Last Words
The night sky's a black stretch limo, boss in the back
behind tinted glass. You could say that.
Down here's a dungeon, up there's the glittering
ring of keys in the sentry's fist. The self
exists. Beauty too. But they're elsewhere.
You could say that. Or not speak till commanded to.
Dawn, alone on the porch, I watch
the one map unfold and flatten before me—
same toppled TV antenna in the berry vines,
same cardinal, bright wound in the pasture grass.
My wound is my business. I've wearied of it.
From now on, morning will be attended
by its own noises only, evening will approach
without palms in its path. Let the horses
steam in the field, the sun-struck
river blanch. I'm boarding the troop train
poem by Chris Forhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Train
Writers: leo sayer & david courtney
Running through my life
Like a river, like a song
Train keeps pushing me
Right back to the place where I belong...
Back along the tracks
Fly a million years
Right across my path
Train moves on ringing in my ears...
Come on board
Come on board
Train, oh train, take me back, again
I remember, I remember, take me back
Train, oh train, the journey ends and starts again
I remember, I remember, I remember
Ive been up all night trying to get this down
Now Im hallucinating
Staring at the wall look what Im creating...
Look at the clock Im twelve hours old
So many more remain
Way up ahead I know I see a train...
Come on board
Come on board
Train, oh train, all those memories, all over again
I remember, I remember, take me back
Train, oh train, the journey ends and starts again
I remember, I remember, I remember
Waited on the station all day
Just to see a glimpse of the morning train
Just to see the wheels turning round
Blowing up steam,
See what I mean,
You see what I mean...
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daissociating Our Love
Do you still remember
when we in the morning go up
in the same train
you fallen down
beside me
with the hurt feet bleed
until come to your house
I dress a wound the feet
I dress a wound your heart
but at last we apart distance
so far
dissociating our love
like your hand gesture
following train which quickly
going easterly.
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Impromptu
Keep away from sharp swords
Don't go near a lovely woman.
A sharp sword too close will wound your hand;
Woman's beauty too close will wound your life!
The danger of the road is not in the distance;
Ten yards is far enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often;
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
poem by Meng Chiao
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Summer 1962.
Summer 1962
just you and
her sitting in
some field on
the green grass
beneath a hot
summer sun and
she speaking about
things between
you both and you
not really listening
but hearing a steam
train in the distance
and wondering how
high the smoke went
and seeing it in the sky
and she silent for that
moment and you turning
and looking into her
bright eyes and seeing
in the blue and white
the death of far off
stars in some future’s
long black cold night.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Santa Claus
"HALT! Who goes there?” The sentry’s call
Rose on the midnight air
Above the noises of the camp,
The roll of wheels, the horses’ tramp.
The challenge echoed over all—
“Halt! Who goes there?”
A quaint old figure clothed in white,
He bore a staff of pine,
An ivy-wreath was on his head.
“Advance, oh friend,” the sentry said,
“Advance, for this is Christmas night,
And give the countersign.”
“No sign nor countersign have I,
Through many lands I roam
The whole world over far and wide,
To exiles all at Christmastide,
From those who love them tenderly
I bring a thought of home.
“From English brook and Scottish burn,
From cold Canadian snows,
From those far lands ye hold most dear
I bring you all a greeting here,
A frond of a New Zealand fern,
A bloom of English rose.
“From faithful wife and loving lass
I bring a wish divine,
For Christmas blessings on your head.”
“I wish you well,” the sentry said,
“But here, alas! you may not pass
Without the countersign.”
He vanished—and the sentry’s tramp
Re-echoed down the line.
It was not till the morning light
The soldiers knew that in the night
Old Santa Claus had come to camp
Without the countersign.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Testify
Come a little closer it's a feeling that I can't deny
I was weak, but I never thought I'd speak about the darker side
Is that a ten? I could repent on the side of the road
But, I kept on going yeah I headed for another load
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
I was laid upon the grave by a preacher's hand I cannot lie
And, I forsake many vows I made to be with you tonight
Could you be the salvation cause I never felt like this before
And, could you lend me your hand because I'm falling back on the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
On a road outside of nowhere, in the middle of the night
Well I guess I hit rock bottom and the dawn was not in sight
And a Tempest made of fire, onset the sky aglow
And a sweet young thing called out my name
And this is how it goes, she says...
