Showing posts with label Of Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Of Poems. Show all posts

Monday, May 14, 2007

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it.

- P. B. Shelley

Sunday, May 13, 2007

"Not to admire is all the art I know
(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs few flowers of speech)
To make men happy, or to keep them so"
... but had none admired,
Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired.

- Lord Byron

Saturday, May 12, 2007

I came across this poem and have been captivated by its simplicity and that 'X' factor (cause I can't imagine what it is). Thought it would be a good idea to post it here :)
The lines are not complete and they shall be all the more incomplete if I don't mention the name of the person who's put in all the effort in penning this one down!

Ian Bowen



I no longer sit
in the glamour
of your eye;
laugh as if happy,
smile halfway sad.

No longer ride the
snow -haired charger….
unworthy to capture
lust, desire and want.
I lie armour rusty
with lanced libido lost