On TV people look at your hair and then they look at your skin, and then they look at your clothes, and by the time they're listening to what you're saying, you're off the screen.
quote by Doug Coupland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Eht Emas
There once was a place where everyone was Tan
Every woman, child, and man
Tan hair, Tan shoes, Tan skin, and Tan clothes
Why they were all Tan is something that nobody knows
For you see in this place of monotonous living un-Tan beings were unheard of
There was a very strange thing about these Tan people.
For you see the Tan people had wings but many feared to fly
A Yellow man came to this place one day
It seemed that the Yellow man was strange
His hair was not Tan and his skin was not Tan
He smiled more often and dressed funny too
His name was Alabazoo
He came from a place called Tnereffid
The Tan people were irate and filled with hate
Who did this Yellow man think he was?
As much as the Yellow man tried to be liked the Tan people would not budge
The Yellow man offered the Tan people Brownies they wanted Fudge
Though it seems some of Tan people preferred Brownies,
Some secretly wished for Fudge
They growled and they hissed until the Yellow man left
Leaving the Tan people of Lamron to their life.
The Tan people still exist but is seems that they reside only in Sdnim now.
poem by Jeanne Harmon
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All Different, But Still The Same
Some people have short hair, some have long.
Some people have thick hair; some people’s hair is all gone.
Some people have black hair, some have gray.
Some people have brown hair, some blonde, some red.
Some people’s hair a color unsaid.
Some people are short, some people are tall.
Some people will love you; some won’t like you at all.
Some people like hot weather, some like cold.
Some people are timid, some people are bold.
Some people have dark skin, some people have light.
Some people have black skin, some people have white.
Some people eat meat; some won’t touch it at all.
Some people have a good memory, some can’t recall.
Some people accept Christ, some never will.
Some people are stingy, some people give.
Some people like school, some people don’t.
Some people will excel, some people won’t.
Some people smoke cigarettes, some never will.
Some people are honest, some people steal.
Some people have book knowledge;
But don’t know the Holy Book.
Some people burn food, some people can cook.
Some people are old, some people are young.
Some people do smart things, some people do dumb.
Some people just have a diploma
Some people have degrees.
Some people do things slow, some with a breeze.
Some people are complainers, some easy to please.
Some people hate shopping, some stay in the mall.
Some people hate God, but God loves us all.
We are all different, but still the same.
When I get cut, I bleed red;
You get cut, red blood you’ll shed.
Some people are plump, some people are thin.
But we are all the same, we’re all human being.
Copyright © 2010-Phyllis Strong
poem by Phyllis Strong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only A Northern Song
If you're listening to this song
You may think the chords are going wrong
But they're not;
He just wrote it like that.
It doesn't really matter what chords i play
What words i say or time of day it is
As it's only a northern song
It doesn't really matter what clothes i wear
Or how i fare or if my hair is brown
When it's only a northern song.
When you're listening late at night
You may think the band are not quite right
But they are, they just play it like that
It doesn't really matter what chords i play
What words i say or time of day it is
As it's only a northern song.
It doesn't really matter what clothes i wear
Or how i fare or if my hair is brown
When it's only a northern song.
If you think the harmony
Is a little dark and out of key
You're correct, there's nobody there.
It doesn't really matter what chords i play
What words i say or time of day it is
And i told you there's no one there.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Girl, A Backwards Dream
he was just sitting there listening, you know...
sitting on the stoop, listening to the old black man
play guitar...
listening to the children playing across the way...
listening to the occasional car, and the way the sunset
clapped against the trees, keeping rhythm.
the old man started singing, low, almost a growl:
'old girl, old girl, where you been so long?
old girl, old girl, where you been so long?
done took the night out of my daytime,
and the darkness out of dawn.
old girl, old girl, why you be that way?
old girl, old girl, why you be that way?
you pack your clothes to travel on,
you dont unpack your clothes to stay...'
he grinned at the old man, 'yeah...'
the smell of streaked meat frying, and coffee
boiling over came from the house...
'how many eggs y'all want? '
the old man started singing again:
'old girl, old girl, why you wanna shake that thing?
old girl, old girl, why you wanna shake that thing?
you lock me out of your house,
why you wanna be so mean? '...
