Looking For A Poem
(8/19/2014 3:02:00 PM)
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I'm looking for a poem about countryside.
(8/15/2014 10:47:00 AM)
Hello to everyone here, you are a wonderful community.
I'm looking for a french poem of a rather minor poet
which I had read years ago.
It is talking about a world that is made of the material
which constructs the last step of a staircase when
descending it in the dark.
I would be grateful if anyone could help me with this.
I've been searching for it, for months.
Thank you in advance,
(8/14/2014 8:14:00 AM)
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l am looking for a poem l read in school in the 1940, s..lt is called The Haunt Of The Grizeely, lzzely Bear, can anyone help please.Replies for this message:
Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black
(8/15/2014 6:18:00 PM)
(8/14/2014 3:23:00 PM)
W-O-O-O-O-WW by Nancy M. Hayes Away in the forest all darksome and deep, The wolves went a-hunting when men were asleep; And the cunning old wolves were so patient and wise, As they taught ... more
- Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black (8/15/2014 6:18:00 PM) Post reply
(8/14/2014 8:13:00 AM)
l am looking for a poem l read in school in the 1940, s..lt is called The Haunt Of The Grizeely, lzzely Bear, can anyone help please.
(8/10/2014 5:09:00 PM)
I'm looking for a poem written from the perspective of a middle eastern woman watching a girl eat an orange. That's all I have to go on...ring any bells?Thanks!
(8/8/2014 11:59:00 PM)
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I am looking for a poem that was written by a blind African American poet. If I am not mistaking he was graduated from one of Chicago universities and it was in 30s or 40s. I remember the First few line and it starts with " when all the poems on the theme have been written and all the night and day dreams dreamt without prophecy and fulfillment. When hop sustain us no longer......
Although I checked Walton, or Bolton none was him. Any suggestions please?
(8/8/2014 12:32:00 AM)
Out of control
We broke the chains that tied us whole
A fire inside us, it melts our words
Every secret has its own truth
The more we keep it, the more it shows
I'm not saying the words that are right
And you keep doing actions that you hate
The brain collides the beats of the heart
Though it will not pause, more it will not stop
Same question plays when we lie in our bed
Rather to eject it, we load more instead
We can't kill the living pictures in our head
Wake or sleep it stays as we live
But one thing pushes us to the wrong way
It keeps dividing us as we step
We want to look back but we're stiff necked
I have a thousand words to say
It's hard to let go all promises
Have to pretend you are gone and dead
Know you'll do the same thing as i did
(8/7/2014 10:23:00 PM)
hello, I am looking for a poem i heard years ago. it involved " god" or someone who he/she has met in the afterlife explaining how he/it/she is exactly who he is asking. explaining that throughout his life he will be everyone from the poor on the street to the rich, and that we are all the same. i can't for the life of me think of how to find it.
(7/25/2014 7:49:00 AM)
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I am seeking the title and poet of a poem in the classical style; I believe its subject was Endymion, or more properly, a statue of Endymion that had fallen and lies broken on the sands, prompting the poet's narrative as he gazes upon the remains. I had thought it might be Yeats', but I think that's wrong...
Any help would be welcome-
(7/22/2014 8:58:00 PM)
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The Little Maid Content. Hello everyone, When I was growing up my mother used to quote me this poem whenever I felt lost or was searching for meaning in my life. I don't believe she ever knew the poet's name and unfortunately I only remember the last lines of the poem myself. The narrator, using the little maid Content (contentment) as a metaphor to describe the meaning of life, goes in search of this elusive 'truth'. He cannot find it in the most exalted places, and the lowest of hovels reveal nothing either. On the battleground there is no sign of it, while the quietest of cloisters leave him perplexed as to its whereabouts. The poem ends, 'At last I like wounded bird did homeward crawl, and lo, Content sat spinning at my door. And when I asked her where she was before, " here all the time, she cried, " and though I called, you neither saw nor heard." ' If anyone recognizes this poem, please let me know. I would be so thankful.
Comment of the Day
- I hate that plum professor
he aint got no juice left
in him, he is known locally
as pip squeak, his poems
are prunes, his wife ...