To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.
quote by Edvard Munch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Doors That Slam
Doors that slam and shut real tight
usually happen after the fight.
Behind those doors tears do drop,
taking their time before they stop.
After they've dried and calm's prevailed
you wonder why it is that you failed
to recognize how you let tears creep
into your eyes that made you weep.
Surely this scene you've had before.
Stubborness and pride slammed that door.
The emotions of love get all mixed in.
It's then that your head goes into a spin.
But down deep inside what made you cry
is the ego you own and that is why
you are more than ego. You are all heart.
The door you slammed tore your own heart apart.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Trying To Slam Doors
I slammed the door shut this time
Determined not to let you back in it again
Because of the choices you make
All you had to do was promise
To not make those choices anymore
And I would of easily taken you back
Everytime we get back together or hook up
We pretend everythings alright
I think the only reason
We hook up is because
We're both lonely
I didn't really feel that
Loving feeling this time
Except when he wanted to fool around
Could it be that we both know
That we should of left that door shut
If so it makes me wonder
How long it will stay left open
Before we start forcing it shut
I won't be telling anyone about his last visit
Or that I am still talking to him again
It's my secret because
I have begged my friends and family
To not let me do this again
I can't let them know how weak I am
Guess Where the Peace and Silence Is?
Come here!
Stand over there.
Do you hear anything?
'No! Just silence.'
Where is that silence?
'Over there...
Where you are standing! '
You are correct!
NOW...
What did you hear?
'A slammed door!
You slammed the door.'
Exactly!
And guess where the peace and silence is?
'It's where you are!
On the other side of the door!
There is none where I am.
What are you doing?
And what is this for?
There is one rule that I adore.
No conflicts come within my limits,
To occupy my time or visit!
And that's how it is going to stay!
You wish to come into my home...
To present your point of view,
Of crisis upon crisis...
You desire to attached me with?
I'm not having none of it!
Not as long as I can do...
What you know now I will not permit!
You have taken what you brought in with you.
Be on your way...
Split!
Have a good night.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Baby Blues
(bth australian version)
I wonder whats happening to me
Things are changing so dramatically
Ill search for you, youre not really there
Still I wonder knowing that you do care
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
He is the best thing to come my way
Perfect picture baby blues in my day
He is the best thing to come around
Sleeping in his cradle safe and sound
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
Baby blues, baby blues
Baby blues, baby blues
Baby baby, baby blues
Baby baby, baby blues
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rainy Day
Rainy Day
It was eight in the morning when I heard
a car door slam and a car drive off.
It rained all day and it soothed my nerves
to hear water trickle down old roof tiles;
stuck indoors, I didn't have an umbrella.
Five o'clock, afternoon, the car returned
and the same door slammed shut,
the rain continued, the water trickling
was a Geneva Convention offence; utterly
bored now and still without an umbrella.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Love sticks on
If a door is shut
Don’t get upset.
Search and find.
There’s another door
Open, perhaps wider.
In our courtship
The door, don’t shut.
I want no other door
Even if it is wider.
No door is dearer than
The door of your bosom.
10-10-1999.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Shut Off Notices
'Even when to them done,
People still do not get the message.'
Trying to play catch up,
With time given to them lost...
Makes as much sense,
As one setting their alarm clock...
Ten minutes fast,
Only to appear an hour late...
And out of breath.
With yet another excuse delivered to make.
'And...
This is accepted behavior? '
ACCEPTED?
Are you kidding?
The only thing everyone knows,
That happens on time here is...
Those 'shut off notices' received,
From the phone company, cable...
And their utilities.
When someone gets a statement that reads,
'Pay By Noon'...
Pointless it is,
To attempt to make arrangements...
At twelve-o-Five.
'Even when to them done,
People still do not get the message.'
They do.
But guess who is faulted and blamed?
'The utility people supplying the service? '
Them and everyone else,
Tired of putting up with that nonsense.
And have had it with a servicing to them patience.
'So those shut off notices 'are' effective? '
In an 'offending giving kind of way',
Yes!
'Have you ever sent anyone a 'Shut Off Notice? '
No!
But I have...
However,
Made sure any messages delivered I did send...
