My Mournful Memorial
As I ambled through a maze of stony monoliths
on a manicured green grassed carpet.
My sadden eyes were overwhelmed with myriad
names and dates of yesteryear's deceased.
Each encounter confronted conveyed to me
a sad reminder of Mans mortality.
All had some story to tell if they could speak.
Most I hope died naturally, others unnaturally.
Their demise, a mise en scène mournfully staged
for the most part many agonized years ago.
Suddenly like a fated mirage my son materialized.
A victim of a vicious war fought on foreign soil.
I knelt before his grimly, graven grave
and placed a flag and flowery wreath..then wept.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Vicious Games
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I cared
So I played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I was afraid
To go under
Afraid to see
When I closed my eyes
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I care
I just played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Now that youre gone
And you have left me
I had to learn
I had to learn how much it hurts
To play those vicious games
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vicious Games
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I cared
So I played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I was afraid
To go under
Afraid to see
When I closed my eyes
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I care
I just played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Now that youre gone
And you have left me
I had to learn
I had to learn how much it hurts
To play those vicious games
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I had a cat and my lovely cat was ill
I had a cat and my lovely cat was ill
It was admitted in hospital for treatment,
Previous day it fought with a cobra to kill,
The cobra suddenly escaped to save but died,
It moves around my house to kill the snakes,
And it is just like a tiger and guards my house,
My children always play with it and feed it cakes,
Alas! why is it not recovered but died?
Dead body of my cat is put on sofa and all wept,
Why, pretty thing! could you not live with us all?
One by one all kissed it and sadly said it has slept,
If it is not seen at home tiger, tiger we used to call,
Alas1 with a bur-i-al ceremony in a grave it is kept,
All wept and wept and said, what a sweet fall!
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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My eyes tell the storyBut m
The pain never goes away;
The wounds will never heal.
The evil that was done to me by you.
But my eyes they tell the story of hurt and pain.
The black will never turn to gray;
The blood will not congeal.
The violence is never through;
The past does not depart.
Time dosent heal the past.
Part sufferer, part comforter,
Part victim, part new song;
Becuase of you my eyes tell a nasty story.
A story with no glory.
I was and am the victim of you.
Your eyes were wild with rage.
My eyes told the tell of fear
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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No "mise en scene" has the right to be repeated, just as no two personalities are ever the same. As soon as a "mise en scene" turns into a sign, a cliche, a concept (however original it may be), then the whole thing - characters, situation, psychology - become schematic and false.
quote by Andrei Tarkovsky
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress
I
The arts are old, old as the stones
From which man carved the sphinx austere.
Deep are the days the old arts bring:
Ten thousand years of yesteryear.
II
She is madonna in an art
As wild and young as her sweet eyes:
A frail dew flower from this hot lamp
That is today's divine surprise.
Despite raw lights and gloating mobs
She is not seared: a picture still:
Rare silk the fine director's hand
May weave for magic if he will.
When ancient films have crumbled like
Papyrus rolls of Egypt's day,
Let the dust speak: "Her pride was high,
All but the artist hid away:
"Kin to the myriad artist clan
Since time began, whose work is dear."
The deep new ages come with her,
Tomorrow's years of yesteryear.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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To A Friend of My Youth
We met in childhood—careless met,
Nor wept to think that we must sever;
We parted with no fond regret—
No tear lest we should part forever.
Our souls had not commingled then;
The wreath of Friendship had not bound us;
We knew not we should meet again,—
And yet our parting did not wound us.
Again we met—long years have flown,
The sun of youth has risen o'er us,
And friends we loved have smiled and gone,
And changing scenes have pass'd before us.—
We meet!—but not again to part,
Without one transient pang of mourning;
Oh no! the burning tear would start,
At thought of joys no more returning.
For we have stray'd at silent eve,
Beneath the crescent brightly beaming,
And social converse loved to weave,
Around the warm hearth cheerful gleaming.