Choir:
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf: And I got down on my knees
Choir :"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf (over the top of the choirs last two repititions):
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf:
Every cut that heals reveals a scar that you can never hope to hide
All the pain that you restrain keeps building up deep inside
If you think you're above it then it's you my friend that I implore
You've got to talk before you run
See the night before the dawn
Before you pull yourself off the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Choir Singer: Up from the ground yeah, I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Andy
Andy
Do you love me
Do you think about it
Will you say
Turning brushwood
Into blazes
Turning summer grass
Into hay
Turning sharply
Past the graveyard
To the lakefront
With the black waves
Licking up the stones
To the swayed back
Screened in front porch
Who could ever stay the weight
Of flesh and bones
Andy
Arent you tired
From the sun and rain
And river soaking you
From the beer cans
On your dashboard
And the bullet hole
Glass spiderweb
Staining your rear view
I have watched you
Watch an empty road
Is it only her
Upon which you all
Of you is depending
To fill your twenty
Hour work day
While all the fences
In this county still need mending
Hey
And in the night
I do my checking
And fix the broken parts
With visions of rare beauty
But in my heart I know Im second
Forever fixed in your pursuit
It is my duty
Hey
Andy
Will you toss me
A little scrap of something
That I can taste
Instead of dust from
All the leaving
And the smell of summer
Lying here to waste
Under the burnt pyre
Of all the cast away
The tiny shoots will spring
Like questions
Will you take me
Out to the fenced hill
Sprinkled with horses
Wild in resistence to the taming
Will you break me
Will you break me
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flesh Wound
We flew over miles of ocean--be prepared.
I don't have the faintest notion who'll be there.
You underestimated; nobody sympathized.
I think you'll soon feel better once we get inside.
I see the door is open -- Why don't we walk right in?
Let's put our party hats on and let the fun begin!
We should have called and said that we were on our way;
Who would have ever guessed that you'd be so unreachable?
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in my side
Just another flesh wound--another wonder-cure that you tried
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide
Just another flesh wound--another irritation you abide
You know the rumour's going that he was synthesized.
And if we had to dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
I say -- you're so outrageous -- you'll go to number one!
They'll have us both arrested for having too much fun.
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--another bruise on your pride.
Just another flesh wound--another paranoia that you hide.
And when she held her nose, she took an underdose.
It was nice to see her completely comatose.
You go first, you're completely debonair;
Let's go dutch -- it's only fair.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--a minor injury you dignified.
Just another flesh wound--another unsuccessful suicide.
Just another flesh wound--another curse that you ride.
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Watch
Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never
Wound up again; Once down, he's down for ever.
The watch once down, all motions then do cease;
The man's pulse stopt, all passions sleep in peace.
poem by Robert Herrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shepherdess Of The Arno
’Tis no wild and wond’rous legend, but a simple pious tale
Of a gentle shepherd maiden, dwelling in Italian vale,
Near where Arno’s glittering waters like the sunbeams flash and play
As they mirror back the vineyards through which they take their way.
She was in the rosy dawning of girlhood fair and bright,
And, like morning’s smiles and blushes, was she lovely to the sight;
Soft cheeks like sea-shells tinted and radiant hazel eyes;
But on changing earthly lover were not lavished smiles or sighs.
Still, that gentle heart was swelling with a love unbounded, true,
Such as worldly breast, earth harden’d, passion-wearied, never knew;
And each day she sought the chapel of Our Lady in the dell,
There to seek an hour’s communing with the Friend she loved so well.
Often, too, she brought a garland of wild flowers, fragrant, fair,
Which she culled whilst onward leading her flock with patient care;
The diamond dew-drops clinging to every petal sweet,—
For the mystic Rose of Heaven was it not a tribute meet?
The white statue of the Virgin boasted neither crown nor gem;
On its head she placed her chaplet instead of diadem,
Murm’ring, “O, my gentle Mother, would that it were in my power
To give Thee pearl or diamond instead of simple flower!”
But for earth she was too winsome, that fair child of faith and love,
One of those whom God culls early for His gardens bright above;
And the hand of sickness touched her till she faded day by day,
And to Our Lady’s chapel she came no more to pray.
One evening, in the valley, after journeying many a mile,
Two pious men in holy garb lay down to rest a while,
And in sleep to both a vision of most wond’rous beauty came,
Such as only visit souls which burn with heav’nly love’s pure flame.
Amid clouds of golden brightness they saw to earth float down
A band of fair young virgins, wearing each a glittering crown;
And surpassing them in beauty, as the day outshines the night,
Was high Heaven’s regal Mistress—Our Lady, fair and bright.
