After years in white theaters I dreaded working in colored houses. The noise, the stomping, whistling, and cheering that hadn't annoyed me when I was young was now something I dreaded.
quote by Ethel Waters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Fondest Childhood Memory
Homework, said my teacher,
Is to write a poem,
About your fondest
Childhood memory
Immediately, I began to shake
And within minutes
A cold sweat had
Come over me
I had dreaded,
Absolutely dreaded,
This day,
This moment in time.
I thought perhaps
I might find an excuse
Such as dogs dying
Or broken water pipes
I wondered
If I dropped the course
Would I get
A rebate?
And then
It dawned on me
The perfect line...
I'm afraid
I've had amnesia
All these years.
poem by Dee Daffodil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Villanelle on Depression
Depression is a fact of life for me.
As much a part of life as food and air,
It hovers like a dreaded entity.
It scatters joys like useless stale debris,
And sews the ashes of my dreams in gloom.
Depression is a fact of life for me.
It poises like a shadowing banshee
With somber wings just waiting to enshroud.
It hovers like a dreaded entity,
And I can almost always guarantee
Secreted in my spectral holidays
Depression is a fact of life for me.
My life becomes a frequent abductee
Purloined by mirthless bird of prey
It hovers like a dreaded entity..
A vulture pouncing when my back is turned,
But hidden, and not easily discerned.
Depression is a fact of life for me
It hovers like a dreaded entity.
poem by B.V. Dahlen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whistling In The Dark
A woman came up to me and said
Id like to poison your mind
With wrong ideas that appeal to you
Though I am not unkind
She looked at me, I looked at something
Written across her scalp
And these are the words that it faintly said
As I tried to call for help:
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
A man came up to me and said
Id like to change your mind
By hitting it with a rock, he said,
Though I am not unkind.
We laughed at his little joke
And then I happily walked away
And hit my head on the wall of the jail
Where the two of us live today.
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling, whistling
Whistling in the dark
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Homework
Tis the day I got my first batch of homework
From where you ask?
From my first grade class of course
I wonder how I should start
From the days my siblings warned me of this
I have always forever dreaded this
And now the time has finally come upon me
to open the books of doom
So as I sit there waiting patiently
Hoping a way to succeed
I decided to finally start this
For else the end is near
As I finished the homework I see
i realized it's not so bad
maybe I'll enjoy this once in a while
The dreaded homework no one seeks
poem by Venus Fire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cemetery Gates
A dreaded sunny day
so I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
so I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
while Wilde is on mine
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
all those people all those lives
where are they now ?
with loves, and hates
and passions just like mine
they were born
and then they lived and then they died
which seems so unfair
and I wantr to crv
You say: "ere thrice the sun hath done salutation to the dawn"
and you claim these words as your own
but Im well-read, have heard them said
a hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)
if you must write prose/poems
the words you use should be your own
dont plagiarise or take "on loans"
there's alweays someone, somewhere
with a big nose, who knows
and who trips you up and laughs
when you fall
You say: "ere long done do does did "
words which could only be your own
you then produce the text
from whence was ripped
(some dizzy whore, 1804)
A dreaded sunny day
so let's go where we're happy
so I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
so let's go where we're wanted
so I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
but you lose
because Wilde is on mine
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cemetry Gates
A dreaded sunny day
I meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
So i meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and yeats are on your side
While wilde is on mine
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
All those people all those lives
Where are they now ?
With loves, with hates
With passions just like mine
They were born
And then they lived
And then they died
It seems so unfair
Oh, i want to cry
You say : "'ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn"
And you claim these words as your own
But i've read well, and i've heard them said
A hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)
If you must write prose and poems
The word you use should be your own
Don't plagiarise or take "on loan"
There's always someone, somewhere
With a big nose, who knows
And trips you up and laughs
When you fall
Who'll trip you up and laugh
When you fall
You say : "long done do does did"
Words which could only be your own
And then produce the text
From whence was ripped
(some dizzy whore, 1804)
A dreaded sunny day
So let's go where we're happy
And i meet you at the cemetry gates
Oh, keats and yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
So let's go where we're wanted
And i meet you at the cemetry gates
Keats and yeats are on your side
But you lose
'cause weird lover wilde is on mine
Sure !
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Free No More
It has descended;
the madness has become that
parasol on a hit of white ants
I have forever dreaded.
In grandiosity I am pleased
to ride out the night,
now a wizard in white,
now a placated being
with nowhere else to roam,
since I have been everywhere;
and everywhere having gone,
I am chained to a sofa that cries,
its belly distended.
I cannot sing to you, having
sung to the crickets their songs.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem for Molly's Fortieth Birthday
'Why do you
have stripes
in your forehead,
Mama?
Are you
old?'
Not old.
But not so
young
that I cannot
see
the world contracting
upon itself
& the circle
closing
at the end.
