Poems and Poetry

My Tears for You

Darius — Sat, 19 May 2012 07:06:44 +0000

My tears are dried when I see you smile.
And yet I cannot help but cry.
But these are waters to celebrate.
And to embrace like a lover,
Each time they fall from my eyes.

You make the storms around me cease,
Through the melody of your voice.
Enough to sooth the Earth's core;
To turn magma to aloe.
And grow blooms in hellfire.

When I feel overjoyed for you,
It shows in my face.
For when the glass is filled passed full,
Some water may spill onto the ground.
And the ground will weep for you as I have.

I feel so empty now-as well as filled.
Your brightness quells my darkness,
And I bear your sun gratefully.
Let it not set upon me.
Let not luna return with a bouquet of fallen stars.

You mean more to me than the air I breathe.
Than my mind which yerns for you.
And if I need cast them away to be with you,
Then they shall be destroyed, remade, and destroyed again,
A thousand thousand times just to see you.

Just to remember you:
In a way that makes me feel complete.
Knowing that I made the right choice,
To see you unfurl and take flight.

Poems:

Love Poems

Poet:

Darren Lord

God Saw You Getting Tired

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 08:46:29 +0000

God saw you getting tired
and a cure was not to be
so he put his arms around you
and whispered,
"Come to Me"

With tearful eyes we watched you
and saw you pass away
and although we love you dearly
we could not make you stay.

A Golden heart stopped beating
hard working hands at rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best

Poems:

Funeral Poems

The Final Inspection

Tue, 15 May 2012 16:27:00 +0000

The soldier stood and faced his God
Which must always come to pass;
He hoped his shoes were shining bright,
Just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward soldier,
How shall I deal with you?"
"Have you turned the other cheek,
To my Church, have you been true?"

The soldier squared his shoulders
And said "I guess I ain't,
cause those of us who carry guns,
Can't always be a saint.

I have had to work most sundays,
And at times my talk was rough.
I've had to break your rules my Lord,
Cause the world is awfully tough.

But I never took a thing
That wasn't mine to keep,
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills just get too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear,
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place,
Among the people here,
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.

If you have a place for me, my Lord,
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had much,
And if you don't, I'll understand"

There was silence all around the throne,
Where all the saints had trod,
As the soldier waited quietly
For the judgement of his God.

"Step forward now my soldier,
You've borne your burdens well.
Come walk the streets of Heaven,
You've done your time in Hell.

Poems:

Funeral Poems

War Poems

The Seven Seas - The Answer

Sat, 12 May 2012 17:27:16 +0000

The Seven Seas - The Answer

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path,
Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His Wrath,
Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush
Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush.
And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust and sun,
Had pity, whispering to that luckless one.
'Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well—
What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?'
And the Rose answered, 'In that evil hour
A voice said, "Father, wherefore falls the flower?
For lo, the very gossamers are still."
And a voice answered, "Son, by Allah's will!"'

Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward,
Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord:
'Sister, before We smote the dark in twain,
Ere yet the stars saw one another plain,
Time, Tide, and Space, We bound unto the task
That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should ask.'
Whereat the withered flower, all content,
Died as they die whose days are innocent;
While he who questioned why the flower fell
Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell.

Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936

Poems:

Religious Poems

Poet:

Rudyard Kipling

The Absent-Minded Beggar

Sat, 12 May 2012 16:36:14 +0000

The Absent-Minded Beggar

When you've shouted "Rule Britannia," when you've sung "God save the Queen,"
When you've finished killing Kruger with your mouth,
Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine
For a gentleman in khaki ordered South?
He's an absent-minded beggar, and his weaknesses are great—
But we and Paul must take him as we find him—
He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate—
And he's left a lot of little things behind him!
Duke's son—cook's son—son of a hundred kings—
(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after their things?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay!

There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to,
For he knew he wouldn't get it if he did.
There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling due,
And it's more than rather likely there's a kid.
There are girls he walked with casual. They'll be sorry now he's gone,
For an absent-minded beggar they will find him,
But it ain't the time for sermons with the winter coming on.
We must help the girl that Tommy's left behind him!
Cook's son—Duke's son—son of a belted Earl—
Son of a Lambeth publican—it's all the same to-day!
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after the girl?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay!

There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak,
And they'll put their sticks and bedding up the spout,
And they'll live on half o' nothing, paid 'em punctual once a week,
'Cause the man that earns the wage is ordered out.
He's an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call,
And his reg'ment didn't need to send to find him!
He chucked his job and joined it—so the job before us all
Is to help the home that Tommy's left behind him!
Duke's job—cook's job—gardener, baronet, groom,
Mews or palace or paper-shop, there's something gone away!
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and who's to look after the room?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay!

Let us manage so as, later, we can look him in the face,
And tell him—what he'd very much prefer—
That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place,
And his mates (that's you and me) looked out for her.
He's an absent-minded beggar and he may forget it all,
But we do not want his kiddies to remind him
That we sent 'em to the workhouse while their daddy hammered Paul,
So we'll help the homes that Tommy left behind him!
Cook's home—Duke's home—home of a millionaire,
(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)
Each of 'em doing his country's work
(and what have you got to spare?)
Pass the hat for your credit's sake,
and pay—pay—pay!

