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Lie Still, Sleep Becalmed
Lie still, sleep becalmed, sufferer with the wound
In the throat, burning and turning. All night afloat
On the silent sea we have heard the sound
That came from the wound wrapped in the salt sheet.
Under the mile off moon we trembled listening
To the sea sound flowing like blood from the loud wound
And when the salt sheet broke in a storm of singing
The voices of all the drowned swam on the wind.
Open a pathway through the slow sad sail,
Throw wide to the wind the gates of the wandering boat
For my voyage to begin to the end of my wound,
We heard the sea sound sing, we saw the salt sheet tell.
Lie still, sleep becalmed, hide the mouth in the throat,
Or we shall obey, and ride with you through the drowned.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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This Old Wound
I've been bleeding well from this old wound,
Cleaning it with salt, so it will still feel new.
Sometimes eyes turn black, and sometimes scars are tracks.
But everytime you're gone,
I wish that you'd come back.
And everyone watched me waste myself,
and everyone cheared at last.
And all of them found it comforting.
It's better it's me, then them.
I think I'm doing well from what they say,
They've taken both my belts
And shoelaces away.
But I believe in luck...
I think I do.
Well I believe for sure,
If ever I see you.
've been fanning flames from these old coals.
Feeding them with tender, and hoping they will grow.
And I've been savoring what I can't hold.
A blind belief in goodness
That doesn't seem to show.
And I've been bleeding well from this old wound.
Cleanning it with salt, so it will still feel new.
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Murder In High-heels
Hey, with a sleight of hand and then a word of mouth
Shes a cat been caged too long and now shes breakin out
Well, get it straight, you better cross your heart
cause sparks are gonna fly, let me tell you what its all about
Better run for cover, babe, shes gonna make her move
You know she could, shes a get rich bitch
You better get her while the gettins good
Shes a vision in leather, like salt on a wound
Just a turn of a knob and shes real fine tuned
But shes murder in high-heels
She aint the girl next door worth waitin for
Well youre playin with the fire, a pool of sweats lyin on the floor
Shell bring you to your knees, and when youre laid to rest
Shes gonna give you something, shes gonna get it off her chest
(yeah yeah yeah)
Shes a vision in leather, like salt on a wound
Just a turn of a knob and shes real fine tuned - here she comes
Hes a vision in leather, like salt on a wound
Just a turn of a knob and shes real fine tuned
But shes murder in high heels
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I can't sprinkle sprinkles on. I lose control when I have sprinkles. I'm shaky. I still remember the great sprinkle accident of 1982.
quote by Ryan Stiles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am About To Sleep
darkness comes
it is routine, nothing is mysterious about it
and as usual i am about to sleep
but you are there knocking at the door
of my heart
bringing me a bouquet of vowels
looking like petals of the
blue flowers in the desert
i let you in and i take the bouquet of vowels
and shower it
sprinkle it
with the salt of my tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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De aguado, le fandango varie O
The descendant of the Spanish Friar says:
What I am selling to you is
Water, something to drink
It is more than that
It is also something to sprinkle
Your forehead
And you become holy
Free from sin
You pay for holiness
Now walk on the aisle
Of the church
And how they look at you
A holy man
Because of my holy water
And you will have a halo
And you become radiant
Radioactive perhaps
I repeat I do not just sell water to drink
It would just be ordinary
I am selling to you purity of soul
I am selling to you a future in heaven
Come now, buy water
Sprinkle your souls
Make them holy
Sprinkle them to all
Parts of your body
Meanwhile, there will be no mass
For the coming week
I will be on honeymoon with the woman
Who got the water from the well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cell Song
Night Music Slanted
Light strike the cave of sleep. I alone
tread the red circle
and twist the space with speech
Come now, etheridge, don't
be a savior; take your words and scrape
the sky, shake rain
on the desert, sprinkle
salt on the tail
of a girl,
can there anything
good come out of
prison
poem by Etheridge Knight
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If you can give me no ointment for my wound, can you help me by not rubbing salt in?
Let It Be In The Sight
and the mind that's closing the eyes
reaching for the soft slopes of mountains
walking through the valleys to the side
of the fountains cut off from the edge of a drop
to sprinkle horizons with a moist grain of salt
rising on a dried out lip and see
the waves of deserts in sun burnt skin
a lonely surfer born in tide wind
who never looked for a piece of the shore
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Flesh Wound
We flew over miles of ocean--be prepared.
I don't have the faintest notion who'll be there.
You underestimated; nobody sympathized.
