Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.
quote by Bram Stoker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being Tall
Those men who are considered tall,
defined as more than five foot nine,
are smarter than the ones who’re small.
that’s less than five foot nine. That’s fine
by me, for I was, in my prime,
a little more than five foot ten,
and though I’ve shrunk, it’s not yet time
for me to join the little men
who’re under five foot nine, becoming
less smart than I was when I stood
as tall as smart men, not down dumbing
myself so I’d be understood
by those who are so tiny that
they cannot follow mighty minds
of those who’re tall. Nobility
of soul I claim so long as I
retain with my virility
the size that girls like in a guy,
not small but smart. I’ll deal with fat
in my next poem. Big behinds
don’t correlate with smartness but
that topic is on my agenda
in what I'll call 'Of Brain and Butt, ”
which is a head and tail rear-ender.
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Artifacts Of The Black Rain
Stood there leaning to the city moon,
casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
the black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked
Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
with their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world
He cried for night but night could not come
so, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away
and fed the empty galleries
with the artifacts of the black rain
sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile
He made the footprints a part of his heart
to rouse a sacred confrontation
Stood there carving on the monument to lies
digging of the Earth, making friends with the soil
as the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs
he disappears into her cold, icy womb
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cleanest Man....
he is clean
he prides about the beard
that he has
just shaven
he is clean
there is no hair left on his head
no hair between his thighs
and legs
he is clean
his chest is bare now
his heart slowly
beating
he is clean as he
is empty
like a room without
furniture and
drapes
he is clean and without
sin
he who has not done
anything
and can do not wrong again...
he is clean now
for he is dead....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Black Market White Baby Dealer
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
My black market white baby dealer
Is rooting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Kidnaps clean, fresh white babies for me
Clean, fresh white babies for me
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
So sit me down in the family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
He brings back
Oh charlie, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
I come post-production
I dont need natal care
Im already fully assembled
Down to the very last part, its all there
So take me to your family
So take me to your home
Buddy, take me in as your next generation
And Ill take you out of the lost one and into mine
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Single Black Rose
A single Black Rose to turn the tide
A single Black Rose to make one die
A single Black Rose to ensnare the soul
A single Black Rose to widen that hole
A single Black Rose to melt the heart
A single Black Rose to force a start
A single Black Rose to entwine the bodies
A single Black Rose to dictate the deaths of these
A single Black Rose to lie upon her breast
A single Black Rose to stop the tears from soaking his vest
A single Black Rose to mourn this memory
A single Black Rose to become a plot in this cemetery
A single Black Rose to take a life
A single Black Rose to end his strife.
(8/21/2007)
poem by Michael Koelliker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Babies
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
Sit me down in your family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
(I changed this verse for you)
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strategian
He was a military man
who waxed the ends of his moustache
A man must look the best he can.
He thought it added real panache.
He always kept his hair quite short,
his lantern jaw shaved to the bone.
But his moustache or so he thought
was at its best when left alone.
It was his greatest pride and joy
It added something to his face.
He thought the ladies might enjoy.
With every whisker kept in place.
With moustache wax freshly applied
and just a hint of fine cologne.
He was completely satisfied
with what he tried and what he’d done.
The ladies did not seem to care.
About his well dressed upper lip
It seemed they would prefer it bare
for all his clever showman ship
Clean shaven men were all the rage.
The fair sex had the final say
So he shaved off his appendage.
The ladies always get their way.
A soldier knows when to retreat
and make a change to his campaign.
More preferable than face defeat.
it will always grow again.
When fashions change as fashions do.
He is a military man
But he can change his point of view
as quickly as the ladies can.
.07/05/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Black Single Rose.
A single black rose.
A single black rose to carry the load,
A single black rose to turn the road,
A single black rose to touch the soul,
A single black rose to widen your hole,
A single black rose to melt your heart,
A single black rose to force a start,
A single black rose to make you cry,
A single black rose to make you dry,
A single black rose to help you climb,
A single black rose to make you lie,
A single black rose to take a life,
A single black rose to take away strife.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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The Buckskin Bag of Gold
Last night I met him on the train--
A man with lovely eyes;
And he gave me a searching glance
Of sweet charm'd surprise!
I knew 'twas he the lady meant,
Who once my fortune told,
By his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Yes! (Ha! ha!) Yes! (ha! ha!) his is the man
Who does your fortune hold!
He has jet black eyes, a grand moustache,
And a buckskin bag of gold.
Tall! (Ha! ha!) slim! (ha! ha!) quick as a flash!
