An Old Tune, An Old Song
The Far Right tear bandages
Off racial wounds
With talk about food stamps;
Like their ancestors,
They see no good in us,
Even though our people toiled
For two and half centuries
Without recompense.
They rip these bandages off
Knowing full well they resonate
With the klans.
Still we squared our shoulders
And hold our heads high
For it's an old tune,
An old song.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Related quotes
A Reaction...
we still have our flag
flying high every Monday
on Fridays we fold them
together as one
national treasure
there are no wars here
that may tear the flags
for more bandages
i am glad and still proud
to be Filipino.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whenever I Go There
Whenever I go there everything is changed
The stamps on the bandages the titles
Of the professors of water
The portrait of Glare the reasons for
The white mourning
In new rocks new insects are sitting
With the lights off
And once more I remember that the beginning
Is broken
No wonder the addresses are torn
To which I make my way eating the silence of animals
Offering snow to the darkness
Today belongs to few and tomorrow to no one
poem by William Stanley Merwin
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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Faye the eye of the Storm Part 4
I used to take her out once a month for her food stamps.She didn't even appreciate what I did for her. Thanks to me she didn't lose the food stamps because I told the social worker. She really needed her food stamps live on. written 8/17/08 Posted 11/9/08
poem by Susie Sunshine
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Scar Tissue, And Rust!
scar tissue, and rust...
dust long standing
in the corner by the bed.
fingerprints on the pane
of the window unopened.
soot on the hands
that tended the last fire.
the lone bullet in the chamber,
the tongue swollen, and parched.
scriptures written on
the bandages of the wounded
and dying....
will the preacher say a few words
as the people bow their heads?
the skies promise rain,
and the last wind is still!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Never Ride Faster Than My Angel Can Fly
I live my days on the wild side,
My Love and life is my wild ride
I travel to and from many lands
I have traveled the hardball and the many sands
I am a true believer in my good Lord
But my bad side can get me literally floored.
I have an Angel that watches my back,
She has all the common sense that I do lack.
So,
I never ride faster than my angel can fly
There is no need telling you all the whys
She holds me and comforts me in my time of need,
And bandages my heart when it starts to bleed.
(repeat)
My angel watches over me, she curbs my behavior
My angel is often been my heavenly savior
My motorcycle flies down the road to redemption
And my Angel keeps me from the lords detention.
So,
I never ride faster than my angel can fly
There is no need telling you all the whys
She holds me and comforts me in my time of need,
And bandages my heart when it starts to bleed.
(repeat)
Motorcyle angel, angel in my heart
Always with me so my life don't fall apart
My heavenly body, my winged delight,
Always has my back in life's wild fight.
So,
I never ride faster than my angel can fly
There is no need telling you all the whys
She holds me and comforts me in my time of need,
And bandages my heart when it starts to bleed.
(repeat)
REB (FEB 2012) Because my angel doesn't fly so fast
poem by Rik Bertrand
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Better Half
i saw my better half
the better half of a decade
slip through my hands inside her hands inside my pockets
when she reached for her advatages i should have done something
i saw my baby boy digging his own hole
keeping alive family traditions
when he lied about intentions i should have done something
well
i blame myself for everything
it keeps my conscience clean
i've got bandages to prove it
song performed by by Get Up Kids from Four Minute Mile
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Untitled
Sure/go to cali/have fun/bring me back/a silver gun/
let me shoot/a hole in the sky/give the moon/another
eye/so I can see/deep inside/in the place/where all
time hides/where people go/after their gone/and love
without love/still marches on/to the tune of a different song/
to the tune of a different song/miss me when your gone/
to the tune of a different song
you left your heart/in san francisco/getting down at the
disco/when she walked up/too your hand/danced you
down/danced you down/when you land/land on me/you see me/
I'm off the wall/against the wall/I can't call/you can't hear/above the
noise/above the sound/she dances you up/she dances you down/
I grab my coat/and then I'm gone/ to the tune of a different song/
to the tune of a different song/miss me when I'm gone/to the tune
of a different song
the holiday covered in snow/now you're back/where'd you go? /
you got a number/she give you her's/was it hot/ what've you got/
did she take your breath away/what have you got to say/did she take your
breath away/on the beach/in the sun/on the sand/on the run/ in the heat/
in the cold/what have you got left to hold/she took your hand/but now she's gone/
and here I stand/life goes on/to the tune of a different song/to the tune of a different
song/miss me when I'm gone/to the tune of a different song
Half A Stout, Please!
So let’s imagine Bloom
the Mister one
counting the heads at the funeral
like an Ulysses from the abyss of a dawn
his voice would whisper
the secret joy of being alive
among half-naked napes
and certainly nowadays
it’d be a Guinness too, right HIM
at a pub’s counter
while cheering his centuries of good fortune
among the dead
on the dark wings of a beer tune.
poem by Stefania Paluzzi
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Poem Attack
Poem, having grown teeth,
Somehow got out of a notebook
That lay on a dusty shelf,
And jumped me.
Its assault lasted an infinity.
