Holt & Company, LLC.
Source: Twentieth-Century American Poetry (2004)

keeping the poets alive.

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AWAKING IN NEW YORK.


By Maya Angelou

1928-2014

Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,
children sleep,
exchanging dreams with
seraphim. The city
drags itself awake on
subway straps; and
I, an alarm, awake as a
rumour of war,
lie stretching into dawn,
unasked and unheeded.

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The GARDEN OF EROS BY OSCAR WILDE.


OSCAR WILDE

It is full summer now, the heart of June;
Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir
Upon the upland meadow where too soon
Rich autumn time, the season’s usurer,
Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,
And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spendthrift breeze.

Continue reading “The GARDEN OF EROS BY OSCAR WILDE.”
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UNDER THE WATERFALL.


THOMAS HARDY.

Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.’

Continue reading “UNDER THE WATERFALL.”
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LONDON 1802


Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life’s common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

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THE MORE LOVING ONE.


W. H. Auden – 1907-1973

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

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I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD.


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

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WHEN YOU ARE OLD.


William Yeats

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

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IF. BY RUDYARD KIPLING.


Kipling_nd

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! 

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BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH.


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EMILY DICKENSON

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away My labor,
and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school,Where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries,
and yet each Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

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LIGHT BREAKS WERE NO SUN SHINES. DYLAN THOMAS.


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Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines
Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
the things of light.

Continue reading “LIGHT BREAKS WERE NO SUN SHINES. DYLAN THOMAS.”
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TO A MOUSE. BY ROBERT BURNS


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0n Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough,
November, 1785

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murdering pattle
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An’ fellow-mortal!

Continue reading “TO A MOUSE. BY ROBERT BURNS”
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I HEARD A FLY BUZZ.


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Emily Dickinson, 1830 – 1886

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –  
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –  
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –  
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room – 
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portions of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly – 
With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz –  
Between the light – and me –  
And then the Windows failed – and then

I could not see to see –

FLY FLY

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REMEMBRANCE BY WILLIAM MANSON


war

It’s the outbreak of War
humanity is scared
a time for hurt
no one prepared.
Marching Soldiers
Machines that kill
fired upon people
shooting at will.
Races wiped out
at the click of a gun
tears and sadness
under the sun.
An army of hate
towards your fellow man
they try to hide
the children ran.
Soldiers on orders
killing all ages
rifles at the ready
bombs set with gauges.
Never forget
the millions who died
killed because of race
the people surprised.

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BURNED OUT. BY ANONYMOUS.


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Mistakes were made and it’s too late to go back.
I keep replaying it over and over,
thinking ‘what if I did this or ‘what if I did that
So now I sit alone, crying and slowly dying.
Wanting to fix it all, but only futility
trying.
A burning flame in my heart.
The existence I never knew
till it danced into my life.
I had my chance but didn’t hold on tight.
And now flame is gone,
extinguished into the dark night.
I would do anything to go back in time.
Pay more attention and hold dearly the flame that was once mine.
The flame illuminated my path and brightened every day.
Now that it’s gone, I’m once again lost and know not what to say.
She needed 100% and I gave less than that.
No one to blame but myself, as I fade into black.

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DEPRESSION. BY VIOLA TABOR. (c)


Feeling blue

Depression Trials and tribulations were to much for her to bear.
The war she fought inside no one seem to care.
Depression took over her mind, all she did was cry.
She felt life wasn’t worth living and she wanted to die.
Before she left this world, her sins she needed to atone.
Her heart was dark and empty cold as a stone.
On the beach that night, there were footprints in the sand.
When she try to take her life, Jesus carried her in His hands.
 
Viola Jane Tabor 

© copyright 7/24/2012


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SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. BY LORD BYRON.


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She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

PLEASE SEND ME A POEM. 

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NEW STANDS. BY KODJO.


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Where rivers and Seas meet..
What fish breaths from it air..
Do not judge me..
By what, soil I stand on,..
Like a seed, before the rains come..
Cast no shadow on my stand..
Before the sun rise..
To have seen me as passers by do..
And leave, but just a glance..
On me, with pity eyes..
Save it, pity eyes, save it..
Ever seen seeds with shoots of roots..
Come from the earth, in germination..
Who was it, that held watering cans..
And I breathe..
Where, rivers and seas meet..
No longer, am I to be labelled..
As a salty fish or another..
I breathe, breed and prosper..
Where rivers..
And seas meet

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HERE LIES MY CUPID. BY EDIMIO.