Rudyard Kipling 1865-1936

Poems:

War Poems

Poet:

Rudyard Kipling

Life of Mine

Darius — Thu, 10 May 2012 06:03:46 +0000

Life of mine; why do I stain?
Why does the luster remain?
Can I not bring to focus,
Whims in cranial locus.
Do I stay, or do I leave?
To remain and in so grieve,
On the doings done and not.
On the life left but to rot.
To escape the things behind.
To hide where others don't mind.
To fear the slightest cool breeze.
I ask for an answer...please.
A decision to be made,
A though process to complete.
Now-or soon it will come time;
When I choose the life of mine.

-Darren Lord
Saturday, April 14, 2012

Poems:

Miscellaneous

Poet:

Darren Lord

Ocean of the Sky

Darius — Wed, 09 May 2012 16:47:18 +0000

Where is the rain?
The ocean of the sky.
From the crest of heaven's brim,
Angels observe the plains below.
What do they see?
They see canker spread over Terra.
The skin scarred and bled and capped,
With the pustules of civilization.
The sarrows of the saints cannot be withheld.
Their tears shed cannot be kept at bay
So they fall.
And they flow.
Before us;
The clouds were as dry as reaches beyond.
But what happened to change this?
What happened,
Was the birth of us.
Freedom was given for prosperity.
Freedom was taken for self-gain,
Self-determination.
Self-destruction.
Now the beds are saturated with these tears.
And as they approach the precipice,
So they fall.
And they flow.
To find my apex, to connect worlds.
To extinguish the fire around me;
The flame of industry.
To quench the thirst I have;
To wipe my mark from Terra.
And make the tears felled for me,
Cease.

-Darren Lord
Monday, April 30, 2012

Poems:

Nature Poems

Religious Poems

Poet:

Darren Lord

Door

Darius — Tue, 08 May 2012 05:35:40 +0000

The door closes shut,
With a metallic click.
The knob twists back,
And the tumblers tick.

A voice gives a chuckle,
From behind the door.
"You'll be there for a while,"
He said with voice frore.

I gave out a scream.
I let out a wail.
I beat on the door,
Until my muscles fail.

But try as I may,
The door did not budge.
The locks were set.
Like an abstract judge.

I knew I was finished.
The end had come.
I would wait for a trial,
The punishment's sum.

I could not rest,
I could not breathe.
I could not wait,
For the court to see.

The things I had done,
were too much to bear.
I would confess myself;
And escape the snare.

The wait was forever.
Every moment that past;
Would last a lifetime,
I hoped I would last.

I saw the spirits,
The ghosts of my griefs.
They were my only company,
In a night of disbelief.

But the morning came.
At the darkest hour.
The door creaked open,
To see the final power.

The fingers did point,
Their voices violent.
The jury sitting quiet,
Their actions silent.

I was finished before I came,
And they knew it thus.
The wheels were in motion,
To turn me to dust.

The gavel was struck,
The hearing made.
I was guilty of all charges,
My life now forbade.

I write this now,
As a final word.
To prove I was just,
A wheel third.

Poems:

Miscellaneous

Poet:

Darren Lord

Cancerous

Darius — Tue, 08 May 2012 05:32:53 +0000

Give time for the cancer to spread.
Leave the infection to merrily run its course.
Let it foul the waters we drink,
And rittle our crops and cattle until they never wake.

Cattle...is what we are.
A herd of sheep, following the shepard with the biggest stick.
And like the sheep or steer; we exist to be used.
To be stripped of all that we are,
And slaughtered out of pity or spite.

We are the stolen pieces that flow from these kills.
Used to feed the weary and lame.

Not to say that help should be witheld forever.
Not to say that help should be given forever.
Only that help must be earned,
And given by those who can muster it.

The silver spoon does not warrent apethy.
The scars of addiction do not warrent apethy.
The materialistic approach does not warrent apethy.
The soiled, bruised, and broken working hands do.

Give to those who deserve the last step forward,
And take from those who need be grounded to reality.
Give those who lay down to catch the grime,
From the feet of the developed.
But be cautious on who you save.
A helping hand can only be assesed by how it is used.

Sieve the chaff from the grain.
Find the worthy in the harvest.
Those who fall prey to non-productivity,
Must be cut from the financial womb.

Be careful in your choosing.
Be careful in your aid.
Be careful that you do not switch places,
And become the slave to a vengeful master.

Poems:

Miscellaneous

Poet:

Darren Lord

From A Stool

Darius — Tue, 08 May 2012 05:28:14 +0000

I am old with grief and tired from trying.
I am not what I once was before.
I am one who fell from their stance.

They have forgotten every part of me.
They have beaten me until I kneeled at their feet.
They have forsakened me to a life of pity.

You can still see the light of the dawn.
You can still feel the warmth of embrace.
You can continue to live as all do.
But I stay in the rear.

You will move on and leave this burden
You will enjoy the wealth of the Earth.
You will die a satisfied person.

They shall presume as before, as present.
They shall be as the ocean's face.
They shall not be hindered by me.

I now give up my seat to another.
I now see what was not meant to be.
I now resign myself.

I surrender my stool for one better than me.

Poems:

Miscellaneous

Poet:

Darren Lord