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Some cut lang whangs aff ither folk's leather.
Ye cut lang whangs out o' ither folk's leather.
Hell Bent For Leather
Seek him here, seek him on the highway
Never knowing when hell appear
All await, engines ticking over
Hear the roar as they sense the fear
Wheels! a glint of steel and a flash of light!
Screams! from a streak of fire as he strikes!
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Black as night, faster than a shadowcrimson flare from a raging sun
An exhibition, of sheer precision
Yet no one knows from where he comes
Fools! self destruct cannot take that crown
Dreams! crash one by one to the ground
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Theres many who tried to prove that theyre faster
But they didnt last and they died as they tried
Theres many who tried to prove that theyre faster
But they didnt last and they died as they tried
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kokomo
Mmmmmmm
In a small fishing village
Northeast of guam
Sits a fine young chap
Holding hands with his mom
As the fish swim by
So does joe
For his body is in guam
But his mind is in kokomo
Kokomo, indiana
Kokomo, indiana
Mmmmmmmm
I long to be
Inside my home
Where the rafters are thick
With mens cologne
Mens cologne
For if I were a tree
I know where I would grow
But my body is in guam
My mind is in kokomo
Kokomo, indiana
Kokomo, indiana
Mmmmmmmm
Its a large swimming pool
That will light up at night
With cigarette girl
And groom dressed in white
Dressed in white
As the organ plays a song
The crowd doesnt know
For their bodies are in guam
But their minds are in kokomo.
Kokomo, indiana
Kokomo, indiana
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A girl in leather shoes
I am a girl in leather shoes
without socks, a girl who has
no need of socks, a girl
who has few friends-
but doesn't need any.
A strong girl, with real opinions
in her head; sockless in her leather shoes,
a girl whose stride is purposeful,
feet secure inside the leather,
a girl who wears nothing artificial,
who takes in nothing not genuine-
And if she should ever sweat,
this brave, sockless girl,
who knows exactly where she is going
safe in her leather
and her strong opinions-
she would never, never let it show.
poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My shoes
My shoes were brought to me on order
from Zimbabwe by a missionary,
a man who sell bibles
and sometimes give them away,
just before Robert Mugabe
did root out the manufacturers and sellers
and the rest of my order went to waste
with another pair of buffalo leather shoes
and a buffalo leather jacket as well.
The black handmade elephant leather shoes
do tread far roads with me,
they try to walk on the tracks
of my deceased father,
try to stand up with integrity
like my late grandmother wanted.
The other day I had them re-soled,
to lay down some more tracks
and the elephant leather
might last a life time
and I wonder how the future
folds open before them?
poem by Gert Strydom
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It is easier to put leather on the soles of one's feet than cover the world with leather.
Leather Rebel
Hero of the night.
Blood and thunder rushing through me
Till the dawn of light
The sky is turning red
Like a renegade
All alone I walk through fire
Till I crash and blaze
I'm living on the edge
Start a chain reaction
Sears the neon light
Stealing all the action
Always takes the fight
Leather Rebel
Lightning in the dark
Leather Rebel
With a burning heart
Master of the streets
Bullet proof and bound for glory
Cities at my feet
I'm turning on the power
Running wild and free
No-one dares to stand before me
That's my destiny
To rule the darkest hours
I can see my future:
Writings on the wall
Legend in my lifetime
Stories will recall
Leather Rebel
Lightning in the dark
Leather Rebel
With a burning heart
I can see my future:
Writings on the wall
Legend in my lifetime
Stories will recall
Leather Rebel
Lightning in the dark
Leather Rebel
With a burning heart
Leather Rebel
song performed by by Judas Priest from Painkiller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Third World War
Where the young mens brave new visions threaten old mens selfish
Dreams
And they try to crush the spirit with their money and machines
And they call it communism because they dont know what it means
In the third world war
And the rich keep getting richer and as wrong as they are right
And the poor become the victims of the armies of the night
And the odds are never even and their skins are never white
In the third world war
Broken rules and dirty warriors spreading lies and secret funds
Cant defeat the campesino with their money and their guns
cause hes fighting for his future and his freedom and his sons
In the third world war
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mens Room, L. A.
(buck fowler)
I saw a picture yesterday
In a mens room near l.a.
Lying on the floor beside the throne.
Had I not recognized the cross
I might have failed to know the boss,
I thought, lord, you look neglected and alone.
I picked it up with lovin care,
I wondered who had placed it there,
When l saw there was no paper on the roll.
I said, lord, what would you do
If you were me and I was you,
Take a chance, save your pants or your soul ?
Then a voice said,
kinky, its jesus here, you know that I aint no square.
Well, Ive got these pictures of me,
I mean statues, you know theyre everywhere.
Well, I may seem I come from liverpool,
And then on the other hand I may come from france,
But if you dont get off that toilet, well Im just gonna have to dance.
I saw a picture yesterday in a mens room near l.a.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I deliberately decided to write a kind of guide to leather bars for straight people, for people not into leather, so that people could see what it was all about.
