Lament
Someone is dead.
Even the trees know it,
those poor old dancers who come on lewdly,
all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
I think…
I think I could have stopped it,
if I'd been as firm as a nurse
or noticed the neck of the driver
as he cheated the crosstown lights;
or later in the evening,
if I'd held my napkin over my mouth.
I think I could…
if I'd been different, or wise, or calm,
I think I could have charmed the table,
the stained dish or the hand of the dealer.
But it's done.
It's all used up.
There's no doubt about the trees
spreading their thin feet into the dry grass.
A Canada goose rides up,
spread out like a gray suede shirt,
honking his nose into the March wind.
In the entryway a cat breathes calmly
into her watery blue fur.
The supper dishes are over and the sun
unaccustomed to anything else
goes an the way down.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
Dawning
it is dawning
gray wraps the trees and grass in black
as i walk along this boulevard
the light comes
thru the shutters of the clouds
this morning
rays like hands touch me
there is warmth
spreading on my face
there is fire
in my heart
i look at the stretch of
of acacia trees where the street lights
slowly close one by one
and at this moment
the years spread themselves
like some green grass
where i rest my weary soul
in my mind
i always remember you
on my side i can stll feel the warmth
of your skin
it simply dawned in me
the fire of yesterday
and the coldness was gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blue Suede Shoes
Recorded live at the varsity stadium, toronto, 13 september 1969
-hello! a-good evening!
Ah!
Okay?
Okay, were just gonna do numbers that we know, you know, cause weve never played together before.
Okay.
Well, its a one for the money, two for the show,
Three to get ready, now go, cat, go!
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off them blue suede shoes.
Well, you can knock me down, step in my face,
Slander my name all over the place;
Do anything that you wanna do,
But, aw-aw, honey, lay off them shoes.
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off them blue suede shoes.
Well, you can burn my house, steal my car,
Drink my liquor from the old fruit jar.
Do anything that you wanna do,
But, aw-aw, honey, lay off them shoes.
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off them blue suede shoes.
Well, hey!
Well, its blue, blue, blue suede shoes,
Hey, blue, blue, blue suede shoes,
Hey, blue, blue, blue suede shoes,
Hey, blue, blue, blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off my blue suede shoes.
-thank you!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Suede Shoes
Recorded live at the varsity stadium, toronto, 13 september 1969
-hello! a-good evening!
Ah!
Okay?
Okay, were just gonna do numbers that we know, you know, cause weve never played together before.
Okay.
Well, its a one for the money, two for the show,
Three to get ready, now go, cat, go!
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off them blue suede shoes.
Well, you can knock me down, step in my face,
Slander my name all over the place;
Do anything that you wanna do,
But, aw-aw, honey, lay off them shoes.
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off them blue suede shoes.
Well, you can burn my house, steal my car,
Drink my liquor from the old fruit jar.
Do anything that you wanna do,
But, aw-aw, honey, lay off them shoes.
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off them blue suede shoes.
Well, hey!
Well, its blue, blue, blue suede shoes,
Hey, blue, blue, blue suede shoes,
Hey, blue, blue, blue suede shoes,
Hey, blue, blue, blue suede shoes.
Well, you can do anything
But lay off my blue suede shoes.
-thank you!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't be a tree!
Not a planted tree to stay at a place,
Spreading the roots in underground space,
Looking for the sun to beg for the light,
Photosynthesis, reproduce and rot.
When the wind blows, to shake our heads,
We are not the trees that have no leads,
During the storm, to get uprooted and fall,
We are the trees that are too rigid, not flexible.
For the fallen leaves, the trees never cry,
For the fallen human, we have to voice and try,
We are the human, the rulers of the earth,
Not the trees of the soil that has no mirth.