'y'all gonna see mean in a minute, if you dont
get your buts in here and eat..'
'we coming, baby', the old man grinned, slowly sliding
the guitar back in its case.
shaking his head and looking up, he saw an owl,
perched silently on the eaves. pulling down his hat,
he followed the old man in.... the sound of the screen
door slamming echoed in the dusk.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Skin Hair…
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Skin Hair
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing To Gein
Cold and silent, soiled face I will wash it all away,
With my love,
Thats all shes ever needed, from me
Its my time, to mother,
One of my own in my life,
I am so alone, left with no one
In my life, Im so alone
Life submissiveness,
Hypnotizing the ignorant a little boys best friends always his mother,
At least thats what she said,
Life of a simple man,
Taught that everyone else is dirty,
And their love is meaningless,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Sheltered life innocence,
Insulated memories, spark reflections of my head,
Duality in my consciousness,
Caught in the war of hemispheres,
Between the love lost in my head,
Mommy do you still live inside of me,
Im so lost in my life without any guiding,
Protected me my whole life from everything,
Nailed shut the doors to the shrine,
To screen your dead eyes from me and my sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Deliver the remains from her womb of earth,
Prep the rack and tie up for new loves rebirth,
Covert understanding of novice surgery,
Ill focus concentration and only take just what I need
For sickness Im masticating,
Dancing and masturbating,
Celebrate in fields of night with skin upon my face
If I soak my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I wash my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I drench myself in others blood am I sick,
If I bathe myself in others blood
Blame mother for the sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Dance and masturbate in night light by myself..
Nothing is left for me to gain theyre coming to take me far away,
Chorus
Life of a simple man taught that everyone else is dirty and love is meaningless
Im so soiled
Soiled
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The color of somebody's skin or the way he wears his hair or clothes has nothing to do with anything.
quote by Judge Mills Lane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are mimes tonight
We are mimes tonight
Not minding if we burn alive
Clothes are useless
Enemies of our thoughts
This blanket is a good friend though
But could betray us well if it could
Our chests collide with vigor
Heart beats dangerously
Our bodies are borders
And we are both free
Skin to skin
Hair against hair
Breath crashes breath
We are mimes I say
Erupting with emotions
Explosions in our sky
We are mimes tonight
Not minding if we burn alive.
poem by Jeffrey Regullano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Softer Place
i've held this breath
since i blew that permanent sigh
in your temporary direction...
did i turn and look
just before the knob-
just to see your shining hair
skin, eyes-
for just a shining moment?
oh, yes.
if circumstance leaves it there,
i would have to pretend
that it had been some softer place
that this all had occurred:
like the bay,
or the park, or another-
where i had,
for the second time,
see your hair
skin
eyes
but in the sun this time-
for a second-
oh, yes.
poem by Jeff Thornton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Think Jesus Died For This!
wars, wars, and rumors of wars...
1 in 5 children go to bed hungry.
people still cringe at the color of skin,
and religious people crucify
anyone who thinks different.
unemployment lines not moving,
soup lines getting longer.
shutting down the battered women's shelter,
funding cut off....
food stamps dont pay light bills,
and lovers face discrimination.
the clothes you got at Goodwill,
made in an Asian sweat shop....
dumping oil in the oceans,
the price of gas rising...
and vacant houses arent for vacant people.
everyone talking, nobody listening....
somehow i dont think Jesus died for this!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People At The Bustop
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Don't have time to talk a lot.
('people at the bustop? ')
And when it rains or snow on them drops,
People at the bustop,
Don't appear to anger with moods to cop.
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
May sing a tune or fingerpop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Listening to music through earplugs blocked,
And unheard to hear by those who are near.
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Don't have time to talk a lot.
('people at the bustop? ')
And when it rains or snow on them drops,
People at the bustop,
Don't appear to anger with moods to cop.
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
With ipods bop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Listening to their rap or rockin' hip hop.
Oh those people at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
With ipods bop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Listening to their rap or rockin' hip hop.
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Don't have time to talk a lot.
('people at the bustop? ')
And when it rains or snow on them drops,
People at the bustop,
Don't appear to anger with moods to cop.
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Peeping on the people who are nodding to a beat.
Oh those people at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Peeping on the people who are nodding to a beat.
