Mid-September Sun
Dry and ripening:
sea flat and shining
like burning glass.
Gulls floating
like ducks on a giant's pond.
Small Coppers, Blues and Hairstreaks
playing
like blown leaves
in parched grass.
Victoria plums,
blackberries.
This is the turning
of the year
when all that is thought of as ‘there'
is found to be ‘here',
when harvests are collected,
lifetimes are inspected,
(next time's cosmic seeds selected)
and the traveller sees fear
in his handful of dust.
(In his handful of dust) .
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Handful Of Dust
Your pressed your face against my heart
I felt that you could look right through me
We live in days that have no time
We live in times that now refuse me
And somewhere out beyond his town
There lies a world that now can turn us round
And we need it and we need it
Oh got to have some thing to believe in
Ive got enough to believe in you
What can I give just to know that its true ?
But Ive gotta begin to say
Now theyve taken my pride in this way.
How can you give me your love ?
I just cant give you enough
How can you give me your trust
With a handful of dust ?
I feel to thin before your eyes
I feel so naked under open skies
I once stood tall within this town
But now the time has come to bring us down.
We must have more with his power in hand
We must believe things will go as we planned
But Ive gotta begin to say
Now theyve taken my pride in this way.
How can you give me your love ?
I just cant give you enough
How can you give me your trust
With a handful of dust,
With a handful of dust ?
Making love through electric skies
Now I know where my fortune lies
Breathe the air and feel this land
cause its slipping through me
Like dust from my hand.
How can you give me your love ?
I just cant give you enough
How can you give me your trust
With a handful of dust ?
How can you give me your love ?
I just cant give you enough
How can you give me your trust
With a handful of dust ?
How can you give me your love ?
How can you give me your love ?
Now give me your love!
How can you give me your trust
With a handful of dust ?
How can you give me your love ?
Give me
How can you give me your trust
With a handful of dust ?
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Handful Of Dust
Your pressed your face against my heart
I felt that you could look right through me
we live in days that have no time
we live in times that now refuse me
and somewhere out beyond his town
there lies a world that now can turn us round
and we need it and we need it
oh got to have some thing to believe in
I've got enough to believe in you
what can I give just to know that it's true ?
But I've gotta begin to say
now they've taken my pride in this way.
How can you give me your love ?
I just can't give you enough
how can you give me your trust
with a handful of dust ?
I feel to thin before your eyes
I feel so naked under open skies
I once stood tall within this town
but now the time has come to bring us down.
We must have more with his power in hand
we must believe things will go as we planned
but I've gotta begin to say
now they've taken my pride in this way.
How can you give me your love ?
I just can't give you enough
how can you give me your trust
with a handful of dust,
with a handful of dust ?
Making love through electric skies
now I know where my fortune lies
breathe the air and feel this land
'cause it's slipping through me
like dust from my hand.
How can you give me your love ?
I just can't give you enough
how can you give me your trust
with a handful of dust ?
How can you give me your love ?
I just can't give you enough
how can you give me your trust
with a handful of dust ?
How can you give me your love ?
How can you give me your love ?
Now give me your love!
how can you give me your trust
with a handful of dust ?
How can you give me your love ?
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
quote by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Crooked Stick
First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust?
Second Traveller: A crooked stick.
First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust to arithmetic?
Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle?
First Traveller: No, a trick.
Second Traveller:It's worthless, leave it where it lies.
First Traveller: Wait; count ten;
Rub a little dust upon your eyes;
Now, look again.
Second Traveller: Well, and what the devil is it, then?
First Traveller: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know.
Second Traveller: Someone's loss!
First Traveller: Bend it, and you make of it a bow.
Break it, a cross.
Second Traveller: But it's all grown over with moss!
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Survival Kit
the grass accepts death
of all it has, leaves and roots
its color blends with
the dust and parched mud
cracking surfaces
it also knows to preserve
its species
burying resilient seeds on
the cracks
and when it rains it begins
to grow buds
roots and all and the whole
ground is green again
meanwhile on cracked grounds
where once the pond was
the whiskers of the catfish begin
to wriggle
shedding off mud around its skin
the fish begins to swim
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Handful Of Pain
(m - kusch l -deris)
I believe what we called a game
Is more than just a handful of pain
I still remember every hour
Every second has been hours
Far away from many burden
We met eyes without a curtain
Headless into a new sensation
Wether brain nor fear of patience
Careless we had a game to play
You crossed my way for twenty days
Why dont you just heal
The yearning that I feel?
