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The Grey World
Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.
Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.
Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Life Blossoms into vitality
Petals blossoms into flowers,
Clouds blossom into rain,
Seeds blossoms into trees,
Minutes blossom into hours,
Bricks blossom into dwellings,
Anger blossoms into destruction,
Exuberance blossoms into newness,
Nervousness blossoms into exhaustion,
Teamwork blossoms into unity,
Perseverance blossoms into success,
Beauty blossoms into enchantment,
Intrigue blossoms into enigma,
Trends blossom into innovations,
Eggs blossom into fledglings,
Rose blossoms into scent,
Sun blossoms into optimism,
Stars blossom into radiation,
Soil blossoms into vegetation,
Art blossoms into exoticism,
Ice blossoms into waterfalls,
Fire blossoms into compassion,
Imagination blossoms into concepts,
Wine blossoms into sedation,
War blossoms into hatred,
Pearls blossom into resplendence,
Dreams blossom into floatation,
Fashion blossoms into style,
Roots blossom into stem,
Salt blossoms into tanginess,
Strength blossoms into fortitude,
Resilience blossoms into conviction,
Surrender blossoms into despair,
Truth blossoms into harmony,
Relationships blossom into empathy,
Violence blossoms into prejudice,
Discrimination blossoms into bloodshed,
Scalp blossoms into hair,
Love blossoms into passion,
Peace blossoms into solidarity,
Rainbow blossoms into vivacity,
Endeavor blossoms into sweetness,
Tunes blossom into songs,
Mind blossoms into ingenuity,
Wilderness blossoms into mysticism,
Flames blossom into ardor,
Corpses blossom into ghosts,
Retreat blossoms into sadness,
Bondage blossoms into rebel,
Faith blossoms into worship,
Infidelity blossoms into nemesis,
Idiosyncrasy blossoms into nothingness,
Spiders blossom into webs,
Benevolence blossoms into humanity,
Independence blossoms into character,
Renunciation blossoms into divine,
Introspection blossoms into discovering,
Emotions blossom into yearning,
Death blossoms into extinction,
And life blossoms into vitality…..
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
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Death death death
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Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Six Six Six Revealed (repeating cycle) (Jul 7th,2004)
(one)
Love brings war
Love breeds hate
Love births peace
Love begats death
Love blossoms life
(two)
Life blossoms love
Life begats death
Life breeds hate
Life brings war
life births peace
(three)
Peace births life
Peace brings war
Peace begats death
Peace blossoms love
Peace breeds hate
(four)
Hate breeds peace
Hate brings love
Hate births war
Hate blossoms life
Hate begats death
(five)
Death begats hate
Death breeds life
Death blossoms love
Death brings peace
Death births war
(six)
War births death
War begats peace
War blossoms life
War breeds hate
War brings love
Misconstrued
never ending or beginning
One last bringing of war
Begatting death of the cycle
Blossoming life as it is meant to be
Bringing cataclysmic profound love
Birthing true peace and tranquility
poem by Nicholas McDonough
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Sorrow
Why does the thin grey strand
Floating up from the forgotten
Cigarette between my fingers,
Why does it trouble me?
Ah, you will understand;
When I carried my mother downstairs,
A few times only, at the beginning
Of her soft-foot malady,
I should find, for a reprimand
To my gaiety, a few long grey hairs
On the breast of my coat; and one by one
I let them float up the dark chimney.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Love Doesn't End With Death
Love doesn’t end with death, Mother
Said. A few days had gone since Father’s
Demise and you stood in their room
While she sat on her bed and did her hair.
She stopped in mid brush and cried.
I wish it was me, you said, at least then
You’d still have him to love. She looked
Round at you and said, then I’d be grieving
For you. It’s still grief no matter who
Goes or stays, she said. She wiped her
Eyes and brushed her hair once more
Looking at herself in the mirror. We never
Appreciate the time we have with people
Until they’ve gone, she muttered, half to
Herself and half to you. Ordinary days are
Best because they’re more plentiful,
She continued, looking at you through
The mirror’s view. You noticed the first grey
Hairs appearing where she’d brushed last,
Sitting there amongst hairs brunette.
Now she sits unaware of days gone by
Or grief; dementia’s done its work so well
That all is wiped clean from brain and head.
She’s unaware of being alive herself let
Alone Father not being there or being dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Frustration
Frustrated again –
Unemployed and unmarried
Hairs are all but grey!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Regrets are the natural property of grey hairs.
quote by Charles Dickens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Care brings on grey hairs, and age without years.
Rihana
I am coming back
with the girl who lured
the city with her song
I grabbed her
As she oozed down
from the disco party
And just like her painted hairs
I yearned to be free
while rooted in her..
the strands of her hair used to
dance with all the rogue winds..
I have to steal
the menstrual blood of spring
to redden her lips
that were charred
by the kiss of summer
There is only a single room
in the thatched house
when I returned with the girl
who lured the city with her song
Sitting on its steps
that are plastered dry with cow dung
May be I will blacken her hair
with medicated oil.
During noontimes,
while I comb
and count her hairs one by one,
I will put to death
the lice I find there
and will claim that her body
was solely my own home
While thus crossing boredom
once, when I find a grey hair
from her head
Maybe I will pluck them all out
without her knowing it
When she comes to know of it
Maybe she will paint
those strands of her hair,
But never will she attempt
to lure the cities again.
poem by Sujeesh nm92
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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To his Girls
Wanton wenches do not bring
For my hairs black colouring :
For my locks, girls, let 'em be
Grey or white, all's one to me.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Sometimes It feels
Sometimes it feels as if precious moments
are stretched out into pieces of eternity,
as if a sunset, a smile, even sexual ecstasy
reaches out to something greater
as if at times
we are more than only humans,
as if our love
can bind much stronger than death
but we are actually only like travellers
who spend a time in this world,
just visiting this earth
before everything ends,
as we are programmed from scratch
to decay with time
and at a time grey hairs appear,
when the beauty of maturity starts to disappear.
poem by Gert Strydom
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0108 today I read a poem
just now, today
and for a moment, thus
forever,
the heaviness of devil-darkened thought,
death in some disguise yet to be called out,
threatened grey ruin to the day
which is not mine
as that same devil, named, will not be mine -
so pushed aside my dinner plate
and read a poem
and rejoined the world of now
of sunshine, families, all
the heart loves
and mind turns grey
and into devil's grey, and death and life
stepped gratitude.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Fruitless blossom
There were women at different ages
At different stages, with different shades,
Responsible for my springs and blossoms.
They remained as blossoms and withered.
Trees send blossoms in every spring and
Fruits later, though less in proportion.
Women of mine gave me only blossoms
Which fed my nose and left my stomach.
19.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Grey, Grey Sky
Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.
And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.
And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.
My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.
And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.
But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs.
poem by Grace Hutton
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