As the furrows
in my brow
deepen,
I can see
myself
sinking back
into that childhood
street
I walked along
with my grandfather,
thinking he was old
at sixty-three
since I was four,
as you are four
to my forty.
Forty years
to take
the road out . . .
Will another forty
take me
back?
Back to the street
I grew up on,
back to
my mother's breast.
back to the second
world war
of a second
child,
back
to the cradle
endlessly
rocking?
I am young
as you are
Molly-
yet with stripes
in my brow;
I earn my youth
as you must earn
your age.
These stripes
are decorations
for my valor-
forty years
of marching
to a war
I could not declare,
nor locate,
yet have somehow
won.
Now,
I begin
to unwin,
unravelling
the sleeves
of care
that have
stitched up
this brow,
unravelling
the threads
that have kept
me scared,
as I pranced
over the world,
seemingly fearless,
working
without a net,
knowing
if I fell
it would
only be
into that same
childhood street,
where I dreaded
to tread
on the lines-
not knowing
the lines
would someday
tread
on me.
Molly,
when you are forty,
read this poem
& tell me:
have we won
or lost
the war?
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Love You Shared Endures...
tis the knock on the door you've dreaded...
yet you know it all comes to this.
the weary lay down to sleep,
snow falls on rust colored leaves.
are you then left with old photographs,
the sound of a voice you dimly remember...
and memories that unfurl like chapters,
every time you turn off the light.
the tears you cried, for him, or for you?
he does not need your tears anymore.
he is not dead, but simply at peace...
the love he was he is,
the love you shared endures!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Two years ago I hadn't even thought of the Woman in White, and I was doing a television show and I said I hadn't found a story and the next day somebody rang me and said have you ever thought of the Woman in White.
quote by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monopoly
We used to play, long before we bought real houses.
A roll of the dice could send a girl to jail.
The money was pink, blue, gold as well as green,
and we could own a whole railroad
or speculate in hotels where others dreaded staying:
the cost was extortionary.
At last one person would own everything,
every teaspoon in the dining car, every spike
driven into the planks by immigrants,
every crooked mayor.
But then, with only the clothes on our backs,
we ran outside, laughing.
poem by Connie Wanek
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Right To Love!
she's in love
with another woman...
they've been in love
for years.... life companions,
they complete each other.....
they have the right to love!
a hard working young man,
he loves another young man.
he makes him feel alive!
working together for a dream,
they find home in each other...
they have the right to love!
the young white student,
works a job while studying
for his degree...
he loves a dark skinned girl,
the most beautiful girl in the world.
they can talk, they can touch....
they have the right to love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I dreaded doing close-ups.
quote by Jessie Matthews
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Destroyers Of This Earth....
what do get from all these noise
the shouting women
screaming madness
all the commands of men
we get feed with something
that we always like to vomit
in the streets of this
shattering cities
we will be missing what was once there
a running brook, sunshine softly shining on the green fields of wheat
children cheering one another upon their innocent little games
white dogs beside the working men carrying their spades for digging
the women bathing and washing by the river
we are no longer happy people
having sinned destroying what was once green and fresh and alluring
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Controversy is only dreaded by the advocates of error.
quote by Benjamin Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Purifcation by Deth
Upper class suburbon yuppies simultaneously congreate, At local coffee houses to communicate their white collar hippster poerty.. loss of Virginty. Childhood sotimy. Tha young blonde speaks of teenage rape behind wooden blechers after A ballgame.. , Anxious and annoyed my created friends show me drawn out intetions of mass murder, Suicide by arson. Tha purfication of this society of rank coeds........JEK
poem by Seth Kennedy
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The Aching of Old Age
THE ACHING OF OLD AGE
The aching of old age
Knows it will not go away
It is part of the life now
Aching is like breathing always here
Whether attended to or not
The aching of old age
Will not go away
It will accompany one all the way to the grave
Perhaps this is what it is ultimately for
To teach us that which we dreaded all these years
Has its most real meaning only in
Ending the aching forever.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My parents dreaded the fact that I was changing my life to do this, but I just kept doing it.
quote by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The antibiotic
Dose of love kills the germs of
Dreaded loneliness
haiku by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Horrible Sounds
We all have sounds that we like
noises that can give us a thrill
but what about those we don't
such as the dreaded Dentists Drill?
Dogs barking can be really annoying
after a while it can drive you up the wall
and when I was a kid I got on my parents nerves
for using the side of the house to kick my ball.
Fingernails scraping down a blackboard is grating
that's even worse than an irritating mobile ringtone
like your sitting in the cinema enjoying a film
when someones forgot to switch off their bloody phone.
The sound of a person vomiting is pretty gross
in fact the noise can make you feel sick too
and what about the sound of a baby constantly crying
or your friend sniffing away saying they've got the Flu?
A door or gate that creaks can get you all edgy
as can the sound of rustling paper or cellophane
but the noise I hate more than any of these
is the sound of money being poured down the drain!
poem by Kevin Halls
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