En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Annihilation Of Fellow Creatures

A body kept alive for years
Cripple and lying now in dirt of decayed
Remains of organic substances
A syndrome of inner damage
Showing troubles
In the mental processes
- A creature weirdly twisted
In incompressible shapes-
Felt a life's rapture
Sudden inflow of strange and untamed aggression
... A transient reminder of scabrous memories...
Addressed to the fighters
For survival of a close person
Number of denouncements destroyed by
A transient neurosis
From within the body preceded
A tamed voice of hatred and...suddenly naive
People specifically murdered
Twisted in incomprehensible shapes
Lie down among the dirty remains of the one
Who slaughtered his fellows
Uncontrolled taking drugs

song performed by by Yattering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twisted matter

Twisted faces, twisted emotions,
Twisted past, twisted present,
Twisted future, twisted hopes
Twisted preaching, twisted action,
Twisted truth, twisted lie,
Everything is twisted and twisted,
O Lord, where is thy twist?

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Remains Unseen

The hate that tears at my brain
Remains unseen to you
The self loathing and the pain
I'm swinging at the end of my rope,
If you only knew
I am lost without a hope,
There's nothing I can do
Oh.
I don't want to live this day
It's getting harder every day,
To face what I've become
The fear of what I have become
Remains unseen to you
A heart that's just gone numb
Remains unseen to you
I just want to close my eyes
And pretend this isn't true
Throw my hands up to the skies
There's nothing I can do
Oh.
This feeling of helplessness
And despair remains unseen to you
It's the cross that I must bear,
But it remains unseen to you
I dwell in a twisted reality of hate,
Remains unseen to you
Ugly thoughts, you cannot relate,
So I'll remain unseen to you

song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet Friend Of Mine

the last time i saw him
he wore thick glasses
but it did not deter him
from being interested
with what he cannot see
without it.

he uses his hands to feel.
he embraces all those that he love
he keeps his imagination alive

from far
i only read his poems

his words are all alive
like water
filling in the cracks of life

like clouds
taking subtle shapes
and always transient

his spirit spreads throughout
the universe
his mind my mind too
after that moment when a certain light
arrives
and flickers and then forever gone
in the vastness of air

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Infatuation (An Acrostic Poetry)

Insecure she feels, yet undaunted
Never she comprehends his intentions, when appreciated
Feeling on cloud nine, his company she only enjoys
Awesome he looks to her better than other guys.
Tough to make her understand to treat him with disdain
Unrelented she remains though warned time and again
Attraction is fatal, turning one sided love casual
True love is not transient and not his cup of tea
Indifferent she remains and enjoys his company
Outward appearance is deceptive, she understands late
Neurosis she develops, it is her fate.

poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Twisted Hatchet Suicide

This Twisted Hatchet Killer
Is gonna make a 'Suicide' thriller

A (fd up) messes up life
She sliced her throat
With a knife

A twisted hatchet suicide

Players pushing all along
Hoping she'd choose
To be the one gone

So she left you a present
For you to feel some pain
All you see is her blood stains

Nothing left
Nothing remains

In this twisted hatchet suicide

You can always read this poem on line
I hope you're doing well
Because 'finally' I'm doing fine

I was a Twisted Hatchet 'Suicide'! ! ! ! ! ! !

poem by Teresa Duncan
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It’s good to feel you are close to me

It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,
while I untangle my worries
as if they were twisted nets.

Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,
but your body, relinquished so, breathes
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.

Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,
but from the frontiers lost in the night,
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,

something remains, drawing us into the light of life
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed
its secret creatures with flame.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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What Of The Person Remains?

WHAT OF THE PERSON REMAINS?

What of the person remains?

For tens of thousands of years
Not even a bone.

For a few thousand
For a few a name and a story,
And for most, dust and nothingness.

But then
Portrait and family history
Photographs and then films
Clips of a life.

And now more and more detail
Everyman immortalized in each tweet and twitter
Eternity in an electronic file.

And yet with all this
With all the remnants and reminiscences
With all the recorded interviews
With all the tons and tons of information
Gathered around each name
What of the person remains?

All these images and information
All this non-erasable digital paradise
Has not made one single human being
Breathe again with the full breath of life.

The person does not remain
No matter how many memories and how much information
Is left behind.

Death is not defeated yet
As we record and record and record
Every passing instant and action
Of what one day in an instant
May all suddenly disappear.

