En.Citatepedia^®.ro

An Ode to Greybeard

After leaving the convenience store, we smoked cigarettes insatiately, and were approached by a man with a long grey face, pink from the chilled wind.
Homeless, the man made due with a pile of jackets.

Spare a cigarette? He asked, like clockwork. And received what he bade for.
Without breaking his sight of his caretaker's eyes, he bit the filter out of the end and inhaled so deeply, he must have drank the smoke.

Thanks, pal - crept out from under his mustache and snuck by his cigarette.
His eyes turned slowly to meet mine and were as grey as his beard.
- Remember me when I die

He spoke also - with his eyes.
And mine spoke back - he knew I would
A legacy is only memory.

poem by C.S. Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Grey World

Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.

Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.

Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.

poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Grey

Looking at an opal, a half-grey opal,
I remembered two beautiful grey eyes
I had seen it must have been twenty years before . . .

For a month we loved each other
Then he went away, I think to Smyrna,
To work there; we never saw each other again.

The grey eyes ---- if he lives ---- have lost their beauty;
The beautiful face will have been spoiled.

O Memory, preserve them as they were.
And, Memory, all you can of this love of mine
Whatever you can bring back to me tonight.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

9 Miles On A Dirty Futon

I spent nine miles with her.
in a cheap apartment.
Boxed wine and cheeses with exotic sounding names.
Eaten on a blanket on the floor as we had no table.
we had no couch,
we had no television.
But we had music.

At night we would lay on a futon matress
that layed on the floor.
The streetlight outside the bedroom window playing shadows across sections of her.
First her eyes were lit, the rest of her awash in shadows,
then,
when she turned,
her mouth was visible,
but her eyes were shadowed.
A breast, a thigh, her hair all illuminated
then darkened
according to her movments.

Sometimes she would lie on her back and light a cigarette.
Her whole face would light with the flash of the lighter,
like hand held lightining,
then darken again.
We would talk for hours on that futon,
I don't remember what was said...
I remember her in pieces of light and shadow.

When she smoked the light would turn the smoke in to a slow
languid serpent
escaping from her body through her mouth and nose.
I have never seen anyone smoke like that before or since.
Her face half lit by the streetlight.

She would speak and the words would drift out of her
entwined with the smoke.
She smoked like Garbo.
slow and seductive.

9 years with her and all my memories are of shadows, soft sodium streetlights, and orange cigarette glow.

9 years with her and all I remember are the lights and shadows
across her body.
On that futon matress
on the floor.

poem by Brevet Wilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Julie and You and Christ

Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you

one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding

a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke

and said
pushing smoke
into the world

do you think Christ
ever came?
of course

you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world

is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply

and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don't like that dress

it's too darn middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress

in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?

you asked
she'd wear it
but I wouldn't

be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on

squeezing your hand
reminding you
of the quick grope

and sex in the small cupboard
off the ward
where she was staying

while trying to kick
the drug habit
she spread out

amongst brooms and boxes
and you there gazing at her
wondering if some domestic

would find you there
well? do you think
Christ really came?

she asked
yes
you said

he split history in two
he made people
either love him

or hate him
and want to destroy him
and what he stood for

she laughed and said
you certainly got him
under your skin

I don't think he came at all
she said
before inhaling

her cigarette smoke
I think it was all
a big joke played out

on the Jews
to get them riled
she inhaled

her cigarette smoke
and was silent
as you walked on

down the Street
it was no joke
being crucified

no joke hanging there
on that cross
you said

she pulled you
into a shop doorway
and kissed you

and said
oh forget about him
and his crucifixion

I've had enough
of the parents
ramming him

into my brain
over the years
and she kissed you again

and you looked
into her dark eyes
where you thought

many a dream comes
and drowns
and dies.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Smoke

Last summer, lazing by the sea,
I met a most entrancing creature,
Her black eyes quite bewildered me---
She had a Spanish cast of feature.

She often smoked a cigarette,
And did it in the cutest fashion.
Before a week passed by she set
My young heart in a raging passion.

I swore I loved her as my life,
I gave her gems (don't tell my tailor).
She promised to become my wife,
But whispered, 'Papa is my jailer.'

