En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Written-In-Red

(To Our Living Dead in Mexico's Struggle)

Written in red their protest stands,
For the gods of the World to see;
On the dooming wall their bodiless hands
have blazoned "Upharsin," and flaring brands
Illumine the message: "Seize the lands!
Open the prisons and make men free!"
Flame out the living words of the dead
Written-in-red.

Gods of the World! Their mouths are dumb!
Your guns have spoken and they are dust.
But the shrouded Living, whose hearts were numb,
have felt the beat of a wakening drum
Within them sounding-the Dead men's tongue—
Calling: "Smite off the ancient rust!"
Have beheld "Resurrexit," the word of the Dead,
Written-in-red.

Bear it aloft, O roaring, flame!
Skyward aloft, where all may see.
Slaves of the World! Our cause is the same;
One is the immemorial shame;
One is the struggle, and in One name—
MANHOOD— we battle to set men free.
"Uncurse us the Land!" burn the words of the Dead,
Written-in-red.

poem by Voltairine de Cleyre
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

The Gods Are Dead

The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all. I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.

Once high they sat, and high o’er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once… long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.

It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated: –
‘The Gods are Dead!’

poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dead And Broken

Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken

song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Soul On Fire

There's a flame that leads our souls astray
No one's safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day it's looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again we're falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
The venom of the cross we bear
The guilt will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire

song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Dead In The Wombs

those same children
who died in the waters
that swallowed Atlantis....

those same children,
starving 'neath Africa's sun....
dead from the bombings

in Iraq, Afghanistan, and soon Iran....
their bodies thrown into dumpsters
here in the United States....

dead on the borders,
dead in the oil filled waters,
dead on the cocaine streets,

dead in the prisons...
dead in the colleges,
dead in the unemployment lines....

dead on the picket lines,
dead, handcuffed, and beaten....
dying, and dead, world crazy spinning...

as the 'light of the world'
sputters, and goes out....
dead in the wombs of the

homeless, hopeless, and forgotten...
dead by our hands!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Retrieved Poetry

Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
          Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          But the inspiration keeps coming,
          But the memory keeps living.
          Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
          It dies only if it is not poetry
          And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
          And nothing more, until that day,
          Until we start thinking he is inspired,
          Until we stop thinking for the poet;
          He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument.
          Even as we cut from the same tree,
          Even as we speak same universal language,
          You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
          We can never speak from same mouth.
          You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
          So goes the argument,
          If poetry is dead killed by death,
          If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
          The corpse should be in our front.
          We should know how to bury it.
          We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
          If poetry is really dead,
          There is cause to weep bitterly,
          There is cause to think deeply
          For the world has been stripped naked.
          For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
          At the burial we must remain emotionless.

poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Soul On Fire

Theres a flame that leads our souls astray
No ones safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day its looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again were falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
(? )
But you will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire

song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Dead & Broken

Too many things Ive never spoken
Im not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
Thatll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
How many faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
Im dying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Sorry to see that youre underestimated lately
Id rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken

song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Letter to God

dear god
how little i feel
about myself
despite your claim
that i am the top
of your creation
a little virus
would kill me off
i feel mysellf
a plaything
your plaything
a toy, a puppet
and the world your stage
with my role written
where i should play out my part
talk about freewill?
is there one?
one plus one equals two
an empty stomach
does not have free will
to choose?
a woman with
near dead child at her hands
knows free will is spoken
only by the gods
in their written scripts
to enliven their puppets
to act out
i know too after all
the theatrical parts
like a buffalo led by the noose
i will be torn out
of existence
as you plan your next play
like the sun
that comes after heavy rain
the land cleaned of its dirt,
where fresh breeze blows
i am but then
would be lost
in existence
consciouness
torn to shreds
to get your next
theatre going
not a trace of mine
would be left
on this stage
where i had acted out my part
with flesh, blood and soul
free will
no freewill and all
god, you the puppeteers

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

After the Azkarah (Memorial Service)

AFTER THE AZKARAH (Memorial Service)

After the Azkarah
There is Silence
Silence and the Sadness of Silence
What is there to say after all?
The words have been said
Words of Love and Gratitude
Words of Tribute
They have been said
There is nothing more to say
The dead are dead
And the living are the living
Soon the Silence of Sadness
Will end
And the words even trivial words begin again
The Living are the Living
We are not yet
The Dead.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dead Or Alive

There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)

song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Rock & Roll Is Dead

You think you're on top of the world
But you know it's really over
Runnin' round with diamond rings
And coke spoons that are overflowin
Rock and Roll is Dead
But all the money in the world
Can't buy you from the place you're going to
Rock and Roll is Dead (x3)
You can't even sing or play an instrument
So you just scream instead
You're living for an image
So you got five hundred women in your bed
Rock and Roll is Dead
But it's real hard to be yourself
When you're living with those demons
In your head
Rock and Roll is Dead (x3)

song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

I'm A Poet

I'm a Poet
A twister of words
I open a world unseen to others
I bring meaning to the meaningless
I use words as my weapon
It's a double edged sword
I can bring beauty to a slum land
Horror to a smile
I can give life to the dead
Immorality to a flower
Then destroy it in the next line
I'm a poet
A rhymer of words
I see the unseen
And create new worlds
I am an artist of the written
A magician of the pen
I can make words rhyme
Or go free verse
It all depends
On how I feel in that moment
I'm a poet
To the end

poem by Rachel Dowd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Over The Dead Body