Were understood without a need for me to vent,
In last statements written.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Tramp
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
Turned up collar and worn out shoes
He doesnt care cause he hasnt got nothing to lose
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
No companion to take him home
His only friends are the kind that just leave him alone
No one knows just how lonely his life has been
In a world that lives in a dream
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bud of Pain
Shut the door, shut the door.
Shut out the burning light.
Lock me in, lock me away,
away from eyes and sight.
Turn the world away.
Leave them at the door.
Creep into a cosy corner.
Bother me no more.
Alone, I want to be alone.
Alone, I need no one.
Alone inside my private mask.
Alone, alone, alone.
Turn me off, turn me off.
Switch off the flickering light.
Leave me be, leave me be.
I have no strength to fight.
© Morney Wilson
poem by Morney Wilson
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A Bedtime Story
It was just after midnight and I’d been reading in bed for an hour
when a sweet sickly smell wafted in, which turned horribly sour.
Cursing, I got out of bed and opened the window some more,
which seemed to cause a draft that slammed shut the door.
I reopened the door much wider this time and returned to my bed,
a draught blew the pages losing the place to where I’d read.
The temperature dropped so I again got out of bed and closed the door,
and also the window slightly, but it was still cold, so I closed it more.
Large goose bumps formed along my arms as I got back into bed,
I picked up the book and tried to find the last page that I’d read.
It was warmer now, but I still pulled the covers up to my chest;
I found my page and carried on reading with keen interest.
The atmosphere in the room seemed somehow unusual and strange
with an unpleasant smell and sudden coldness change.
Above the top of my page I saw a movement at the foot of the bed
and I saw someone standing there, so I raised my head.
The hairs on the back of my neck stiffened and sent a shiver down my spine,
for a second I was speechless; it was an apparition the colour of lime.
Motionless he just stood with his face towards the floor with nothing to say,
his lifeless body sagged wearing a worn out coat that had seen a better day.
“Who the Dickens are you and what do you want? ” I nervously said.
He stared straight through me when he slowly raised his head.
His aged gaunt tired face seemed to stare far beyond my body,
so I turned to see, but there was only the wall behind me.
“Why don’t you answer me, ” I said, “are you unable to speak? ”
Then with a voice that was deep and certainly not meek,
said, “Oh yes I can speak when and if it suits me to,
but what makes you think that I want to speak with you? ”
“Well excuse me, you came into my room and stood by my bed
and you looked as though something just ought to be said.”
“You don’t mean anything to me, I didn’t even notice you
until you broke my spiritual flow, like all you living do.
I don’t think you living realise that restless spirits come and go,
we roam the dead space of time just as the four winds blow.
We didn’t ask to be here, abandoned to wander forever more,
we’re trapped and forgotten spirits behind heaven’s door.
And don’t bother to ask me how I got here because I don’t know,
I never harmed anyone when I was alive and that is truly so.
I freely admit that some of the spirits have become evil and sour
and like the living, insanity becomes worse by the hour.
You the living remind us of how it was when we were there,
but we are enraged by the many who abuse and don’t care.
It is possible that you could end up here in this dead space,
and then with me you’ll be wearing my kind of face.”
As I was about to ask a question he quickly faded out of sight,
the smell and coldness went with him into the night.
I don’t expect anyone to believe me, but I know it’s true
and perhaps one day a similar experience might happen to you.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —
No doubt you have heard the name before —
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!'
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don't you think to shut the door?'
They rigged up a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy and said, 'No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!'
'You will?' said his parents; 'then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!'
poem by William Brighty Rands
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Better to be shot with a crossbow than rejected by a window slammed shut.
In The Middle Of...
He broke her heart
in the middle of the day.
He slammed the door
and walked away.
She broke his heart
in the middle of the night.
She shut the door
as she walked out of sight.
He brought her flowers
in the middle of the day.
She smiled at him
and walked away.
She gave him comfort
in the middle of the night.
He smiled at her
as he turned out the light.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Waiting Watchers
They shall come in the black weathers
From the heart of the dead embers,
Walking one and two over the hill.
And they shall be with you, never farther
Than your bedside.
At their will
The smell of putrefaction lingers
And floor is carpetted with rotting hair;
Or sheets are torn to shreds
By the beaks of dead dry birds
And the red blood clots in your cup.
