The best Author's Poems


Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
in Poems (Author's Poems)
You're my bondage and my freedom,
my flesh burning like a naked summer night,
you're my country.
Hazel eyes marbled green,
you're awesome, beautiful, and brave,
you're my desire always just out of reach.
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    Posted by: Davide Bidin
    in Poems (Author's Poems)
    Jazz killed itself
    But dont let poetry kill itself
    Dont be afraid
    of the cold night air
    Dont listen to institutions
    When you return manuscripts to
    brownstone
    dont bow and scuffle
    for Edith Wharton pioneers
    or ursula major nebraska prose
    just hang in your own backyard
    and laugh play pretty
    cake trombone
    and if somebody gives you beads
    juju, jew, or otherwise,
    sleep with em around your neck
    Your dreams'll maybe better
    There's no rain
    there's no me
    I'm telling ya man
    sure as shit.
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      Posted by: Save a Quote Staff
      in Poems (Author's Poems)
      I am a poet, a unanimous
      cry, am
      a cleat of dreams
      a fruit
      of innumerable conflicting grafts
      ripened in the hothouse
      But the same earth bears
      your people
      as carries me
      Italy
      In this, the uniform
      of your soldier, I rest
      as if
      it were the cradle
      of my father
      Cease murdering the dead.
      If you hope not to perish, if you
      Want sound of them again,
      Stop crying out, cease
      The crying out of it.
      They have a barely heard whispering,
      No more than the increase of grass,
      Happy where no man passes.
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        in Poems (Author's Poems)
        I live my life in widening circle
        That reach out across the world.
        I may not ever complete the last one,
        But I give myself to it.
        I circle around God, that primordial tower.
        I have been circling for thousands of years,
        And I still don't know: am I a falcon,
        A storm, or a great song?
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          Posted by: Francesco Pierri
          in Poems (Author's Poems)
          No man is an island,
          Entire of itself.
          Each is a piece of the continent,
          A part of the main.
          If a clod be washed away by the sea,
          Europe is the less.
          As well as if a promontory were.
          As well as if a manor of thine own
          Or of thine friend's were.
          Each man's death diminishes me,
          For I am involved in mankind.
          Therefore, send not to know
          For whom the bell tolls,
          It tolls for thee.
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            Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
            in Poems (Author's Poems)
            Mine - by the Right of the White Election!
            Mine - by the Royal Seal!
            Mine - by the Sign in the Scarlet prison -
            Bars - cannot conceal!
            Mine - here - in Vision - and in Veto!
            Mine - by the Grave's Repeal -
            Titled - Confirmed -
            Delirious Charter!
            Mine - while Ages steal!
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              in Poems (Author's Poems)
              I thought that my voyage had come to its end
              at the last limit of my power,---that the path before me was closed,
              that provisions were exhausted
              and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
              But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
              And when old words die out on the tongue,
              new melodies break forth from the heart;
              and where the old tracks are lost,
              new country is revealed with its wonders.
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                Posted by: Marzia Ornofoli
                in Poems (Author's Poems)
                But we oppress our natures, God or Fate Is our enemy, we starve
                and feed On vain repentance- O we are born too late!
                What balm for us in bruised poppy seed Who crowd into one finite
                pulse of time The joy of infinite love and the fierce pain of infinite
                crime.
                O we are wearied of this sense of guilt, wearied of pleasures
                paramour despair, wearied of every temple we have built,
                wearied of every right, unanswered prayer, for man is weak; God sleeps: and heaven is high: One fiery-colored moment: one great love: and lo!
                we die.
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                  Posted by: Paolo P
                  in Poems (Author's Poems)
                  With usura hath no man a house of good stone
                  each block cut smooth and well fitting
                  that design might cover their face,
                  with usura
                  hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall
                  harpes et luz
                  or where virgin receiveth message
                  and halo projects from incision,
                  with usura
                  seeth no man Gonzaga his heirs and his concubines
                  no picture is made to endure nor to live with
                  but it is made to sell and sell quickly
                  with usura, sin against nature,
                  is thy bread ever more of stale rags
                  is thy bread dry as paper,
                  with no mountain wheat, no strong flour
                  with usura the line grows thick
                  with usura is no clear demarcation
                  and no man can find site for his dwelling.
                  Stonecutter is kept from his tone
                  weaver is kept from his loom
                  WITH USURA
                  wool comes not to market
                  sheep bringeth no gain with usura
                  Usura is a murrain, usura
                  blunteth the needle in the maid's hand
                  and stoppeth the spinner's cunning. Pietro Lombardo
                  came not by usura
                  Duccio came not by usura
                  nor Pier della Francesca; Zuan Bellin' not by usura
                  nor was 'La Calunnia' painted.
                  Came not by usura Angelico; came not Ambrogio Praedis,
                  Came no church of cut stone signed: Adamo me fecit.
                  Not by usura St. Trophime
                  Not by usura Saint Hilaire,
                  Usura rusteth the chisel
                  It rusteth the craft and the craftsman
                  It gnaweth the thread in the loom
                  None learneth to weave gold in her pattern;
                  Azure hath a canker by usura; cramoisi is unbroidered
                  Emerald findeth no Memling
                  Usura slayeth the child in the womb
                  It stayeth the young man's courting
                  It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth
                  between the young bride and her bridegroom
                  CONTRA NATURAM
                  They have brought whores for Eleusis
                  Corpses are set to banquet
                  at behest of usura.
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                    Posted by: Giulio Pintus
                    in Poems (Author's Poems)
                    Through the long years
                    I sought peace,
                    I found ecstasy, I found anguish,
                    I found madness,
                    I found loneliness,
                    I found the solitary pain
                    that gnaws the heart,
                    But peace I did not find.
                    Now, old and near my end,
                    I have known you,
                    And, knowing you,
                    I have found both ecstasy and peace,
                    I know rest,
                    After so many lonely years.
                    I know what life and love may be.
                    Now, if I sleep,
                    I shall sleep fulfille.
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