'We must be very sly, you see,
For Papa will not list to reason.
You must not come to call on me
Until he's gone from home a season.

'I'll send you word, now don't forget,
Take this as pledge, I will remember.'
She gave me a perfumed cigarette,
And turned and left me with September.

To-day she sent her 'cards' to me.
'My presence asked' to see her marry
That millionaire old banker C---
She has my 'presents,' so I'll tarry.

And still I feel a keen regret
(About the jewels that I gave her)
I've smoked the little cigarette---
It had a most delicious flavour.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

One Cigarette

No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.

poem by Edwin Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

And You Don’t Remember Me

I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.

She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her

Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.

Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.

I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.

I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.

All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Grey Blue Eyes

I feel for the light
Your glory was lost that night
And no mind can't get me right
And now I'm praying that you'll find me out
Stone, stone has pulled me down
But my faith has got me bound to your grey blue eyes
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Don't forget my broken heart
You remember it from the start
You made it and it's all a part
Of your grey blue eyes
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
You're gone and I know I'm dead
I've lost my way
Can't find me in your grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes

song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Grey, Grey Sky

Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.

And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.

And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.

My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.

And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.

But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs.

poem by Grace Hutton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Julie and You in Trafalgar Square

Julie sat on one
of the fountain walls
in Trafalgar Square
and lit a cigarette

she looked about her
as if she were onto
something harder
as if she had some one

looking at her
from some secret place
you gazed at her
unused to seeing her

not in her hospital
dressing gown
and slippered feet
her hair had been brushed neat

and makeup applied
and she said
I was picked up here
some months back

by some guy
who wanted sex
he thought
I was a pro

and the things
he asked for
god that was the worse
and with that

she paused
and stared at the Square
at the people
and the pigeons

and she inhaled deep
and then exhaled
blowing the smoke
out of the corner

of her mouth
like you'd seen done
in the movies
what did you say

to the guy
who picked you up
and what did he want
you to do?

she looked at you
her eyes scanning
your features
and then leaning closer

she said
I told him I wasn't
a whore and to go off
some place else

you watched her fingers
holding the cigarette
the way she held it
between her fingers

as if it was some
precious item she'd found
what did he want you to do?
you asked

he wanted sex
in all my orifices
she whispered
before inhaling again

the cigarette was clamped
between her lips
and she rubbed
her fingers

on her jeans
she screwed up her eyes
against the smoke
my grandfather said

if it wasn't for whores
more women
would be raped
and attacked

you said
that guy was a creep
he smelt of strong aftershave
and body odour

she said
what a combination
you said
she stumped

the cigarette butt
onto the wall
and flicked it
across the Square

let's go and view the art
in the Gallery behind us
she said
and you followed her

to the Portrait Gallery
her buttocks swaying
like some ship at sea
the jeans tight

and clinging
and across the Square
church bells were pulled
and were ringing.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

After Long Years

“AND have I changed?” she asked, and as she spoke
The old smile o'er her pale face bravely broke,
And in her eyes dead worlds of pathos woke.
Changed? When I knew again the ghost of each
Remembered trick of gesture, manner, speech,
And felt the beauty that no years could reach!
“I will go back with you without regret,
For not one word you spoke I dare forget,
And with each kiss of yours I tremble yet!”
“No, you have taken your way; I took mine:
A word may not our severed lives entwine,
Nor will a kiss the shattered years combine!”
She put her arms around me, held me near;
Then forward to her lonely path and drear
She turned her sad, wan face, without a tear.

poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Don't Know When

Don’t know when
she said

but as she spoke
her breath rose

like cigarette smoke
in the morning air

and it fascinated you
more than the words

like when your father
blew smoke rings for you

as some kind
of cheap entertainment

but
she said

it will happen
I promise you

and your lack
of response

still gazing
at her breath rising

made her repeat
don’t know when though

and jabbed
at your chest

with her finger
oh ok

you said
coming back

to the moment
her blue eyes

fixed on you
the depth of them

like pools
of blue water

and oh how
to drown there

the thought arose
wanting the when

to be
as soon as

and the image
of her back then

with her eyes
and smile

and that way
she had

of bringing life
to a dull day

like some
top notch dancer

not knowing then
of her death

years later
of cold creeping cancer.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Misty Morning, Albert Bridge