And twenty two years old;
He has jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
The dearest man you ever saw
How much I love him now!
And if I should live a thousand years,
No other hears my vow.
Like Judas--no, like Jupiter,
He look'd so brave and bold,
With his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Sweet boy bring me the "Morning Call"
Perchance I'll find his name;
At the "Grand Hotel" he must have stopp'd,
I wonder when he came!
He must have charm'd those Lumpkin girls,
So haughty, proud and cold,
By his jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
How can I seek a name unknown?
Oh, tell me where he went!
What is this I read! why Papa's bank
Is robb'd of ev'ry cent!
The thief, it seems, left town last night,
Well, well! I'm nicely sold!
He had jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Makes You Feel Ten Feet Tall (demo)
Things aren't what they seem
I'm always drifting into dream
It's just a silly scene
everything I do ends up in dream
But it's not what you say and you do
that makes it look hard of what your feelin'
It's just what you say to do
that makes me feel like your head is real and down
Oh, and love makes you feel, oh, ten foot tall
Oh, and love makes you feel ten foot tall
It's not a funny scene
but I'm always drifting, oh, into dreams, ah
It's not a love affair
but I'm just drifting into air
But it's not what you say and you do
oh, that makes it seem like a certain party
It's just all of that you do
that makes me feel that you kidding, way too smart
Oh, and, love makes you feel ten foot tall
Oh, and love makes you feel ten foot tall
like this
'Cause love makes you feel ten foot tall
'Cause love makes you feel ten foot tall
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Makes You Feel Ten Feet Tall
Things arent what they seem
Im always drifting into dream
Its just a silly scene
Everything I do ends up in dream
But its not what you say and you do
That makes it look hard of what your feelin
Its just what you say to do
That makes me feel like your head is real and down
Oh, and love makes you feel, oh, ten foot tall
Oh, and love makes you feel ten foot tall
Its not a funny scene
But Im always drifting, oh, into dreams, ah
Its not a love affair
But Im just drifting into air
But its not what you say and you do
Oh, that makes it seem like a certain party
Its just all of that you do
That makes me feel that you kidding, way too smart
Oh, and, love makes you feel ten foot tall
Oh, and love makes you feel ten foot tall
Like this
cause love makes you feel ten foot tall
cause love makes you feel ten foot tall
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bolo
Black is our colour and white is your muse,
But with one love and one heart to share with you;
White is your colour and black is my muse,
But in peace and love to share this sweet muse with you;
For the colours of black and white are always around us,
And i am Bolo from the Land of Equal Rights and Justice.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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BLACK AND COLOUR's
Your dreams
Colour
Are
Black and
White...?
Enjoy the
'Colours'
Hear
Colour
Mean's
youngy girls...
Black and
White
Mean's
Old age girls...
Dream yours
Choise....
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Will The Real David Harris Please Stand Up
Will the real David Harris please stand up?
I say that not in vain,
but because I am not, sure which face I wear.
I could be the man with a full beard
and looks like D H Lawrence,
or maybe the man with a slight goatee
who looks as if he has escaped
from a chain gang somewhere,
I am not really sure.
I could be the man
with the moustache and chin beard
we have often seen on old paperback books,
or I could be the man
with the Clark Gable looks.
Then again I could be the man
who is clean-shaven with a playboy look
whom people call Walter.
Therefore when you meet me
who will be the real me?
4 March 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clean white sheets
Clean white sheets upon my bed
cradle my body but not my head.
My head's never cradled. It's too full.
It's too noisy. There is no lull.
I wash them routinely every week.
If I hung them outside the neighbors would speak.
Their words would complement the sight
of clean white sheets I use at night.
But they don't know how I'm awake
and how those sheets never give me a break.
I make the bed up and I think
'If only I could catch a wink.'
I'd praise those sheets on every day
and finally I'd be able to say.
'Clean white sheets upon my bed
you've found a way to cradle my head.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Does Anyone Know The Colour Of God
God made us different so we could give,
Different perceptions on how we should live,
If he knew it would've caused so much trouble,
He'd have left our planet as a pile of rubble.
He gave us all colours as a lasting gift,
I doubt that he dreamed it would cause such a rift,
But don't blame God for this shady assault,
He gave us all minds, it's entirely our fault.
We really need to focus attention,
As our world enters a dangerous dimension,
That togetherness is what will set the pace,
Not the colour of a persons face.
If the Human Race would just unite,
Then maybe for once we'd all see the light,
That to battle through our stormy weather,
The only way forward is to work together.
