I used to lie between cool, clean sheets at night after I'd had a bath, after I had washed my hair and scrubbed my knuckles and finger-nails and teeth. Then I could lie quite still in the dark with my face to the window with the trees in it, and talk to God.
quote by Frances Farmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Opening Up To You
Opening up to you,
The night before,
red finger nails!
Dark finger nails!
White finger nails!
Blue finger nails!
To utter it out;
The thoughts of man,
The thoughts of woman,
The thoughts of a child! !
But, holding the torch and to touch you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Pedant
You thought I’d:
bleach
my teeth
paint
my nails
fix
my hair
prance
in heels
cook
large meals
f**k
each night
love
old friends
make
new plans –
instead I:
doubt
new plans
scorn
old friends
run
each night
miss
all meals
fall
in heels
tear
out hair
bite
plain nails
clench
back teeth
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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Dreaming of My Deceased Wife on the Night of the 20th Day of the First Month
Ten years living and dead have drawn apart
I do nothing to remember
But I can not forget
Your lonely grave a thousand miles away...
Nowhere can I talk of my sorrow --
Even if we met, how would you know me
My face full of dust
My hair like snow?
In the dark of night, a dream: suddenly, I am home
You by the window
Doing your hair
I look at you and can not speak
Your face is streaked by endless tears
Year after year must they break my heart
These moonlit nights?
That low pine grave?
poem by Su Shi
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Sweping Sound Early Morning
early morning the sound of sweeping the street
catches your attention,
you have just taken a bath, undergoing the
require cleansing of the body, combing the hair,
checking the nails for dirt, trimming your mustache,
wiping the wet portions of your body,
perfuming the side of the ears and the hands,
it is a ritual, it is like cleaning the body to give
the impression that you have also cleaned your soul
praying, talking to yourself, grasping for any message
from your dream last night, listening to the voice of God,
your conscience whispering what to do for the day
you take the last button, look at yourself in the mirror,
you take the deep breath, open the window, and then
face a new day. It is still you, along with you, talking to yourself.
You are brave, and now ready to face the demands of the brand new day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Proud Man
The humble man receives praise the way a clean window takes
the light of the sun.' Thomas Merton
-
The proud man
is like a dirty window.
He cannot permit to pass
the morning's glory;
whereas the humble man
dissolves in the light
of the rising sun
like a freshly scrubbed window.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Knuckles
Smack dab flat on my back
The solid ground began to crack
I pulled her down and down and down
I lost my breath
I thought I'd drown
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Her leg, my hand, a smoldering brand
Sticking to her wet body like sand
Her place, distaste, we fell from grace
Red smears across her face
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
White knuckles!
White knuckles!
White knuckles!
White knuckles
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Your Ego Die
The clock is a ring on her finger
That she checks
When she's out of time
The cigarette's a spike
In the spur of the moment
Digging in her side
She cuts the paper with nails
And her pen is bleeding poetry
Nervous from the sex that she got
And the wine that she spilled
On her clean, white, white sheets
Like to see you, baby,
All torn up inside
Girl you're dead already
So just let your ego die
Girl you're dead already
So just let your ego die
Die, die, die
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My mother's hands
My mother had thick, wide, hands,
callused from years of hard work.
I used to like to hold them,
feel their strength and warmth
Those were the hands that cared,
caressed and held her me close.
Those were the hands that scrubbed
and washed, cooked for us and nursed.
My mother had beautiful hands
and would paint her nails light pink.
They were warm, artistic hands
that could crochet well and knit.
Those were the hands that created,
made beautiful shawls and clothes.
Those were the hands that altered dresses
I wore ‘til they were old.
My mother had beautiful hands
that cooked and cleaned and scrubbed,
and within the things that those hands did
were bundles and bundles of love.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lets Talk It Over
(kenneth gamble / leon huff)
(talk it over)
(talk it over)
You seem to think that everything is more important than me, baby
As if to think my world would be lonely without you on the scene
Oh, its about time I moved up the ladder
Got to be number one or nothin at all
Lets sit down, talk it over
Take that finger from your face
Look at me for goodness sake
Talk it over, hey, talk about it
I do everything I can to make life easy for you, baby
But you take me for granted
What is our love, our love comin to? , oh
Its about time for us to have a talk
And maybe Im not satisfyin you boy
You gotta tell me cause this aint right
Why aint you oh-be holding me tight?