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Everyday I had a dream of us holding hands;
Kissing and basking under the moon on green lands;
Wanted taking you places and get you shopping in the mall;
Always on my mind, I even had pictures of you on my wall;
For six years straight I harboured this feeling;
No soul did I tell, I had been so concealing.
I had to eject from the shelf, I had to let go my cowardice;
I had to brave up myself, to halt dancing to my imaginary melodies;
Finally, I showed up in your place and *Knock knock* on your door;
You banged the door on me after throwing my gift on the floor;
It’s exclusively crazy, cuz I tattooed your name on my left arm,
Quite messy, because I went too far, now I feel like ‘damn’.
You went as far as to shred my note and burn my flower;
It hurts gravely, it’s like throwing me down the highest tower;
You detested my presence and flew away like a sparrow;
So fast that I couldn’t even have a glimpse of your shadow;
The poems I wrote, you said they were stupid;
You shot that arrow, and now here lies my dying Cupid.

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THE SPACES BETWEEN. BY INKBLOOD.


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Beneath my feet, there is something I cannot comprehend Between my breaths, I have an anxiety that never ends In the darkness of my pupil there is a reflection of what I’ve been looking for Suspended on my finger tips is the one thing I want On the tip of my tongue, its name escapes me The hair on the back of my neck stands as I feel its breath A chill like the touch of a boney finger runs down my spine This experience, for the first time in years, is something new I can feel its eyes, staring deep into my eyes I can feel its hand grabbing at what remains of the boy I once was All that remains of me is a shadow on the ground Exposed by the light, the man that I have reluctantly become Does it know what I have forsaken to keep this much?Can it understand that all that separated us is gone? Standing here, I invoke in it what it wanted from me The persistent chill in the air disappears under my breath The whistle in the wind falls silent in the presence of my smile The clouds hide the sun, who is too fearful to look Their tears for you will flow for hours and miles You tremble so much that I can see your face for the first time You are not what I expected, but I will not change my response I am not who you wanted, but my hand holds you back I aim to disappoint you, even if it costs me everything There is nothing you can take from me that I wouldn’t steal back I will have none of this, or it will destroy the rest of me You look at who I’ve become and you see fear I look at you and for the first time I see your fear As our eyes lock it becomes clear, for the first time to me We no longer have any interest in each other, nor have we empathy Neither of us is willing to succumb to the needs of the other You cannot have what is mine, I will protect those I care about You cannot have what is me, I no longer care to give in You can no longer have my heart, I’ll never want you again You cannot come here any-more, You have worn out your welcome Remember this, there once was a time when we were meant for each other There was a time when I would have given you my world Just to watch you take it Just because I was too weak You may exist between my breaths, but as long as I breath There is no room for you here, you are not wanted.

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EVERY MOMENT OF PAIN. BY CHRISTINE.


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contains some strong language.

Every moment of pain lets you know you’re alive.Every moment of joy lets you know it’s worth it.+ Fuck fake I’ll wear my heart on my sleeve,It beats for me, not for you+ I am a woman I long for her smile and comfort Why can’t I love her?I am a man I adore his strength and his tenderness Why can’t I embrace him?I am a human of beauty and flaws.Treat me like a person.I am cold and lonely I seek love like you.I am a Christian worshipping God next to you.I am a Muslim bowing five times a day with you.I am a soldier dying to protect you.I am me and I love.Does it matter who in a world of fear and hate?+ “I” emails, midnight texts,bangs on my door while I’m still in bed.Good-mood vampire–can’t banish you;Whining “friend”–draining me to replenish your well of tears as you cry on my shoulder while gnawing at my spirit.The shoulder rub,the pat on your back,the “It’ll be okay” assurance don’t stop you from taking it out on me.Abuse no more my friendship, my heart.Comfort you shall not have till you fix your own damn problem.+ “i just wish my friends were closer i hate that my only friend is a pet cactus.oh, i got some flowers yesterday but they will die soon so i guess they don’t count as a friend.”“they can be your friend until they die that’s more than most people”

Sexy Surgeon — a geek over an open computer case

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20100606. BY ANONYMOUS


LOCKED UP.

Sleep is for prisoners. A way to block out the constraints placed upon them. If only for a short while in each cycle of 24 hours.
But you can’t sleep; you sing to yourself and to anyone who will listen in the edges of brightness and darkness.
—–
So beautiful that only the brightest of diamonds are allowed to trickle into the depths of her being.

Continue reading “20100606. BY ANONYMOUS”
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FULL CIRCLE BY HEATHER.


 
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Forever, I could watch these yellow pansies
swaying against the cerulean sky
and listen to the clink of ice cubes;
swirling my glass in circles
like the links of our lives:
first training wheels, first love,
efforts finally seeing fruition,
closed doors, open windows,
love like the first time,
wedding bands—
and your hands,
sweetly circling my back:
hands that hold my hands,
hands that wipe my salty tears;
hands that planted yellow pansies
against the cerulean sky.

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HOT AFTERNOON. BY OINKY.


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Hot afternoon
i’m drinking blood
in this red-hot afternoon
blood with white transparent particles on it
savoring every sip
the colour paints my lips
bloody red
the smell isn’t  
appealing as it used to
a comfort
in this hot thirsty afternoon
my raspberry juice.