Take Lewis Hamilton from formula one,
A world champion second to none,
His Father was black, his mother white,
That never stopped him getting it right.
Another example is the man called Barack,
His mother was white his father black,
This proves beyond doubt what we can achieve,
If we get rid of prejudice and start to believe.
Obama's now president of the United States,
Proud that he walked through those White House gates,
The peoples selection has shown us all,
That regardless of colour we can all stand tall.
If everything we seen was drab and grey,
Would our world look as nice that way,
The flowers and animals on our beautiful planet,
The eagles and ospreys, the sea loving gannet.
Just look at the rainbow way up high,
Those united colours grace a wonderful sky,
The insects the trees all differing shades,
From the Sahara desert to the Everglades.
Regardless of colour you're a Human Being,
None have the right to think We're all seeing,
That one race is strong whilst the other is weak,
The meaning of life proves we're all unique.
If we'd only use our God given skill,
We could unite as one if we had the will,
It's part of our heritage the colour of our skin,
Be proud but united and our battle we'll win.
In essence all Humans are much the same,
As we try to survive in life's great game,
If we could set our differences aside,
The racists and bigots would have nowhere to hide.
Black and White would be no more,
We'd all be welcome at each others door,
The Human Race must now realise,
If we don't work as one our planet dies.
If only the world would follow Gods lead,
The preachers of hate would be forced to concede,
Your colour is beautiful it should not be confined,
It will take every shade to save humankind.
You may be black, brown or red even yellow or white,
Regardless of colour we we all know wrong from right.
If we stopped preaching hatred against one another,
We could actually live as sister and brother.
When you pray to your saviour do you honestly care,
What shade they might be as long as they're there,
This whole concept of colour by humans is flawed,
'' Does Anyone Know The Color Of God ''
The Colour Of Our Skin
Why are we obsessed with a persons colour,
When life without it would be so much duller,
We only get one chance in this life,
Yet another's shade can cause so much strife.
We'll buy black and white paint without thinking twice,
Decorate Yellow and Red and say it looks nice,
Yet when it comes to the colour of a persons face,
For some unknown reason we think of their race.
Why do we create this terrible mess?
We are all human beings, no more no less,
Regardless of colour it's perfectly true,
One colour can do anything the other can do.
Let's try and put this into perspective,
All other life forms are just not as selective,
Colour to them is mainly for disguise,
It is also an attraction which pleases their eyes.
If we looked at these others then maybe we'd learn,
That colours an asset not a matter for concern,
Here are some examples which will show there's a link,
If nothing else they should make you think.
If ten people died from different cultures,
Then from above appeared some vultures,
Would they look down and say, which colour will we eat?
Of course they wouldn't to them we're just meat.
As the lions stalked humans out in the bush,
They thought which one will we kill if it comes to a push,
There's red and yellow and black and white,
We're not really sure which one is right.
The leader of the pride said, go catch your game
Forget their colour they all taste the same
We don't really care about colour or creed
If we don't kill we die we must have our feed.
Their attitude to life is more clever than us,
Simple ideals they make less of a fuss,
Their aim in this life is just to survive,
If we weren't here all lifeforms would thrive.
Humankind's made in Gods image is what they say,
So why do some humans feel this way,
What colour is God if that's really true,
If truth be told we do not have a clue.
Racism is a purely a human trait,
So what's going to happen when we reach Heavens gate,
Will God harbour racist thoughts in his head,
Then say no black or white just yellow and red.
That's the dilemma facing us here,
There are some we accept while others we fear,
If we could accept who we are comes from within,
There would be no need to worry about,
‘'The Colour Of Our Skin ‘'
Chicago Sestina
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
poem by Brian Maloney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've met them down in the Cost and Accounting Department, clean-shaven and in white collars. They can't see a damn thing ridiculous about themselves... only about you.
quote by Jean Shepherd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Czech Parade Horses
Many folks set proudly in costume
Upon their handsome horse
Putting us into another century
It’s the Czech parade, of course
A deep chocolate brown
A Palomino all golden and tall
Paints as well were collected
And, folks, that’s not even all
They all stood for the camera
Decorated brightly too
Like jewelry on a model
Spruced up for me and you
A white horse standing proudly
But he never would have reared
He matched his owner delightfully
Who had a great snow white beard
One horse had a lady riding
He stood tall and didn’t slump
But the funny thing about it was
There was a tablecloth on his rump
A lot of preparations were involved
Put through a regimented course
But we just loved every single
Gorgeous Czech parade horse!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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