Then the pious brothers knew at once that she was on her way
To see a dying maiden, and her love through life repay;
And when, from slumber waking, they told their vision true,
They said: “Let us go visit this child of Mary, too!”
High instinct lent by Heaven guided on their feet aright,
And in silence grave they journeyed till a cottage came in sight;
’Neath its humble porch they entered, with bow’d and reverent head,
And found themselves in presence of the peaceful, holy dead.
Oh! most fair the sight! No maiden with bridal wreath on brow
Ever looked one half so lovely as the one they gazed on now;
As a lily, fair and spotless, bright and pure each feature shone,
Bearing impress of that Heaven to which Mary’s child had gone.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Guest House
What imps are these that come with scowl and leer?
Black motes upon the morning's amber beam,
They crowd and float about each happy dream
And blow upon pure joy the taint of fear.
Perforce those muttered hideous words we hear,
Yet bid our nobler nature rise supreme
And, sunlike, dry to naught th' infernal steam
Till all our day is luminous and clear.
“What cruel beasts find refuge in the soul
Amid the murky deep of sightless flame
Whose waves are flatten'd by a rain of blood!”
Nay, but however pure the waters roll,
The offal thrown therein will rise and shame
Their glittering pride with bubbles from the mud.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Birth Of A New Day
The beauty of the morning
is at the crack of dawn,
when the fingers of the sun
spread out across the sky,
to welcome the birth of a new day.
As an early riser, I am always in awe,
at the stillness and the beauty,
of each new dawning day.
At the quiet moments,
before the world awakes
to take the quiet away.
The flowers unfold their petals,
damp with the morning dew,
to face the warmth of the rising sun.
Little birds stretch a leg
in their nest high up off the ground,
before they winging off
to find their breakfast
under the new morning sun.
While sleepy heads lie in their bed,
miss this wonderful display,
of the birth of a new day.
23 June 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maybe Maybe She Remembers Me Again
i imagined her again
that early evening when she over drank her wine
she was bent at nothing
but simply to relax herself a bit
from a broken heart
she was tipsy, she walked towards that room
dimly lighted, she did not close the door
she undressed herself
walked naked and laid herself
on the carpeted floor
which i could see from where i was seated
trying to compose myself
in my own way of recovering from an old wound
she stood again went back to the door to close it
as i did not follow her
she did not smile
neither did she speak a word
but i understood
the following morning she dressed herself
put on her shoes
whistling her way out of the door then closed it
i went back to the usual pretense
i slept
till ten.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Da Bo$$ Would Like To See You
typed by: [email protected]
Dizzle fizzle! Da bizzle! (Boss!)
Tha bling! Tha bling! (Ah ah ah!) [echoes]
Yeah... Uh uh
It's 2002 [echoes]... And whatchu gon' do? (whatchu gon' do?)
I'ma boss up... Ironically speakin' (uh), or it is generally speakin'...
I'm the ambassador, better yet, the PROFESSOR, of G-OLOGY (of G-ology...)
Just bossin' up right now...
Uh uh... Tha Boss would like to see ya (yeah... yeah)
Tha Boss would like to see ya
Bugsy! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Gotti! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Capone! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Soprano! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
DOGGY! First Black with a casino! (Ah ah)
Tha Boss would like to see ya (who me?)
Yeah, I ain't takin' orders no more (Huh-uh!)
Boss Boss... [echoes]
Uh.. I'm tha Boss (ahh!)
It's my house (my house), and I (and I) leave here (yeah, I'm tha Boss)
It's my house (my house), and I (and I) leave here...
Tha Boss would like to see ya (who?)
Bugsy! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Gotti! Tha Boss would like to see ya... (who? who?)
Capone! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Soprano! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
DOGGY! Fist Black with a casino (ah ah!)
Boss, boss, boss, boss, boss, boss... [echoes til end]
song performed by by Snoop Dogg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire-Fly City
Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting,
Bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love's delight:
Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting,
I lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night.
Lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing,
Forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream;
Till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing,
A magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam.
Wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions;
Long avenues unfold clear-shining lines of gold across the green;
Clusters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions, --
Oh, who will tell the city's name, and what these wonders mean?
Why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me?
Crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and wine:
Many to laugh with me, but never one to know me:
A cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine!
Look how the glittering lines are wavering and lifting, --
Softly the breeze of night, scatters the vision bright: and, passing fair,
Over the meadow-grass and through the forest drifting,
The Fire-Fly City of the Dark is lost in empty air!