I dreamt we were standing
By the banks of the thames
Where the cold grey waters ripple
In the misty morning light
Held a match to your cigarette
Watched the smoke curl in the mist
Your eyes, blue as the ocean between us
Smiling at me
I awoke alone and lonely
In a faraway place
The sun fell cold upon my face
The cracks in the ceiling spelt hell
Turned to the wall
Pulled the sheets around my head
Tried to sleep, and dream my way
Back to you again
Count the days
Slowly passing by
Step on a plane
And fly away
Ill see you then
As the dawnbirds sing
On a cold and misty morning
By the albert bridge

song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Judy and You and Chagall

What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat

outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time

I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you

her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters

she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you

you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you

in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass

I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said

you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how

her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said

I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?

you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?

both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time

you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around

you mustn't be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?

Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik

making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you

every moment
you said
that's sad
she said

why?
you said
because no one
should think of another

that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky

how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you

you said
I am like Shakespeare's' lily
she said
as it withers

she added
I see
you said
and you studied

her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin

the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?

you asked
yes
she said
every single one

my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought

of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent
and remembered

your mother's words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Cigarette Girl

“Cigarettes, cigarillo, cigars, ” I did say,
as cigarette smoke came my way,
Choking on the smoke from it’s tar,
I only liked the smell of the cigar.
I was a cigarette girl in the casino Mystic Lake,
I got a big tip in high stakes.
It was a $20.00 coin of red,
I had to cash it in before I left.
One day I met the piano man,
He introduced me to Chucky
a generous soul with a helping hand.
Chucky painted my props for my show,
He painted World War II planes a long time ago.
We gambled at this casino all summer long,
I would ride in his car listening to Frankie’s songs.
Cigarette girl job had to end,
I will always remember Chucky my dear old friend.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 22,2011
www.suzaechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com

poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Henry George

(Melbourne)

I CAME to buy a book. It was a shop
Down in a narrow quiet street, and here
They kept, I knew, these socialistic books.
I entered. All was bare, but clean and neat.
The shelves were ranged with unsold wares; the counter
Held a few sheets and papers. Here and there
Hung prints and calendars. I rapped, and straight
A young Girl came out through the inner door.
She had a clear and simple face; I saw
She had no beauty, loveliness, nor charm,
But, as your eyes met those grey light-lit eyes
Like to a mountain spring so pure, you thought:
'He'd be a clever man who looked, and lied!'
I asked her for the book. . . . We spoke a little.
Her words were as her face was, as her eyes.
Yes, she'd read many books like this of mine:
Also some poets, Shelley, Byron too,
And Tennyson, but 'poets only dreamed!'
Thus, then, we talked, until by chance I spoke
A phrase and then a name. 'Twas 'Henry George.'
Her face lit up. O it was beautiful,
Or never woman's face was! 'Henry George?'
She said. And then a look, a flush, a smile,
Such as sprung up in Magdalenè's cheek
When some voice uttered Jesus, made her angel.
She turned and pointed up the counter. I,
Loosing mine eyes from that ensainted face,
Looked also. 'Twas a print, a common print,
The head and shoulders of a man. She said,
Quite in a whisper: 'That's him, Henry George!'
Darling, that in this life of wrong and woe,
The lovely woman-soul within you brooded
And wept and loved and hated and pitied,
And knew not what its helplessness could do,
Its helplessness, its sheer bewilderment —
That then those eyes should fall, those angel eyes,
On one who'd brooded, wept, loved, hated, pitied,
Even as you had, but therefrom had sprung
A hope, a plan, a scheme to right this wrong,
And make this woe less hateful to the sun —
And that pure soul had found its Master thus
To listen to, remember, watch and love,
And trust the dawn that rose up through the dark:
O this was good
For me to see, as for some weary hopeless
Longer and toiler for 'the Kingdom of Heaven'
To stand some lifeless twilight hour, and hear,
There in a dim-lit house of Lazarus,
Mary who said: 'Thus, thus he looked, he spake,
The Master!' — So to hear her rapturous words,
And gaze upon her up-raised heavenly face!

poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Encountering A Black Memory

Encountering one dark black memory,
As the Wind eternally whispers to me.
In another time, at this special place,
We were dressed in leather and lace.
Many times I have made my way back,
Searching for a memory turned black.
In search of our encounter by chance,
Where by firelight we once did dance.
By moon’s light with fire burning dim,
In the refreshing water we would swim.
A time I wished would be without end,
Chilled we held each other skin-to-skin.
From the chilling water to the fireside.
Blanket wrapped one another we eyed.
Without uttering speech our eyes spoke,
As we kindled love’s fire without smoke.
Until morning our spirits became as one,
When back to your mate you had to run.
Time did pass and the years they did go,
The view seen here now I hardly know.
All night long, returning with the dew,
I send forth my spirit searching for you.

poem by Joseph Blitch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

If She Were You

Well, everytime I try to love another
I never know exactly what to do
Id like to tell her just how much I want her
And I could find the way if she were you
Her eyes may shine for me and not another,
Her lonely arms reach out to hold me too,
She wants to take your place and be my lover
And I could make her mine if she were you
I never knew how much I cared about you
Till your memory made me a lovesick fool
When she speaks to me I hear you sweet voice calling
When I close my eyes your face comes into view
I remember how it hurt when I was falling
And I could fall again if she were you
I never knew how much I cared about you
Till your memory made me a lovesick fool
She wants to take your place and be my lover
And I could make her mine if she were you
Yes, I could make her mine if she was you

song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Anybody's Idea Of Eternity!

i'd rather be a leaf torn
by a sparrow's beak...
a snail, a moth, the spider's web.
the old man passing out blankets
at the homeless shelter...
the mother nursing the child,
refugees of war.
the old dog curled against
the old man's leg...
the cigarette shared after making love.
a trash collector, a cashier in an all night store,
an immigrant picking fruit
with eyes in the back of his head....
the soldier who deserted,
and turned his back on the war.
the lover left with the scent of memory.
the young girl giving birth
on a bare apartment floor,
a rose petal wilted,
falling to the ground....
the last wolf wandering the endless night.
a spoke in the wheel of the wagon loaded.
the love letter written never delivered...
a pair of old boots standing in the corner,
a rain dropp lingering on a blade of grass...
then to be an angel playing a harp,
in anybody's idea of eternity!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Much That I Remember About You

I remember you
I remember the first time I saw you
Looking up and there you were, an angel on earth
It occurred when I didn’t expect it, wasn’t looking
Seeing you and thinking that you were pretty
Seeing you and wondering why, afterwards, I
Remember you more now

I remember your voice
I remember the first time I heard and it enchanted me
Dulcet tones playing hypnotic music disguised as a woman’s voice
It happened in conversation, in the harmony of all you spoke
Hearing the coy happiness in the words we shared
Hearing the smile in your tone so that I
Remember your voice now

I remember your eyes
I remember the first time I became lost in them
How it was a time when our eyes met in more than just a glance
It happened in a moment, together with you
Seeing in your eyes more than just a casual interest
Seeing in your eyes myself and us which is why I
Remember your eyes now

I remember your skin
I remember the first time I felt the touch of your skin
When your fingertips brushed mine in flirting invitation
It flashed in a moment, skin to skin
Feeling the electricity of your touch, your skin against mine
Feeling the heat passing between us as I
Remember the feel of your skin now

I remember how you made me feel
I remember the first time I admitted to myself
What I felt for you was more than just friendship
It came in a moment, talking with you
Realizing that every thought of you made me smile
Realizing that each smile made me
Remember even more how you made me feel

I remember why I fell for you
I remember this all the time now
The memory comes in thoughts, your voice, your eyes
It happens in every moment these days, loving you
Knowing that what happened between us is a good beginning
Knowing that we could be much more always helps me
Remember constantly why I fell in love with you

poem by David Terry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!