It honed in on my hand,
Ripping to the root a
Penile finger, which action,
I think, gave it the idea
Of hitting me below the belt.
The doctor in hospital
Moving my bandages away,
Mechanically asked,
'Do you smoke? '
'That ain't the half of it, '
I answered.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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The Doldrums
Ashen faces flood the street.
Change abounds so much so that its retreat
Is lauded & called the doldrums.
Hernan Cortez facilitated pogroms,
A sacking that gave Spain a brand new fleet
Of towering masts & enemies to meet.
Warfare now has become as well an ashen face,
Rivals to the east & an unknown west.
Unkempt maniacs with plots fooling plots
Is all they shall get-
There being no maker to meet;
No invisible virgins replete;
No sultry shores of whinnying sands.
The can look forward to no thing-
No thing but bandages on their heads & their hands.
The rest of us die for no visible cause, as well:
Food, family, shelter, flag,
Santa Claus.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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What For Them Will Be Their Just Reward
Beginning to grieve their own imperfections,
They seek 'immediate' relief...
From the sight of their flaws and blemishes,
They have begun to witness.
Yet for years by others seen,
Even though those same 'flaws' and 'blemishes',
Now declared too painful...
Have agonized others who have suffered...
With a tolerance,
Of sacrificing all of their lifes...
Enduring being afflicted by them.
With no one attempting to heal or mend,
The scars they have had to pretend were not felt.
Or for 'them' and those before them,
Carried.
But did dare not to say,
Existed!
What for them and those before them,
Will be their just reward?
Apologies?
Ointments?
Bandages to mask their wounds?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Food is god
Food is god
for poor people...!
God is not
Only food...
Rich home
Dog is eat
Nice food...
That food is god...?
yes that also
A god...
Good food is
God...
What is good food...?
Given good health
Always good food...
So...
Non veg
Or veg...
Every good food
Is god...
Simply sit
Silentely eat food
With out hot
And cool drinks...
Food is not only
Poor's god...
With each and
Every one also
food is god...
Give respect and
Take food...
Happley too try too
Thank for god...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I dressed up as a veterinarian for a Halloween costume party. I had the lab coat. I got a couple of stuffed animals for patients and put bandages on them.
quote by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfect Circle
Put your hair back, we get to leave
Eleven gallows on your sleeve
Shallow figure, winners paid
Eleven shadows way out of place
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Pull your dress on and stay real close
Who might leave you where I left off?
A perfect circle of acquaintances and friends
Drink another, coin a phrase
Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
Try to win and suit your needs
Speak out sometimes but try to win
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Violence
everyday i get sick
everyday people are sad
some people get worst at day's end
people who use violence
people who are useing racial terms there is currently a racial fight at my school
it needs to stop it has to stop
there is no need, if people dont want racial fights or any racial shit going on then stop
people messing up
if this is what the world has become today imagine what the world is going to be like another day
if there is love in this world i wanna find it
poem by Greg Dills
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On Going Back To The Street After Viewing An Art Show
they talk down through
the centuries to us,
and this we need more and more,
the statues and paintings
in midnight age
as we go along
holding dead hands.
and we would say
rather than delude the knowing:
a damn good show,
but hardly enough for a horse to eat,
and out on the sunshine street where
eyes are dabbled in metazoan faces
i decide again
that in theses centuries
they have done very well
considering the nature of their
brothers:
it's more than good
that some of them,
(closer really to the field-mouse than
falcon)
have been bold enough to try.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Crossing Names
Unrepenting you start
from a sore point
to ask an explanation
from an eclipse of the sun.
unreviving,
a corpse, the moon carries the burden
of light, on its bloodied shoulder
for burial in dew.
Half the century we were
reciting the prayers to open
a blocked artery of a dying god
who would not share our bandages.
The bride steps out
from dark,
unveiled, and undoes the hairs.
There was fire in her eyes
and ice on her lips.
poem by Satish Verma
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Gift of Knowledge
Desks of understanding can never replace
The books of amazing nature, the real
Relishing designs that cost a lot of knowledge.
Destroy our men from the goodness of learning,
Good is their prize of joy, the force of days
That reveal a prize, and more prizes.
The medals I deem essential are golden,
Like forming wet puddles in the ground,
Over a reason my puddles are heard, the medals.
Knowledge is perfect, is exact in rests and seizures,
But we are old forms, resting bones from all exercises,
From bandages and wounds contrived by the wounded.
Understanding is the present of the heart
To a wounded man of brilliance.
poem by Naveed Akram
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breaking Of The Covalent Bond
I
Had seen
The union unique
Melting completely like a lead
A spirit full of glass half is you half is me
We drank together to be one and blotting out being two
Blowing out independent existence making a covalent bond
We were one minstrel singing song sweet in alleys and street
A sound boom bang we misunderstood, no more I sing
A bone in the throat and forget the rhythm and tune
Now I am a poet of pain and melancholy I drink
But sorrow, live but without soul, half you
Snatched and half with me Dead I see
Dream but breaking sound
Of cracking sea making
A wave tumultuous
Threatening
Me to tear
Apart.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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