I think you'll soon feel better once we get inside.
I see the door is open -- Why don't we walk right in?
Let's put our party hats on and let the fun begin!
We should have called and said that we were on our way;
Who would have ever guessed that you'd be so unreachable?
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in my side
Just another flesh wound--another wonder-cure that you tried
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide
Just another flesh wound--another irritation you abide
You know the rumour's going that he was synthesized.
And if we had to dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
I say -- you're so outrageous -- you'll go to number one!
They'll have us both arrested for having too much fun.
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--another bruise on your pride.
Just another flesh wound--another paranoia that you hide.
And when she held her nose, she took an underdose.
It was nice to see her completely comatose.
You go first, you're completely debonair;
Let's go dutch -- it's only fair.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--a minor injury you dignified.
Just another flesh wound--another unsuccessful suicide.
Just another flesh wound--another curse that you ride.
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tast malt
Salt is
more in food
Asalt the food...
Salt is
Low in food
Tung out...!
Salt is salt
Tasty malt...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Wound
a wound will always
be a wound.
a scar may come
to say you are healed
but soon it will
remember the wound.
perhaps you have not
loved enough
to learn from those
whose hearts
are broken, they
say: forgive and forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Front Of Your Garden
Two turtledoves,
Two young pigeons,
From the poor man and the rich man;
But sprinkle some of the blood in front of your garden,
And like the bush of your love in winter.
Clay and plaster,
For the summer comes with many questions;
But sprinkle some of the blood in front of your garden!
And like the bush of your love in winter.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ode to Salt
This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me
but
it sings
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those
solitudes
when I heard
the voice
of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a
broken
v oice,
a mournful
song.
In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.
And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food.
Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste finitude.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Tell A Lie
Tell a lie against a liar
As it will put him on the pyre
And add to it some good butter
This will make him a good food of the fire.
Thousand lies can not make a truth
But the truth can die a gruesome death
So I must have to tell a lie to save the truth
Lies are like salt and pepper to the wound
And lies can bread fast without any ground
The inflicted wound of the truth getting sour
And the life of the truth becomes too bitter
So it is better to tell a lie against a lie
Though I know it will not make a truth but makes the lie die
The lie can not go scot-free and be allowed freely to multiply.
So the liar must be checkmated by a lie and stunned his growth
As it will strangulate him and he will be out of breath to death.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Salt
Early this morning
his mother asked his father
for some money
to buy salt.
But,
his father refused
and hit his mother
who did so much talking.
The boy
went out the house
and headed
to the market.
There,
he begged the salt vendors
for a little salt
but the vendors only told him,
'go home boy, and get some money! '
Now the boy
is running
with a bag of salt in his arms
and the people are screaming
THIEF! THIEF! THIEF!
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Jerry the Slug
Hello Jerry
So verry Merry
I poor salt on your face
Whats that? Your screaming?
You cant run, I nailed your eyes to the floor
Flee my little mollusk
Here comes the salt!
The evil evil evil evil salt!
It will burn your impurites and slugness
Like you LOVES IT!
just like your mom
poem by Allyah Cullen
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Talent and dedication
I believe not in talent,
I believe not in dedication,
nor do I believe in their
marriage.
Arrogant I am,
At least, enough to believe I have talents.
To everything that appealed,
I poured in my soul.
Achieved I have,
only a few notches below the acceptable.
Talent is merely a wound,
on which the salt of dedication is heaped.
poem by Tarun Agarwal
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Chaste Tree
A poem writes my name.
I am trembling
on paper like salt.
Flowing like moon
on the black wound.
The lamb and the skull.
I know the saint
invented by masses.
You need a fresh awakening.
A vastness from nothing to nothing.
Later the pebbles will dance
on the bay of death.
Sometimes the scales were jinxed,
sometimes the weight was light.
I was sitting under a chaste tree.
poem by Satish Verma
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Nucleus
How can you take away the nucleus
and expect everything outside of it
to stay mended together with strength?
A family is held together by a bandage.
You take away the bandage and you got a wound.
Sometimes a wound can heal on its own
and sometimes it can get infected or never heal.
I've seen it all before, the bandages go away
and then the wound that is left attacks itself.
The skin, the blood, the puss, and all the cells
that were once held together by one bandage
turn on itself and then it all melts as if touched by acid.
I don't think that will happen to our wound.
I think we'll all band together and form a new bandage.
It might not be one person holding it all together,
but it will be all of us coming together
like hospital staff to make sure we don't die of an infection.
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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