Brunch in Tampa
Let's let the waiters have their say. Let's let
The ones who took the bus to set the silver
As you drove, who crossed the desert
Overnight, describe their versions of
Privation as you stuff your bloated face.
Let's let them ask how much you need.
Your hair is perfect, and your teeth.
Your house is large. You make a lot
Of money from your leather chair,
But you complain they're not enough.
You want for nothing, but for this:
Some proof that you and yours are
Grand, and all these others, unlike
You, are wretched, and always will be.
You cast about for confirmation.
Let the waiters say.
poem by Lawrence Beck
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aarstiderne
Du aldrig vil elske? Til Stella jeg taled,
en Morgen i Vaar, da jeg hos hende sad,
mens Solen steeg over Hækken og maled
med Purpur i Duggen hvert skielvende Blad.
Nei, svared hun, aldrig! Thi Elskov er Tant.
Som Duggen, som Morgenens Purpur den svinder;
og naar den er svundet den sörgligt minder
kun om at den svandt!
Du aldrig vil elske? Til Stella jeg taled,
en Middag i Sommer, da trætte vi sad,
i kiölige Grotte, mens Ildkuglen praled
paa Himlen og brændte hvert visnende Blad.
Du aldrig vil elske? Skal Kierlighed da
liig Solen fortære et Hierte som brænder?
Hun rödmed og stammed og vred sine Hænder
og sukkede: Ja!
Du aldrig vil elske? Til Stella jeg taled,
en Aften ved Hytten, i guldfagre Höst,
mens Solen saa röd under Bölgerne daled
og smilte til Stellas ömtbölgende Bryst.
Fortryller Naturens Velgierning dig ei?
Og dog du dens herligste Frugter forskyder.
O fryd dig ved det, som utallige fryder!
Hun sukkede: Nei!
Du aldrig vil elske? Til Stella jeg taled,
en Midnat i Vinter, mens ene vi sad
saa taus ved Kaminen, da Maanen opmaled
i Vinduet Rimens udfoldede Blad.
Du nægter mig altsaa den hellige Lyst
at henvandre Livet med dig ved min Side,
til Alderens Snee farver Lokkerne hvide?
Hun sank til mit Bryst.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shoes
The shoes were placed
row on row,
large and small,
some with laces,
some without,
black and brown.
If shoes could speak,
if their leather tongues
could pronounce words,
what hard histories
they could tell,
what deep sadness
they could relate,
and there at Auschwitz,
Anny Horowitz’s shoes
lay silent, cast off,
forcefully abandoned,
left to their fate,
no history told,
no biography to relate.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Otoya en Oslo
Heer, in afgryse luister ons na ‘n verhaal van haat
‘n Verhaal wat ons verbuisterd laat
Hoe kan mens hierdie dade in woorde omsit?
Heer, ‘n hele nasie staan in pyn en smart
Die letters van swart op die wit papier kan nooit die pyn uitdruk
En ‘n groot gat is saam met gebou se mure uit ons hart geruk
En elke lyk van elke kind op daardie eiland voel soos ons eie
Die verlies wat ‘n ouer voel sal nooit beksryf kan word
Heer, Heer, ons uitroepe van smart en seer is so oorverdowend soos die bom
Heer, Heer, ons gevoelens lê soos die bakstene verstrooid
‘n Ramp uit ‘n mens se hand?
Heer, die vrae oor die toekoms van elkeen in daardie land
Heer, U alleen sal kan berusting bring, want troos is nie moontlik
Heer, U alleen sal kan oordeel oor so ‘n daad
Heer, vergelding is al waaraan mens kan dink
En tog sal dit ons plaas waar hy staan
Vergelding sal ons plaas in die hand van die duiwel
Heer, ons bid vir hierdie mense dat U hul sal beskerm
poem by Amanda Boucher
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Contours For Gazing
He's the look of one who cuts his own hair.
The scar between his ears, broad,
stretches contours for gazing.
Something happened.
One cannot think ill of him who now
eschews any man with blade or shears,
his face is proof enough not to trust.
Still, he walks upon the world, a gash in air
which does not care for looks of any sort.
Frightened children do not cry out though
their play is stopped. Bullies cross the street,
heads low in leather, trying to be invisible.
Dogs suddenly silence remembering to
quickly go where their tucked tails point
- away.
Nothing can undo a look which undoes many.
He carries his book, large, heavy,
front cover turned into his tweed,
tucked under his arm, something
he can hide while the title he is screams.
He, like the dogs, is silent, he needs
speech no longer. People have not heard
him when he once did speak, do not hear
the loneliness, the moan his face has become
which is large, Biblical in proportion to
the grief he tucks beneath the other arm
and wishes no harm to the world.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Y is like not
x is like a skylight
a storm at sea the wave of blue
a thunderstruck word a bolt of red lightning
and y is like not
x is heartbeat mist swollen white cells
roaring againt a red cell whisper
a stream of something that denies the blood
and y is like not
x is like numberless No 13 struck
registered within an office pallid face
to get promoted on a large scale meta- trade
y is like not
who bought the skin
who liked the hide
leather boot running
over an x tide
y is like not
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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