We will forever be unable to do-
What only God
May do for us.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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When the Full Moon Shines Through the Clouds

Strange shapes can be seen
when the full moon shines through the clouds.
Stange shapes can be seen,
frightengly realistic images
of faces and figures,
some human, some demonic.

And, right now
in the world,
under that same moon
shining through different clouds,
people are cowering in fear.
In parts of the world,
people are sick, and dying,
people are being murdered,
tortured,
people are mourning
and crying over their losses.

And I sit here, in this room,
typing,
in cogitation,
with food,
with drink.
My most pressing current concern
is that a cold October draft
is forcing its way through my window.

I reach to make sure my window is fully closed;
a full moon beams its light into my room
along with that cold October daft,

and I notice:

Strange shapes can be seen
when the full moon shines through the clouds.

poem by Derek R. Audette
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The Abbey

No longer knowing what or who I am
I turn,
This way and that for meaning,
Finding none,
But trapped within the body of a man
I know not.

The child I knew, and he remained supreme
Until
This beard turned grey,
The joints began to stiffen,
The dim reflections twisted to betray
One once thought lost to heaven.

Of all my time I have so little left,
And that exhausted, spent –
Squandered by him who thought
There was no cost in spending;
No giving up, no Lent.

From all to caul! Is this what we
Traverse,
Lost in our perversity and will,
Who spill our means, deny our source
Demean what knowledge shapes our course.

A shell remains, like some deserted Abbey;
And the gulls fly
Where monks once thought their spells,
And I….
I start at silences
Where long shadows, cowled, slink
Mutter at my carrells.

1 June 1985

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Glass Walls

Glass walls
Of the candy jar
Showing me the colors
Showing me the shapes
Just showing me...

Glass walls
Of the shopping mall
Showing me the colors
Showing me the shapes
Just showing me..

Glass walls
Of the computer screens
Showing me the colors
Showing me the smiles
Showing me the love
Even telling me... and nudging me...

It is only the glass... I can touch...!

poem by Rowving Smith
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The physical scent of life has gone…

Where; did all the wood garlic—go?
Sure it must have been dispensed.
By the ice, and snow,2 yrs.’ ago
2010 / 2011 now never; seen again.

I ask myself will it ever recover…
Now; that milder winter weather
Has returned, without shedding,
One, white; single blossom, feather.

How strange the woodlands are now?
How strange these green moist lands,
Without… swans coupling, the snowplow.
That followed both winter and spring.

How strange the disregarded remains
Of a swan’s egg, has on our speculation.
A transient thought, the soul profanes.
The physical scent of life has gone…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Where; did all the wood garlic—go?

Where; did all the wood garlic—go?
Sure it must have been dispensed.
By the ice, and snow,2 yrs.’ ago
2010 / 2011 now never; seen again.

I ask myself will it ever recover…
Now; that milder winter weather
Has returned, without shedding,
One, white; single blossom, feather.

How strange the woodlands are now?
How strange these green moist lands,
Without… swans coupling, the snowplow.
That followed both winter and spring.

How strange the disregarded remains
Of a swan’s egg, has on our speculation.
A transient thought, the soul profanes.
The physical scent of life has gone…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Watching For Shapes

Written by ricky & marty wilde
Influences now are things that are all around me
Changing shape as they move around in an open mind
Coloured in by the images I find
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
Like electric sparks they danced by an open mirror
Closing doors never looking round but its not goodbye
Theyll be there till Im taken out I know
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
In my mind theres a space thats full of painted pictures
Things I did that I went through, but cant recall
Now and then theres a flash of the unknown
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
(watching for shapes that grow)
(watching for shapes that grow)

song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sick And Twisted World

The world I live in is Sick and Twisted,
The guy who is like my brother I love,
The guy who I have grown to love I've known so long.

The world I live in is Sick and Twisted,
To no path can I have him,
To no path do I want him.

The world I live in is Sick and Twisted,
As I walk though in a room there he is,
As I walk though that room I walk out.

The world I like in is Sick and Twisted,
On a dirty road I walk alone,
On a dirty road I walk with just a Shadow.

In a world so Sick and Twisted,
Its hard to know what I trust,
Its hard to know what is not fake.

This is a very Sick and Twisted World,
The world that is our's,
And the world we never help.

These is a very Sick and Twisted World,
And no one can give a danm,
And no one can help me out.

