Non-Religious Poetry

Post poetry about everyday life, unusual happenings, inspiring moments, and the such.
If you don't think you're much of a poet- give it a shot!


"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words."
-Robert Frost

A wandering mind is a dangerous foe,
It misplaces attention, and before you know,
You're distracted, deviated, your reactions slow,
In a psyche aloof one's smarts cannot grow,
As it goes, after all, “you reap what you sow.”

Could be thoughts of a girl, or of words past spoke,
Of positive praise, thoughts thick as smoke,
Our heart, cognitions both good and bad will choke,
And should I give in, my true feelings cloak,
I'll prove my character deficit, socially broke.

( http://j-bob.deviantart.com/art/Here-but-not-Here-85570440 link to my dA page with my "Here' but not Here" poem)

This is one of my favorite pieces of poetry...

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

-Oriah Mountain Dreamer

wow...

that's an amazing poem!

"It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. "
"I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments."
"It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing."
---those are my favorite lines, but they are all fantastic!---

Where'd you find that poem?

It's from a book we have at home called 'The Invitation.' Never really read the book because all I would read is this poem in the front cover!

WOW! I love that one Sam!!! Geez! Sooo great!

That is a beautiful piece Sam, it is romantic and yet has a deep reality with it also.

"The gingerbread man"
---Slightly revised version---
-Jason Hasty (my Dad)


The farmers wife
pulled out a pan
and off the pan jumped
the gingerbread man


Run run run
as fast as you can
you can't catch me
I'm the gingerbread man!


He thought to himself,
this will be fun
But then granny
pulled out her old shot gun


She drew a bead
and then kerplew!
She tried to make
a gingerbread stew


Run run run
as fast as you can
you can’t catch me
I'm the gingerbread man


From behind the barn
grandpa heard the shot
you'll never guess
what weapon he got


When he looked and saw
the gingerbread man
try to punch her
he went and got his rocket launcher


He used the scope
to aim real good
and shot a rocket
at where ginge stood


Between the punches
and power side kicks
the gingerbread man was glad
that he watched The Matrix


He leaned way back
and the clocked turned slow
and the rocket delt granny
a fatal blow


When he came to
through all of the smoke
he could see the farmer
that deadly bloke


He knew right then
this one on one
would quickly end
if he did not run


So off he sprang darting here
and then back
like a little brown squirrel
who had just smoked some crack


But the farmer thought back
to his training in nam
and pulled from his belt
a grenade cluster bomb


He pulled the pin with his teeth
and aimed at the dough
hoping to end up
with brown bits like snow


He threw the grenade
with a certain skill factor
but instead of old ginge
he blew up his tractor


Now grandpa was mad
as ginge ran faster
and chased him
across the old cow pasture


Old ginge was clever
and ran straight to the barn
but when he got there
all he thought was o darn


Because this place he had ran to as white as corn silk
was actually where the farmer stored all his milk
-and old ginge, bursting through the door,
fell right off the edge to the vat in the floor .





A poem my dear, old Dad wrote a few years ago (he did stuff like this ALL the time!)

"It is therefore death alone that can suddenly make man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant; makes them cry, complain, and repent; yea, even to hate their fore-passed happiness.
"He takes the account of the rich, and proves him a beggar; a naked beggar, which hath interest in nothing, but in the gravel that fills his mouth. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity and rottenness; and they acknowledge it.
"O eloquent, just, and mighty death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawn together all the farstretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet*." -Sir Walter Raleigh

* “Here Lies”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Becuase 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 played At wrestling in a ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then ’t is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity. ”
-Emily Dickinson

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This is a sharp Medicine, but it is a Physician for all Diseases." -Sir Walter Raleigh
(In reference to the axe that was going to behead him)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------


The top poem is one of my all-time favorite poems.
Death shows you how everything you've done in your life means nothing when you die. Death shows those who think they are beautiful just how ugly they are deep down inside. Death brings the rich and poor down to the same level.
The mighty, the proud, the insolent- they are all humbled in his presence. Feeling death's cold breath they cry, beg, complain, repent... even hate their past happiness.
Death is the great equalizer. Death makes everything worth nothing. Death puts an end to all plans.

A poem I wrote a little over a year ago...
haha


J~ “Why?” is a question, one asked the most,
Moreoften no answers are given.
A mind swimming in logic and reason will boast,
But by logic there’s no emotional reason.

(J) What is she thinking?
What will she say?
Why does she do that?
Why’s she that way?

J~ “Who?” is a mystery, adventure in itself,
Leaves answers ungiven when afar on the shelf,
It requires involvement, the giving of self.

(J) Is she the one for me?
Am I the one for her?
Are we both meant to be?
Or am I to be alone longer?

J~ “When?” is a request, one we never get our way,
Ask for eve you get morn, ask for night you get day,
For my this to be this, anything I would pay.

( ) Be wary, confused youth, lest jealousy arise,
A haunted lust inside your heart, a green glint in you eyes,
To give in to the selfish charms, would prove to be unwise.

haha!

I remember those!
(especially the money one!)

I "poem" I wrote down south during my most recent Christmas visit.

I don't really like this piece [it's sporadic and doesn't really have a conclusion], but I figured I'd post it on here. (why not, it might amuse someone)

---------------
The economy's screwed, our role models lewd,
our language and humor – crude.

Gas prices are wacky, our planes too high-jacky,
the educational system – lacky.

The Government's too nosy, in-laws too cozy,
politicians' promises – fauxy.

Patriotism seems to fade, slipshod overseas trade,
our teachers – underpaid.

Sammie wrote:Boa Constrictor

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

That is hilarious! The ending is the best! I laughed so hard!