Put up your swords!
What steel can cut the throat of next year's dream,
What tongue is tunes to speak last night's quick scream?
Go alone by darkness;
Burn the clippings of your nail;
Donate a thousand candles.
But do as you will,
When sun is blind and lamps are lit once more,
Two and one, they shall be standing
At your door
poem by Henry Treece
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The Country House
Did the door move, or was it always ajar?
The gladioli on the table are pale mauve.
I smell pale mauve and blue,
Blue soft like bruises—putrid—oozing—
The air oozes blue—mauve—
And the door with the black line where it does not shut!
I must pass that door to go to bed,
Or I must stay here
And watch the crack
Oozing air.
Is it—air?
poem by Amy Lowell
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Just Another Girl
As I walk down the school halls,
I wonder if he notices me at all.
If he think's I'm pretty in any way.
Hoping he'll come one day.
To me and flirt like he does with all the others.
I bet that won't ever happen.
I'm just another girl.
And tonight of all night,
While the moon shines bright.
I'll be sitting alone while others go our and have fun with him.
While I wonder what his doing and what he's thinking.
I hear my door bell ring.
And to my surprise, his standing at my door.
I invite him in and we sit and talk for hours.
But that's when my story ends.
All because I woke up from that dream.
I'm just another girl in his eyes...
poem by Alice Spakrs
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So, am I friendly with my daughter and her friends? Yes. Am I their friend? No. Does she shut the door? Yes, and I very much support the shut door.
quote by Jamie Lee Curtis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smell Like!
you said:
old men smell like nuts,
and greying tree limbs...
wet ashes after the rain...
you smell like
the book on the shelf,
that goes unnoticed,
and needs to be read!
and we probably smell like
the broken glass, the limbs
on the car, the rain drenched seat...
and love stains aged
from under the wheel,
in the gravel drive
of an old abandoned house!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Cellar
I’ve been a prisoner in this smelly unlit cellar for three days now,
I’ve got to try and find a way out, but I don’t know how.
With nothing to eat or drink since I was thrown into this place
I’m beginning to see weird things that are not common place.
My foot keeps being touched and I think it might be a rat,
and right now a rat could be a meal, and I could go for that.
If it touches me again I’ll try and catch it, and bite off its head;
what am I thinking about I couldn’t eat a rat, I’d rather be dead.
I’ve got to eat or drink something before I go completely mad
and when I think more about it, that rat doesn’t seem so bad.
I can see large silver coloured spiders crawling up the wall,
I’ll see if I can catch one... Damn it! I’m much too small.
Let’s face it I’m going to die in this damp, darker than night cellar,
all because of my lust for a woman, and her psychotic fella.
She teased and seduced me, and her boyfriend wasn’t too pleased,
when he entered the room and caught us at it, with me on my knees.
He must have hit my head really hard to have knocked me out,
and now I’m in this cellar where no one can hear me shout.
What happened to his gorgeous girl friend I just don’t know,
maybe they rode off into the night after leaving me so?
I’m sick of just sitting here; I’ll hunt for that rat around the floor,
maybe I’ll get lucky and find it, or something else to gnaw.
Oh my God! I can feel something lying by the side of the wall..,
I reckon it’s the girl; she’s stone cold, and been tied up in a ball.
I can feel deep into her skull and she’s still tacky with blood.
If I’m to survive I may have to eat her… No! I never could..,
but if I don’t I will die of starvation.., a slow agonising death...
I can smell her blood on my fingers, and taste it on my breath.
I feel ashamed having to eat raw human flesh to stay alive,
but I would feel worse if people knew, and I didn’t die.
I can hear that rat gnawing away on the guy’s dead girlfriend.
Will I be the rat’s last meal..? Is that how it all will end?
poem by Orlando Belo
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With So Much Love
I hate you!
With so much love,
I can not stand it anymore.
When you walked out of that door for good...
And slammed it shut!
I denied I cared.
I denied any years I shared with you.
I denied my heart was broken into bits.
My quarrelsome petty manner...
You had enough of it.
I tried to bite my lip...but,
I grew tired of you being right!
I hate you!
With so much love.
With so much love.
With so much...
Love I hate!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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