Let us not lick the feet of anyone for our survival,
Let us not get tickled with someone's failure,
Let us not be the fools to get hoodwinked and cheated,
Let us be the survivors conquering the thoughts.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Not Able To Recall Each Word Anymore...
yes, we burn all the leaves
we do not really like to see the ashes on the ground
so we summon the rain
to spread the foul smell of the dead
thin
and unrecognizable and we ask the grass
to spread
as quickly as possible
to cover the tracks
and then that summer what we see
we like to see
green grass, blue sky, fresh air
flying birds, fluttering green butterflies
we love those conversations
though we do not recall each word anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After That.
After that
the only
thing she thought
mattered was
the sunlight
coming through
the tall trees
as you and
she lay on
your backs by
the large pond
listening
to birdsong
and the wind
coming through
the branches
and she there
full of life
breathing in
the sharp air
and she said
Van Gogh could
have captured
this morning
with the trees
and sunlight
and the way
the wind moves
through branches
and you said
but Renoir
despite his
arthritic
hands could have
captured your
young beauty
on canvas
somewhere off
a dog barked
a cow mooed
and your hand
like a crab
moved over
the green grass
and touched her
small warm hand
and she smiled
like da Vinci's
painting of
the Mona
Lisa you'd
seen in that
old art book
in the school
library
tucked between
a battered
old atlas
and book of
poetry
which no one
ever read
no doubt the
pond's still there
the sunlight
and the wind
but she's not
she gone now
all silent
amongst the
peaceful dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Blue Suede Shoes
You can knock me down,
Slap my face
Slander my name
All over the place
Do anything that you want to do,
But oh oh honey,
Lay of them blue suede shoes
Now don't you step
On my blue suede shoes
Well you can do anything
But lay of them blue suede shoes
Ah go!
You can burn my house,
Steal my car,
Drink my liquor
From a old fruit jar
Do anything
That you want to do,
But ah ah honey,
Lay of them blue suede shoes
And don't you step
On my blue suede shoes, please
Well you can do anything
But lay of them blue suede shoes
Ah go, hit it, Carl (Perkins)!
Well blue blue,
Blue suede shoes
Yeah blue blue,
Blue Suede shoes
Blue blue blue,
Blue suede shoes
Yeah brown brown
Brown suede boots
Yeah brown brown
Brown suede boots
Well you can do anything
But lay of them blue suede shoes
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ice Waltz
I recall I stood in snow that didn't,
Freeze me to my core.
Trees were made of the purest crystal.
Moonlight shone through the prisms,
Creating a dazzling spectacle.
A dress of purple billowed at my feet,
And I wore Cinderella's shoes.
Then a beautiful man emerged from,
The cover of the veil of shadows.
Firm conviction greeted me yet I,
Was reassured by a genteel smile.
The lovely stranger took my hand,
Oh ever so sweetly.
He held me close and guided me.
And so we danced steadily with a,
Graceful air that could not be matched.
We danced over a frozen pond, our feet,
Seemed not to fracture the brittle surface.
The winter air felt like the July wind.
All was cold but in truth was hot.
I can still feel his hand on the,
Base of my spine.
His face was as calm was the flow,
Of a lazy river.
My soul was lulled to a peace I never knew.
At once, we moved in for a kiss,
As our thoughts were seemingly one.
But no, it was not my destiny.
It was only a sweet lie conjured by sleep.
I wished that ice waltz would last forever.
poem by Lauren Kapusta
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The Bed of the World
The great bed of the world
arching over graves
over Babi Yar
with its multitude of bones,
with battalions of screams
frozen in a concrete glacier,
with pillows of earth
and comforters of green grass
covering all that dead flesh.
Dead flesh shall live again-
a dream in god's endless night-
rise green out of the earth
as grass, as trees, as tomato stalks
bearing a bright red fruit
and the feuds of man-and womankind
shall be fed again from the same seeds:
the tomato, the mythic pomegranate, the biblical apple
all rising from the grass that springs
out of the screams of stopped mouths.
Sometimes I dream
that my bed is built over a ravine,
the ravine of Babi Yar, any ravine
where thousands died
and I moan in pleasure to propitiate the earth,
to make fruit ripen
and trees wave green leaves like banners
all because love can touch me still.
