Life poems
/ page 608 of 844 /
The Loom Of Dreams
© Arthur Symons
I broider the world upon a loom,
I broider with dreams my tapestry;
Here in a little lonely room
I am master of earth and sea,
And the planets come to me.
An Old-Year Song
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
As through the forest, disarrayed
By chill November, late I strayed,
The Rebel Scot
© John Cleveland
Yet wonder not at this their happy choice,
The serpent's fatal still to Paradise.
Sure, England hath the hemorrhoids, and these
On the north postern of the patient seize
Like leeches; thus they physically thirst
After our blood, but in the cure shall burst!
His Legacy
© Faye Diane Kilday
This is a true poem about a very special boy whose short life brought so much love and beauty to the world. It is dedicated to all the special children who bless our lives for only a short time but whose priceless gifts last forever. At an early age he started to
create beauty.
The kind of beauty that could
reach in and touch your heart.
Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
© Robert Nichols
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
A Creation Of Our Love
© Faye Diane Kilday
We didn't give birth to you - that is true,
But you are still a creation of our love.
For many years we prayed to the
heavens above
Questions and a Prayer For a New Born Baby
© Faye Diane Kilday
So, here you are once more - in a brand new perfect body;An old soul with a brand new life to explore.And my mind is filled with so many things I want to ask you,So many questions that I've forgotten the answers to.
I don't want to ask you about your future, because who canhonestly say what lessons the school called life will bringto you each day.
No, I want to ask you about the world you lived in beforecoming back here. Not your body of course, but your spirit my dear.
You see, it's been a long time since I was in Heaven last,Although I know that by Heaven's calender not much timeat all has passed.
It's Good To Have a Friend Like You!
© Faye Diane Kilday
It's good to have a friend like you,Whose friendship is sincere and true!Someone to lend a helping hand,To care for me and understand.
When I am feeling sad and blue,It's good to have a friend like you,To help me sort my troubles out,And clear my mind of fear and doubt.
It's good to have a friend like you,Just thinking of the things we do,Sharing secrets, cups of tea...Life is good when you're with me!
Fun loving, kind, sincere and true,These words describe a friend...like you! © Faye Kilday 1999
The Brass-Pot And Stone-Jugg
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
A brazen Pot, by scouring vext,
With Beef and Pudding still perplext,
Fear Not God Or Love
© Faye Diane Kilday
God is love and love is notsomething you should fear.
Respect love? Yes! Honour love? Yes! Embrace love? Yes! But fear love? No!
For when you fear love youfear life. And when you fear life whatdo you have but death.Death of all that is good and pureand wonderful in the world...In the universe.
So fear not God or love.For God is love and love is ALL.© Faye Kilday 2005
Love Chapter II
© Khalil Gibran
Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:
Two Sonnets
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
ISAINTS have adored the lofty soul of you.
Poets have whitened at your high renown.
We stand among the many millions who
Do hourly wait to pass your pathway down.
The Venetian Gondolier
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Here rest the weary oar! -- soft airs
Breathe out in the o'erarching sky;
And Night!-- sweet Night -- serenely wears
A smile of peace; her noon is nigh.
On The Death Of A Young Lady
© George Gordon Byron
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
Such, Such Is Death
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
Such, such is Death: no triumph: no defeat:
Only an empty pail, a slate rubbed clean,
A merciful putting away of what has been.
Clothed In Beauty
© Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov
As if chiseled, a fruit-laden branch
Hangs in my garden, asleep - so low…
The trees sleep - and dream? - in moonlight;
And the mystery of their life is near, near…