Hey, what we called a game
Is more than just a handful of pain
We got the wrong ways
Cause I believe its more
Than just a handful of pain
We got the wrong ways
Cause I believe its more
Than just a handful of pain
Were different colours, diferent nature
Both we weer like pupil and teacher
Its a puzzle with two pieces
Still not done cause one still misses
Helpless I go through unknown stages
A chapter of life which has missing pages
Torture not owly phisical
It pains unbound, way way down
The yearning that I feel?
Hey, I believe what we called a game
Is more than just a handful of pain
We got the wrong ways
Cause I believe its more
Than just a handful of pain
We got the wrong ways
Cause I believe its more
Than just a handful of pain
Solo 1: michael
Solo 2: roland
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Memories
the memories have become brown leaves
with the slight touch of the wind
this summer
all of them fall to the ground
some will be blown far away
some will stay and crack
and become dust
in a little while,
i will hear the sound of everything
the wind blowing,
the falling of the leaves
the cracking and
then how the dust
whispers
that it still want to stay and wait
even longer
for the next season of rain
like some seeds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing but a handful of dust will fill the eyes of man.
A handful of couscous is better than Mecca and all its dust.
A handful of dust, four capitals and shit on all i possessed.
Our stars have trodden all the milk paths
our stars have trodden all the milk paths
spilled like dust for the souls to split
heaven and earth and the hell in stones cast
learn every single pebble in its aftermaths
murmuring through the galaxy that fails
at first whispers stricken by the lip crack - its holes
breathing stardust sucked in the mouth - its halls
mastering the silence and all its ways
still there we stood
still there we could
talk to the trees and survive uncut
by the grass swords wet with a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
they rained they crashed they touched the soil
chained in the castles talking through the walls
settled in our bodies spirit sealed forgiven
the first day of silence the first evil word
just begging for some more time to be given
a silent prayer heavenward heard
to hold a star in the first of its falls
now we wait and wait and weigh the day
when the sky parchment silently unrolls
to gather above all the silent cries
to gather the dust and its silent calls
so that we can
that we can again
talk to the trees and still be uncut
by the grass swords wet in a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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With the people, for the people, by the people. I crack up when I hear it; I say, with the handful, for the handful, by the handful, cause that's what really happens.
quote by Fannie Lou Hamer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You see that a handful of times every year where a person that hasn't been playing that well pops up and wins.
quote by Karrie Webb
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more — the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort — to death; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires — and expires, too soon — too soon before life itself.
quote by Joseph Conrad
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Where The Streets Have No Names
I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
I want to feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
The city's aflood
And our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust
I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
Our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, and I see love
See our love turn to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wind Blows Rustling Through The Bush
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and only it and God knows where it is going,
when it disappears and nothing move in the veldt
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
An ibises raises gleaming copper into the sky
while God finds some answers for His earth,
and it chatters while big wings slam against the wind,
as it flies high over a small wooded hillock.
Guinea fowl peck along in the red grass,
after the rain some small bulbs are growing,
some lovely flowers astonish the veldt
but still this world is wounded by man.
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Women Sometimes
women sometimes
are a handful, a breastful,
a body beautiful,
you think they are so easy
to handle,
cutie pie, sweetie pie,
pity pie?
sure. they're a handful
of pretty pretty breastful
pretty, pretty petty bodies..
fondle, coddle, and
lots of doodles...
but oh, without them,
what will this world of mine be?
a desert. a dry pond.
a well without water.
drought the whole year round.
cracking lips.
labyrinths without an exit.
tunnels without light.
dogs without a master.
birds unfed and dead.
skulls without a skin.
bones without flesh.
blood without veins.
nails without fingers.
pen without a paper.
milk without water.
bed without blankets and pillows.
hands without fingers.
face without eyes.
and so on and so forth.
let me have them all
in my crowded room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Within This Space
Within this space upon this spot
Hatred blinded worse than dust
Repression and anger crushed
More surely than any falling concrete
And once again
Innocence became death's victim,
Time holds no strong dominion here
Life's cycle ceased it’s turning
Gone, all hope, all dreams of future
A dark and mournful paradox
A bleak empty city lot
which holds a million beating hearts
They were but seconds on time's clock
yet each did not fulfil its turning.
Only harvested moments of agony.
in hatred's deadly ripening
carried spitefully,
world wide, upon uncaring wings
Here in this space, perverse sacrifice
a warped priesthood in service
to an unwanting and unwilling God.
Who must have wept blood once more
To the chilling echo's
of innocence's bravest departures
Here in this mummified dust blown city
who's only industries are war and death
childhood’s heart can hold no hope
when a God of cruellty is held aloft
all innocence is dust
and a creed of hatred sooths
the poverty, pain and hunger's yearning
Within this dark space, is loneliness
Hatred blinding worse than dust
Oppression and anger crushing
More surely than any falling concrete
And once again
Innocence becomes death’s instrument
poem by Bill Mitton
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