It is never enough to create.
The beast must feed its meat teeth too.
Out of the screaming mouth of earth
we feed the grass that covers
all our beds.
I wish I did not know all that I know.
Galaxies spin, grass grows, and people kill.
We are the only race to murder for our dreams-
and not for hunger,
hungering for dreams
poem by Erica Jong
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The battle had passed from the height
The battle has passed from the height,
And still did evening fall;
While heaven with its restful night
Gloriously canopied all.
The dead around were sleeping
On heath and granite grey,
And the dying their last watch were keeping
In the closing of the day.
*
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How golden bright from earth and heaven
The summer day declines!
How gloriously o'er land and sea
The parting sunbeam shines!
There is a voice in the wind that waves
Those bright rejoicing trees.
Not a vapour had stained the breezeless blue,
Not a cloud had dimmed the sun,
From the time of morning's earliest dew
Till the summer day was done.
And all as pure and all as bright
The sun of evening died,
And purer still its parting light
Shone on Lake Elnor's tide.
Waveless and calm lies that silent deep
In its wilderness of moors,
Solemn and soft the moonbeams sleep
Upon its heathy shores.
The deer are gathered to their rest,
The wild sheep seek the fold.
Only some spires of bright green grass
Transparently in sunshine quivering.
The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old grey stone,
In some warm nook a couc hto find.
In all the lonely landscape round
I see no light and hear no sound,
Except the wind that far away
Comes sighing o'er the healthy sea.
Lady, in thy palace hall,
Once perchance thy face was seen;
Can no memory now recall
Thought again to what has been?
poem by Emily Brontë from The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë (1908)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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After Rain
The rain of a night and a day and a night
Stops at the light
Of this pale choked day. The peering sun
Sees what has been done.
The road under the trees has a border new
of purple hue
Inside the border of bright thin grass:
For all that has
Been left by November of leaves is torn
From hazel and thorn
And the greater trees. Throughout the copse
No dead leaf drops
On grey grass, green moss, burnt-orange fern,
At the wind's return:
The leaflets out of the ash-tree shed
Are thinly spread
In the road, like little black fish, inlaid,
As if they played.
What hangs from the myriad branches down there
So hard and bare
Is twelve yellow apples lovely to see
On one crab-tree.
And on each twig of every tree in the dell
Uncountable
Crystals both dark and bright of the the rain
That begins again.
poem by Edward Thomas
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To Green
Oh! my green; Oh! my green
Where are you? Where can be seen?
Up above my chin
You are so thin;
I held you,
Saw you on tiny drops
Shining and shining
After shower found you smiling.
Where are you - going thin and thin
Oh! my green, Oh! my green.
Tempest came;
Came wearing wealthy jackets
Laid the traps showing lollypops.
It took my hands charmed on me
Studded with rubies (like) to fake me
Than I scramble and long for you
Repent my sin
Oh! my green, Oh! my green.
poem by Hrushikesha Mohanty
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Crosstown Traffic
You jump in front of my car
When you know all the time
That 90 miles an hour Girl Is the speed I drive
You tell me it's all right
You don't mind a little pain
You say you just want me to take you for a drive
You're just like CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
So hard to get through you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
I don't need to run over you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
All you do is slow me down
But I'm tryin' to get on the other side of town
I'm not the only soul who's accused of hit and run
Tire tracks all across your back I can see you've had your fun
But a-darling
Can't you see my signal's turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight ahead
You're just like CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
So hard to get through you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
I don't need to run over you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
All you do is slow me down
But I got better things on the other side of town
Yeah Yeah Crosstown traffic
Look out LOOK OUT Look out Baby
Coming through CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
Yeah Yeah Look out CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
Yeah Yeah LOOK OUT Look out Look out Baby
CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC LOOK OUT YEAH
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sicilian Emigrant’s Song
O—eh—lee! La—la!