Don’t fight over the dead body
Grudge and ego of people left behind
Could raise the worst world war
Don’t scared over the dead body
Silence and stillness of living human
Is more frightening than the ghost
Don’t keep mourning over the dead body
Sadness and lost of the one we love
Will be replaced by forever peace
Don’t worship over the dead body
Dreams could only be real and achieved
If we open our eyes to the world
Don’t disrespect over the dead body
It once belonged to precious life
Though the evidence corpse severely decayed

poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Beware Words Written

words celebrating what is written
beware allure of beauty in words written
seek instead words thoughts not written
words not written thoughts not written

themes not written which need to be written

the importance of the unwritten demands writing
important world needs consciousness needs writing
urgent global necessity issues demands needs writing
actions resolutions policy change harmony restoration needs writing

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dead End Street

Theres a crack up in the ceiling,
And the kitchen sink is leaking.
Out of work and got no money,
A sunday joint of bread and honey.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No money coming in,
The rent collectors knocking, trying to get in.
We are strictly second class,
We dont understand,
(dead end!)
Why we should be on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are living on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
On a cold and frosty morning,
Wipe my eyes and stop me yawning.
And my feet are nearly frozen,
Boil the tea and put some toast on.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No chance to emigrate,
Im deep in debt and now its much too late.
We both want to work so hard,
We cant get the chance,
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Head to my feet (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Life-force

once again the earth
stealthily gnawed at her own margins
entombing gods and humans alike.
freezing all human activity
in its innocent sleep

the buried gods
from the earth below
bear witness to
frozen petrified children
still at their study…
panting parents
under the dead weight
of their young ones…
a just fed infant alive
with a mouthful of milk
in the arms of a mother dead…
a life entrapped for thirteen days
with its breath still intact…

the debris of several limbs
under the rubble of once
a make believe world
and
piles of decaying bodies
impatiently await
a mass burial
as bulldozers devise
bizarre beds
for the dead amid the rubble…

overwhelmed and stunned
the sorrow of the world
erased its boundaries
to find one another
once again.

*(A RE-POST IN SYMPATHY WITH THE QUAKE VICTIMS OF IINDONESIA. this is written after an earthquake in iran a couple of years ago. it's published by postcolonial discourse, an online literary journal from canada)

poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Drugs And Guns

All around us are drugs and guns,
But the drug barons and the warlords do pray to their various gods! !
However, their views are different from many of us;
Because, the dead are now asleep and the living are awake.

My life is like a Black American in the jungles of Africa!
And like the chocolates to my nephews, nieces, uncles, aunties and cousins;
Because, the dead are now asleep and the living are awake.

My life is like the muse of America,
My life is like the muse of Japan,
My life is like the muse of Germany,
my like is like the muse of England,
Living in the land of birds and animals!
But, the African story will wake you up;
Because, i am what i am without drugs and guns.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Soil And Stone Too Are Living Things

the hair on its own
is a line of dead cells
but when it's on the head
it's part of a living spirit

the sand on its own is a
startling patch of the reality
of the non living

but put in the water, put in air
light and seeds and it
becomes a part of the living world

take away any of these the living entity
dwindles into a dead plane

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dullness

Dullness! I am your devotee

You dispel the darkness of enlightenment

You drive away the heat of excitement

I have got rid of my dreams and imagination

Even tiresome fancies seldom nestle near me

Living and half living I see both the worlds

The world of the living and the world of the dead

I see the enthusiastic marketing men rushing about

in motley robes

I see the wizened deadbodies who were once alive

and who learned the emptiness of all human efforts

for socialism capitalism feminism and became wise

through experience

By your grace I am living as a dead man among the living

What could be more enjoyable than that?

poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Banner Of Men Who Were Free

Flag of the great republic, banner of men who were free!
Carried aloft for freedom in many a bloody gorge;
Torn by the shot of tyrants in battle by land and sea,
The rallying hope of our fathers by Valley Forge.

But what is it but a rag, save it emblem the higher law?
Striped with the red of blood, flecked with the stars of war.
The ensign of might alone, to be held by the people in awe,
And cursed by savage chieftans in lands afar.

Little we owe to the England of this her lesser day,
But much to the field of Naseby, the spirit of Runnymede;
The bold adventurous Angles, who never shrank from the fray
When Liberty cried aloud in her hour of need.

Aloft on the dome of truth, in the city of brotherly love,
A sign to the world of hate, of Christ enthroned in the state,
Symbol of peace, like the olive leaf and the messenger dove,
Flew the flag of our fathers--the sign of a just debate!

But they dare to raise its standard on a field where the battle smoke,
Is rent with the groans of the slain, like the fallen of Lexington;
Where the eagles have traveled afar from the vultures of war which croak
O'er the bodies of those who died for the prize that it should have won?

Flag of a noble race, no longer our flag in truth,
Borne by a hostile hand in a cause of shame,
Give us the banner that flapped in the eyes of the nation's youth
And sent a thrill through the world of its faultless flame!

Yet, if its soul shall perish, take it for what it was --
For the shroud of those who worship the dead ideal;
Dead to lie with the dead beneath the recurrent grass,
No longer to grieve for the lost and no more to feel.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!