What a Sick and Twisted World,
This is.

poem by Andrea Szyhowski
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Babies

She touched her organic body
once again, when walking, as the
tormenting strains of the Dirt babies
shook inside her organic body
making her feel quivering of rings,
the feeling of water waves.
Yes, it was the religion of her fore-fathers to adore
the man worthy of her care and affection.
The medicine was her benediction,
candle lamp her head nurse of honour
and by the time she came forth
in the double-dyed sundown.
she was expectant with her children.
Gadzooks! The Dirt babies were superb!

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Soul Departed Today At Piet

A SOUL DEPARTED TODAY AT PIET

A soul exited Today to the abode of heaven
I could not recall his face as others say was a man

Known among his strange friends as a bonhomie
Torn in the mortar of all filial enemy

Upon his exit, all celebrated the pain of loss
No matter what it cost to him to edify such bliss

As all would die; none would be redeemed
Soul would rest in peace in the house of God

All we have is his memories so fresh
Like balm on a cut unready to dress

Pain of loss is the loss of gain
As we gather to bemoan him again and again

His mortal remains left to be decayed
One with the earth as lay on nature’s bed

A few started weeping; their tears wet the earth
His mother lied on bed as fortune forever mirth

A few got his photo to say a final Good bye
Friends wept so loud as if God has lied

Trembling limbs of father consoles the remains
That reached to destiny before its arrival

The tinkling tears of brother denies to get dried
He who slept him in nights now lying on death bed

All prayed God to keep his soul in peace
Let his memories remove all dirt of bliss

Last rite of exit yet to be performed
Last kite of a soul yet to be detached

poem by Tuna Biswal
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Only Dreaming

I was quietly walking by the river
when a crocodile ran out on me.
It knocked me over with its tail,
and ate my foot before I got free.

I didn’t get far before it caught me
and bit off my legs below the knees.
Still I tried my best to crawl away,
but it chewed off my arm with ease.

I was feeling rather down hearted,
as it twisted off my other arm.
It backed up and pulled me into the river
where it was impossible to stay calm.

With determination I fought in the water,
as it twisted me around and around,
but then I felt my body and head separate,
so I guess I must’ve drowned.

poem by Orlando Belo
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Poor Twisted Me

Oh poor twisted me
Oh poor twisted me
I feast on sympathy
I chew on suffer
I chew on agony
And swallow whole the pain
Oh it's too good to be
All this misery
Is just for oh poor twisted me
Poor twisted me
Poor mistreated me
Poor mistreated me
I drown without a sea
I'm filled with sorrow
Once filled with misery
And hated the deep dark blue
Such a burden to bear
Poor mistreated me
Finally reached the shore
Survival's gone
Now your feeling cold ever since he was born
Your pain is so over you
Finally reached the shore
Survival's gone
Now your feeling cold ever since he was born
Your pain is so over you
Could ya be my friend
Oh woe is me
Such a burden to be
Oh poor twisted me

song performed by by Metallica from Load
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It would never be Common—more—I said

430

It would never be Common—more—I said—
Difference—had begun—
Many a bitterness—had been—
But that old sort—was done—

Or—if it sometime—showed—as 'twill—
Upon the Downiest—Morn—
Such bliss—had I—for all the years—
'Twould give an Easier—pain—

I'd so much joy—I told it—Red—
Upon my simple Cheek—
I felt it publish—in my Eye—
'Twas needless—any speak—

I walked—as wings—my body bore—
The feet—I former used—
Unnecessary—now to me—
As boots—would be—to Birds—

I put my pleasure all abroad—
I dealth a word of Gold
To every Creature—that I met—
And Dowered—all the World—

When—suddenly—my Riches shrank—
A Goblin—drank my Dew—
My Palaces—dropped tenantless—
Myself—was beggared—too—

I clutched at sounds—
I groped at shapes—
I touched the tops of Films—
I felt the Wilderness roll back
Along my Golden lines—

The Sackcloth—hangs upon the nail—
The Frock I used to wear—
But where my moment of Brocade—
My—drop—of India?

poem by Emily Dickinson
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I'm Twisted and Evil

I'm twisted its true,
and its all because of you.
All the hateful things you said,
and what you've put me through.
I'm evil indeed,
and its all because of me.
The things I put before my eyes,
and the books I like to read.
Twisted and evil,
and up to no damn good.
I want so bad just to be loved,
why aint that understood.
Take out my pain on some one else,
is the only thing I know.
These twisted evil ways of mine,
are all Ive got to show.
I'm twisted and evil,
through my flesh down to the bone.
And I do twisted evil things,
just thought you'd like to know.

poem by Ken Bennight
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