Girl of the golden eyes, to you my heart is turning:
Sleep in your quiet room, while through the midnight gloom my train is whirled.
Clear in your dreams of me the light of love is burning, --
The only never failing light in all the phantom world.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moonlight river.
moonlight river the eyes are shineing bright.
moonlight river love her with all you might.
moonlight river the darkness is falling.
moonligh river is there such thing off morning.
moonlight river makes my head sway.
moonlight river voice off the ocean on a sand beach bay.
moonlight river i think off her night and day.
moonlight river bring her back to me today.
moonlight river the star's are shineing bright.
moonlight river she is back with such delight.
moonlight river never let her go.
moonlight river tell her i love her so.
moolight river tear's in her eye.
moonlight river why did i have to die.
poem by Neil Derek Singleton
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Thinking Of A Friend At Night
In this evil year, autumn comes early...
I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters,
The wind on my hat...And you? And you, my friend?
You are standing--maybe--and seeing the sickle moon
Move in a small arc over the forests
And bivouac fire, red in the black valley.
You are lying--maybe--in a straw field and sleeping
And dew falls cold on your forehead and battle jacket.
It's possible tonight you're on horseback,
The farthest outpost, peering along, with a gun in your fist,
Smiling, whispering, to your exhausted horse.
Maybe--I keep imagining--you are spending the night
As a guest in a strange castle with a park
And writing a letter by candlelight, and tapping
On the piano keys by the window,
Groping for a sound...
--And maybe
You are already silent, already dead, and the day
Will shine no longer into your beloved
Serious eyes, and your beloved brown hand hangs wilted,
And your white forehead split open--Oh, if only,
If only, just once, that last day, I had shown you, told you
Something of my love, that was too timid to speak!
But you know me, you know...and, smiling, you nod
Tonight in front of your strange castle,
And you nod to your horse in the drenched forest,
And you nod to your sleep to your harsh clutter of straw,
And think about me, and smile.
And maybe,
Maybe some day you will come back from the war,
and take a walk with me some evening,
And somebody will talk about Longwy, Luttich, Dammerkirch,
And smile gravely, and everything will be as before,
And no one will speak a word of his worry,
Of his worry and tenderness by night in the field,
Of his love. And with a single joke
You will frighten away the worry, the war, the uneasy nights,
The summer lightning of shy human friendship,
Into the cool past that will never come back.
Translated by James Wright
Submitted by Holt
poem by Hermann Hesse
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Water Vortex
It's hot on the river walk
Where to River? Play in new clothes
And rivers, remote back over at a friend inside.
Words to break the outer covering tears
What is the path to climb stricken with hardship Play
The sweet cruelty
Stone water fall flowing all evening
Away drag it out of the river
Danaya the birds glow, deep sigh Anonymous
And tears of your feet and flowers in water
Stand up to water, the loneliness at school.
You know, water's water, water vortex breakdown silence
None of the ship's mast Tear
The Black Keys pray for rain at night?
I was crying, asking plunged music.
poem by Shafi Sumodro
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English Grass
Come, horsemen all, from every field
And taste this rare delight,
And see what English pastures yield
To those whose hearts beat right!
Come, haste and quaff the stirrup-cup!
Turn down the empty glass!
The horn is blown, the hunt is up,
And here's our English grass!
And here are foxes swift to find
And fences strong to break,
And here are doubles steep and blind
That try the best to take,
And dappled hounds to keep in sight
And rivals you must pass
Before the long December night
Enshrouds the English grass!
And think it not a lightsome thing
Or feat to wake your scorn
To follow where the Pytchley swing
Or lead them with the Quorn ;
For men have hacked the mulga trail
And packed the mountain pass,
Yet found the boldest heart may fail
To ride the English grass.
The meadows stretch from stream to stream,
Close-bitten, firm, and sound;
No stubble stands, no plough man's team
Rips up the ravaged ground;
But level far as eye can see
Like smooth green-tinted glass,
A battle-ground for bravery,
Is spread the English grass.
Though thorns be thick, though binders lace,
Though stout be stile and rail,
Though nought but blood can live the pace,
And nought but pluck prevail,
The call's to all, the field is fair
To every creed and class;
So draw your girths, all ye who dare,
And ride the English grass!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Wound
a wound will always
be a wound.
a scar may come
to say you are healed
but soon it will
remember the wound.
perhaps you have not
loved enough
to learn from those
whose hearts
are broken, they
say: forgive and forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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