In a world all their own and sharing a seat.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
from Pretoria station
and there are people about me
and we are all caught
in a own world
with destiny on which everything depends
and cornfields flash by
and the bus roars on past some ruins.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and the road winds like a snake,
teenagers are listening to music
in a own world
and I am going to Vryburg to collect a car,
I see a man with wild bushy hair
and there are people about me
who click together
and we drive through the main street of a town,
teenagers are listening to music
and everyone tells something of his or her hurt,
even the younger generation.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and a young girl looks somewhat desperate
with innocent beauty
and we drive through the main street of a town,
and she gets scared and more scared
without any intimidation
and there are people about me
on whom family wait in Vryburg
and she is going to her parent’s home
with innocent beauty,
and she prays to have a life again
and wears plain clothes.
I take a bus that goes to Vryburg
and there are people about me
and she is pregnant and can call nowhere home
and we are all caught
and she is going to her parent’s home
with destiny on which everything depends.
poem by Gert Strydom
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24/7 Paradox
A man lost within the seams of his dreams
Sees
Himself gazing into the face of the TV screen
Flashes of a scene blink a wild child
Pointing to the heavens with no sense of denial
The pixels jumble and the audio
Whispers to a mumble
Impossible to hear over the low growing rumble
Then the screen changes and there’s a young woman and man
Dressed in fancy clothes holding each other’s hands
And just like the first time the colors all mixed
Showing something new when it was finally fixed
An old man sat in a moving chair with a book
An old woman walked by with something that was cooked
She said future was ready and the old man got up
Walked straight to the screen and the signal got cut
The boy woke with a fright in the dim of the night
TV was staring at him
He was going to be alright
poem by P.R. Prosper
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Listening to what people were saying wasn't even important. But it was important to look as if you were listening to what people were saying. Actually, listening to what people are saying, to me, interferes with looking as if you were listening to what people are saying.
quote by Errol Morris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brown Skin
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Where are your people from? maybe mississippi or an island
Apparently your skin has been kissed by the sun
You make me want a hersheys kiss, your licorice
Every time I see your lips, it makes me think of honey-coated chocolate
Your kisses are worth more than gold to me
Ill be your almond joy, youll be my sugar daddy
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Every time you come around, something magnetic pulls me and I cant get out
Disoriented, I cant tell my up from down
All I know is that I wanna lay you down
Every time I let you in, abracadabra magic happens as we swim
Higher and higher finally we reach heaven
Come back to earth and then we do it all again
Yeah..
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Skin so brown, lips so round
Baby how can I be down?
Beautiful mahogany, you make me feel like a queen
Tell me whats that thing you do that makes me wanna get next to you, yeah
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
song performed by by India Arie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Wet Hair Feels Cool on My Skin
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin
As she came fresh from the shower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
Her whispers soft, a quiet wind
Caress my senses for an hour.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
I’m at peace more than ever when
I lay down with her in her bower,
She lies near me and rest begins.
Now love’s sensations lie within
A subtle simple touch of power-
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
She holds my heart fast with a grin
Delicately, like a flower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
I say that now if this be sin
I don’t in fear of death cower.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin:
She lies near me and rest begins.
2009
poem by William Mcgehee
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Glass Skin
Another epidermis, a glass skin,
Layers over your body and we are
Separated. You're sheltered deep within
Glass skin.
Your paneled eyes have been drifting thus far
From what I see. When did distance begin
To draw you from me and into that jar,
That crystalline casing? Where have you been?
Why can't I understand your avatar,
Your transparent screen as it holds you in
Glass skin?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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When You Are On Top
when you are on top
you see a very tiny world below you
people are dusts
lands are patches of colors
roads mere lines
you realize how foolish you are
to believe that
it is the best place you
can ever have
you learn
to forgive the hazards of distances
you accept there is more to
land or colors
or pebbles
what strikes you most is the
dusty feeling
of humanity
the wind brings you
a layer of brownish softness in your skin
something lands in your
arm
but then you
dust it off
there is a hope that
you can finally understand
what is this
all about
time always makes
hushes in your hair
you comb
doubts with your
fingers
but your ears are stubborn
listening to
the noise in the moistened
lyrics of
their songs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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