We yet may part—in distant land
Afar to roam we know not whither—
But still be Friendship's flowery band
The wreath that twines our souls together.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Green Eyes
Those gorgoues green eyes of yours how could I forget? I'm afraid in my memory they will always live
The memory of those eyes I'm afraid will be with me forever, yes the memory of them I'll never be able to sever
I use to see those green eyes everyday, all I hope now is that over the years they haven't changed
In those green eyes I use to get lost, never once thinking about if I were to make them mine, what me it would cost
I use to count the hours, the minutes, the seconds til you I would see again, even though I told everyone otherwise, I wanted you desperatly to be so much more than a friend
Even though I knew you felt the same way about me, in the back of my mind was a constant reminder of how we couldn't be
That very thought use to cause me so much pain, but I forced myself to move on, and even though it's hard to think about I know you've probably done the same
There are days when I think about you and I hope you're doing fine, but I hope I never see you or those green eyes again not for your sake but for mine
Because I know that if I ever come face to face with those gorgoues green eyes of yours again, that resistance will be futile, and this time around we'll definatly end up being more that friends
poem by Tiger Lily Love
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Love Is A Mans World
Dont you know that the girl left a long time ago
And I find that she took half the blood that I own
And it pains me to think about wasting way the years
So Ill just wash this dirty whiskey glass with my tears
Love is a mans world
Love is a mans world
Love is a mans world
Its a crime the way weve been treatin each other
And a maze in between the real me and the lover
Im tired of believing that I lost all my senses
I never though my imaginary dream would be so expensive
Love is a mans world
Love is a mans world
Love is a mans world
Love is a mans world (etc fade)
song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Grave Of The Unknown Soldier
He was a brave soldier he died young and brave
And for more than six decades he lay in his grave
And still at the dawning of each war memorial day
At his grave site a young bugler the last post does play.
Known as the Unknown Soldier one without a name
Still he had a mum and a dad just the same
And when he did not return home when the fighting was done
They grieved at their loss and they wept for their son.
The war to end all wars of all wars 'tis said
But more wars are fought and we have more war dead
And at the grave of the unknown soldier the last post is played
And to honour the war dead another parade.
Old war men do tell us young soldiers fight and die
For freedom and liberty that is a lie
They went to war when young they are now old and gray
Some grow old not wiser some are known to say.
That they were fighting for freedom and justice they believed to be true
And they were quite gallant to give them their due
But many deprived of their human rights in the World of today
And that does seem a very sad thing for to say.
With heads bowed old men showing their years in gray
At the grave of the Unknown Soldier at the dawn of the day
In silence do listen as a young bugler the last post does play
For one who fought and died in a war far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Last days of an old dog
The last days
Of an old dog
Forgotten rays
Of last hope
She was the first
I trained from the start
A dog- just a dog
Some of you may say at first
But she was with me every part
She never betrayed behind fog
The last days
Nothing to do
Lost rays
Of a sun to you
I’ll never forget
The last eleven years
You may call me mad
Because I shed
So many tears
For an old pet
She was loyal
Every time
She was true
Never wrong
People have lied
my dog did not
The last days
The last corridor to go
The green mile
The green on a grave
She always fought
Whatever we thought
But her latest fight
Can’t be won with pride
It’s the end of her life
Memories will ever survive
I will miss her
Tears not to share
The last days
The last rays
Of honest, loyal eyes
Of one, who never lies
poem by Michael Saurer
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On The Flag Of The Southern Cross
On the flagpost in the freshening winds the flag of the Southern Cross
That brave workers once fought under does flap and wave and toss
In Ballarat in Australia where history was made
For their rights brave men died fighting at the Eureka Stockade
The Southern Cross above where they fought in the southern winds did blow
There history was created one hundred and fifty four years ago
The happening at Ballarat became known of Worldwide
Some of the miners who fought the Government troops were badly injured and some even died
For workers rights in Ballarat the price in human blood was paid
For the rights of a fair go it did not seem a fair trade
Each time I see the flag of the Southern Cross Ballarat comes to mind
The miners there who fought for workers rights were of the bravest kind
That great flag has a history for historians to recall
It surely stands for workers rights and a fair go for all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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That a great battle must soon be fought no one could doubt; but, in the apparent and perhaps real absence of plan on the part of Lee, it was impossible to foretell the precise scene of the encounter.
quote by Edward Everett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence of the victim
I was a victim.
I am not any longer.
But within my head and heart I still am the victim.
I cant forget nor can I move on.
I never spoke out.
I had the silence of a victim.
To afraid to speak.
Silence of the victim.
I didnt speak untill it was to late.
More crap followed.
I put my family in danger.
I should of kept shut.
Most of it never was told.
Cos I had the silence of the victim.
Never did dare to speak.
To be the victim
It was hard.
But still I seem to be that victim.
I cant move on.
I am weak
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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The Dying Seneca
HE died not as the martyr dies,
Wrapped in his living shroud of flame;
He fell not as the warrior falls,
Gasping upon the field of fame;
A gentler passage to the grave,
The murderer's softened fury gave.