Lets sit down, talk it over
Take that finger from your face
Look at me for goodness sake
Talk it over, talk about it, baby
I said lets talk about it, baby
Ooh, talk about it, baby
Lets talk it over, yeah
Hey, talk it over
Hey, baby come on over here
Talk it over with me, baby, yeah
Hey, talk it over, baby
Talk, talk, talk, talk it over
Talk, talk, talk it over with me
Hey, talk it over
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dark River
Swift 'n deep you run “Dark River”
Flowing relentless to a distant sea
You care not what gets in your way
Oh, impassive taker and faux-giver
How many canyons have you carved?
How many great trees carried away?
How many sins have washed clean?
Not even Mother Nature you obey
Dark River brought love to me
Then quickly washed it away
Deep ‘neath a million ripples
My fragile heart she did betray
Flow on Dark River, flow on
A Briny fate awaits, flow on
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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About Her (Villanelle)
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being found down by the shore, of Ice Lake
She being the frozen nude woman
She being the apparent victim of a madman
She being pretty like a one of a kind snowflake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She, being frozen solid! Said the newsman
She being, negative 33 degrees below zero for God’s sake!
She being the frozen nude woman
She, must be vindicated by the hangman
She must be accounted for, never to forsake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She must have a name? Asked the police man
She must have had some identification for heaven’s sake
She being the frozen nude woman
She was a beautiful woman
She is now but a-heartache
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being the frozen nude woman
poem by William Cavanagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crawford washed her hands a lot. She washed her arms all the way up past her elbows. She just couldn't get enough done in that direction. She was compulsive about being clean, clean, clean!
Louisa & Her Blue Guitar
A naked thigh has much to talk about
If its just approached right.
Just like girls who talk too much
In crowded barrooms like last night.
Just like our lisa, aint that right?
Conversations overheard,
Sacred silver dollars become petty change.
Suddenly red lipstick finds itself
On the wrong side of her age.
Just like our lisa, aint that strange?
And washed nylons bleed dirty tears
From a strangers window pane.
The red light cannot change the mood
Of the blue guitar thats played. blue guitar.
The sound of painted nails are playing.
Hi-ho silver, add another glass.
Good intentions can beat up sick attention
And louisa finishes last.
Oh goody, aint life a blast.
Hollow glance.
May I have this dance?
The faces been worn and thin
cause shes been wishing on too many stars again.
Washed nylons bleed dirty tears
>from a strangers window pane.
The red light cannot change the mood
Of the blue guitar thats played.
Blue guitar.
Blue guitar.
Get in the car.
James reach, jewel lyric archive
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No brilliance is needed in the law. Nothing but common sense, and relatively clean finger nails.
quote by John Mortimer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sunday
4: 30 you rise
and kneel down
you chant the rosary
and mumble
your prayers
i hear vespers
oh, whispers
of your secret
wishes
i cover my ears
with this
thick blanket
then you leave
for church
and you find
it unnecessary
whether i must
go with you
5: 57
silence reigns
i cannot bear it
i turn on the radio
the news start
bombarding
about the flood
the storm
the waves that
roar of evacuation
and some deaths
i turn off the radio
i turn it on gain
i try the hip hop
on another station
i dance i sweat
things out from
my system i filter
what must come
in
i open the windows
and door to let light
come
in
i am ready now
to face the day
on a washed face
and brushed teeth
without breakfast
and coffee
let them see me
clean and happy
i am on a hunger
strike i am on
a strike for life
i take my walk
without you
i pretend that
this world is one
lonely man and
he does not wish
to talk
like the trees
like the pavement
like the leaves
that now with the
strong wind
keep on falling
blown away
yet uncomplaining
this is sunday
this is still a very lonely day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im An Agent
Send in eyes
Thoughts of crashing, all those pictures
Send in thoughts of john the god
Send in dreams
Lovers on corners, clean my sheets
Your only chance is break the state
We are clean
Dont ask, Im an agent
Send in change
Secretaries, nothing more
You can be replaced you know
Send in chance
Bad conditions, talk of leaving
Talk of walking out on me