Donna! Donna!
Blue is the sky of Palermo;
Blue is the little bay;
And dost thou remember the orange and fig,
The lively sun and the sea breeze at evening?
Hey—la!
Donna! Donna! Maria!
O—eh—li! La—la!
Donna! Donna!
Gray is the sky of this land.
Gray and green is the water.
I see no trees, dost thou? The wind
Is cold for the big woman there with the candle.
Hey—la!
Donna! Donna! Maria!
O—eh—li! O—la!
Donna! Donna!
I sang thee by the blue waters;
I sing thee here in the gray dawning.
Kiss, for I put down my guitar;
I’ll sing thee more songs after the landing.
O Jesu, I love thee!
Donna! Donna! Maria!
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Trees Should Be Leisured
Trees should be leisured.
And given our priority.
Treated as if royality.
Without them no one breathes.
Trees should be leisured.
And stroked and pampered as if pets.
Instead of showing them neglect...
With a chopping down they get.
Trees should be leisured.
Like those we say we love.
Like favorite foods we eat to please.
Or things to ask from God above.
Trees should be leisured.
And given our priority.
Treated as if royality.
Without them no one breathes.
All trees should leisure.
Not be chopped and sold as huts!
To be then neglected or resold,
Or abandoned to give up!
Trees should be leisured.
And stroked and pampered as if pets.
Instead of showing them neglect...
With a chopping down they get.
All trees should leisure.
Since without them no one breathes.
All trees should leisure.
Since without them no one breathes.
And if from us trees should leave...
We would not here be needed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Flaming Dragon Curry
On the menu, I spotted Flaming Dragon Curry,
But, to try this dish, I am in no particular hurry;
It has onions, red peppers, and chicken (diced) ,
Steeped in seasoning, herbs, and Indian spice.
I'd probably be sitting there with streaming eyes:
For me to try this dish, I think, would not be wise.
As well as watery eyes, my mouth would be on fire;
Neither of which is a sensation I particularly desire.
Five red chillies indicated it was the hottest dish there;
Certainly way too hot for my taste-buds to ever bear.
I consider that this curry is only for the very brave;
It is certainly not a dish that I would ever crave.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Crosstown Traffic
You jump in front of my car when you,
You know all the time that
Ninty miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive
You tell me it's alright, you don't mind a little pain
You say you just want me to take you for a ride
You're just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don't need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I'm tryin' to get on the other side of town
I'm not the only soul who's accused of hit and run
Tire tracks all across your back
I can see you had your fun
But darlin' can't you see my signals turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight up ahead
You're just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don't need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I got better things on the other side of town
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Day
The trees rustle; the wind blows
Merrily out of the town;
The shadows creep, the sun goes
Steadily over and down.
In a brown gloom the moats gleam;
Slender the sweet wife stands;
Her lips are red; her eyes dream;
Kisses are warm on her hands.
The child moans; the hours slip
Bitterly over her head:
In a gray dusk, the tears drip;
Mother is up there-dead.
The hermit hears the strange bright
Murmur of life at play;
In the waste day and waste night
Times to rebel and to pray.
The laborer toils in gray wise,
Godlike and patient and calm;
The beggar moans; his bleared eyes
Measure the dust in his palm.
The wise man, marks the flow and ebb
Hidden and held aloof:
In his deep mind is laid the web,
Shuttles are driving the woof.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening: Ponte Al Mare, Pisa
I.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening’s breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.
II.
There is no dew on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;
And in the inconstant motion of the breeze
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirled about the pavement of the town.
III.
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay,
Immovably unquiet, and forever
It trembles, but it never fades away;
Go to the...
You, being changed, will find it then as now.
IV.
The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut
By darkest barriers of cinereous cloud,
Like mountain over mountain huddled--but
Growing and moving upwards in a crowd,
And over it a space of watery blue,
Which the keen evening star is shining through.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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