Rome's slaughtered sons and blazing piles
Had tracked the purpled demon's path,
And yet another victim lived
To fill the fiery scroll of wrath;
Could not imperial vengeance spare
His furrowed brow and silver hair?
The field was sown with noble blood,
The harvest reaped in burning tears,
When, rolling up its crimson flood,
Broke the long-gathering tide of years;
His diadem was rent away,
And beggars trampled on his clay.
None wept, -none pitied;- they who knelt
At morning by the despot's throne,
At evening dashed the laurelled bust,
And spurned the wreaths themselves had strown;
The shout of triumph echoed wide,
The self-stung reptile writhed and died!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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You See.
You see the way she looked
when father died.
That lost
in a dark maze gaze;
that emptied
of being stare,
still there
years later
as could be expected
of a devoted wife.
Could see
in her eyes
worlds set ablaze
and burnt out
leaving just gutted ruins
where love had been
and lived and slept.
You see the way she studied
the roofs of houses
from her window
of her lonely room;
grey tiles and skies
with mists and gloom.
You see her now
mind gone
to dementia’s claim;
hardly remembering
a face or place or name;
but still that lost look
that drowning
in a maze of words
in some dark
foreign language book.
poem by Terry Collett
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Innocence
Talk to me of the innocent,
With hope in their eyes,
And love in their hearts,
Tell me their story,
Of fields of green and skies of blue,
And their love of me and you,
Lost in a foreign land,
We wind our way down winding roads,
Steady in faith, strong in heart, sure of foot,
Where were you when the earth shook?
What toil and trouble it took!
For us to look back,
Too late now, we cry,
So onward we go to new lands,
Where no one has the upper hand,
Where life can still be grand,
Where I can just be a man!
Purple skies and moonless nights,
Stars lace the heavens with their lights,
In each mans eyes, I see,
His hearts light shining, bright and free!
27 June 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Nightmare Inner Vision
Dark birds gather at my grave
Trying to unearth the remains of my defeat;
The hills bleed with disease,
No one will survive;
All the dreamless eyes
Are cold pools of cruelty
That plot brotherly demise,
And everyone collects
Battlefield coins
From the disrespected dead.
Ministers of the perverse
Pay allegiance to pornographic plans
To destroy innocence and decency,
Create a serfdom of the damned!
Even flowers innocently placed
In young girls’ hair,
Turn into razor blades
Slitting the wrists of love.
Human beings will become
Biblically desperate and vicious
Until there is nothing left
But rocks and stony crags
Too frightened to cover this species.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Anniversary (November 24)
The treasure of trees
golden mounds
on the green ground.
Urged by the morning sun
yellow leaves
coruscate in chilled air
radiant
with the afterglow of a summer
well lived.
But thirty-two years ago
the light died
when dark death’s hand
seized your struggling heart.
We buried you,
bright treasure,
under still
green grass.
The mud from your grave
clung to our shoes
as we wept our grief
in bright puffs of white breath
ascending like incense
into the good sky.
And thirty-two years later
I still choke on bitter sorrow.
Tears
still sting my eyes.
But looking through the bright window,
I see in November’s gold,
a faint reflection
of the enduring glory
that lights your
endless day.
poem by Steven Federle
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Bigtime Operators
Well, they told me to come on over
I made my way to new york
And they tried to have me deported
Stop me from getting work
Blacklisted me all over
They were vicious and they were mean
They were bigtime operators
Baby, on the music business scene
Oh, they looked like politicians
But underneath they were thugs
And they spread malicious rumours
Threatened to have me busted for drugs
They had nothing on me
Oh man, I was really clean
But they were bigtime operators
On the music business scene
They put a bug in my apartment
To listen in on my calls
I was looking for some motivation
I couldnt find any, any motivation at all
They were very desperate people
Riding in long black limousines
But they were bigtime operators
On the music business scene
They were glorified by the media
They were heroes who had names
They said that they would bury me
If I didnt play their game
They said I didnt know the score
And that I was young and green
They were bigame operators
On the music business scene
Tried to hold me to a phoney contract
I said I didnt agree
Had to get out of the clutches
Had to go underground you see
Now Im living in another country
But I know exactly just where Ive been
Stay away from bigtime operators
Baby, on the music business scene
Well, baby bigtime operators
On the music business scene
Oh baby, bigtime operators
On the music business scene
Well, full of names and places
Baby, you know who I mean
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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