Send in you
Send in pain, send in lies
Send in words that I believe
Send in you
Just watch the face, your sure to see
Something, give this game away
Send in you
Get her out, get her out
Call me, just dont say the name
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Figurehead
The sharp and open
Leave me alone
And sleeping less every night
As the days become heavier and weighted
Waiting
In the cold light
A noise
A scream tears my clothes as the figurines tighten
With spiders inside them
And dust on the lips of a vision of hell
I laughed in the mirror for the first time in a year^
A hundred other words blind me with your purity
Like an old painted doll in the throes of dance
I think about tomorrow
Please let me sleep
As i slip down the window
Freshly squashed fly
You mean nothing
You mean nothing
I can lose myself in chinese art and american girls
All the time
Lose me in the dark
Please do it right
Run into the night
I will lose myself tomorrow
Crimson pain
My heart explodes
My memory in a fire
And someone will listen
At least for a short while
I can never say no to anyone but you
Too many secrets
Too many lies
Writhing with hatred
Too many secrets
Please make it good tonight
But the same image haunts me
In sequence
In despair of time
I will never be clean again
I touched her eyes
Pressed my stained face
I will never be clean again
Touch her eyes
Press my stained face
I will never be clean again
I will never be clean again
I will never be clean again
I will never be clean again
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T.b. Sheets
Now listen, julie baby,
It ain't natural for you to cry in the midnight.
It ain't natural for you to cry way into midnight through,
Until the wee small hours long 'fore the break of dawn,
Oh lord, huh uh ha. ha.
Now julie, an' there ain't nothin' on my mind
More further 'way than what you're lookin' for.
I see the way you jumped at me, lord, from behind the door
And looked into my eyes.
Your a little star struck innuendos
Inadequacies an' foreign bodies,
And the sunlight shining through the crack in the window pane
Numbs my brain,
And the sunlight shining through the crack in the window pane
Numbs my brain, oh lord.
Ha, so open up the window and let me breathe.
I said open up the window, shh shh shh shh shh and let me breathe.
I'm looking down to the street below, lord, i cried for you,
Ha ha, i cried, i cried for you, ha ha. oh, lord.
The cool room, lord is a fool's room.
The cool room, lord is a fool's room.
And i can almost smell your t.b. sheets
And i can almost smell your t.b. sheets
On your sick bed.
I gotta go, i gotta go
And you said, "please stay, i wanna, i wanna,
I want a drink of water, i want a drink of water,
Go in the kitchen get me a drink of water."
I said, "i gotta go, i gotta go, baby."
I said, "i'end, i'll send somebody around here later.
You know we got john comin' around here later
With a bottle of wine for you, baby - but i gotta go."
The cool room, lord is a fool's room,
The cool room, lord, lord is a fool's room, a fool's room.
And i can almost smell your t.b. sheets,
I can almost smell your t.b. sheets, t.b.
I gotta go, i gotta go.
I'll send around, send around one that grumbles later on, babe.
We'll see what i can pick up for you, you know.
Yeah, i got a few things gotta do.
Don't worry about it, don't worry about it, don't worry.
Huh uh, go, go, go, i've gotta go, gotta go, gotta go, gotta go,
Gotta go, gotta go, huh uh, all right, all right, huh huh huh.
I turned on the radio,
If you wanna hear a few tunes, i'll turn on the radio for you.
There you go, there you go, there you go, baby, there you go, huh.
You'll be all right, too, huh huh, ha ha, yeah.
I know it ain't funny, it ain't runny at all, baby,
Always laying in the cool room, man, laying in the cool room,
In the cool room, in the cool room.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boys In The Trees
(carly simon)
Im home again in my old narrow bed
Where I grew tall and my feet hung over the end
The low beam room with the window looking out
On the soft summer garden
Where the boys grew in the trees
Here I grew guilty
And no one was at fault
Frightened by the power in every innocent thought
And the silent understanding passing down
>from daughter to daughter
Let the boys grow in the trees
Do you go to them or do you let them come to you
Do you stand in back afraid that youll intrude
Deny yourself and hope someone will see
And live like a flower
While the boys grew in the trees
Last night I slept in sheets the colour of fire
Tonight I lie alone again and curse my own desires
Sentenced first to burn and then to freeze
And watch by the window
Where the boys grew in the trees
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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