En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Artificer

Burning, he walks in the stream of flickering letters, clarinets,
machines throbbing quicker than the heart, lopped-off heads, silk
canvases, and he stops under the sky

and raises toward it his joined clenched fists.

Believers fall on their bellies, they suppose it is a monstrance that
shines,

but those are knuckles, sharp knuckles shine that way, my friends.

He cuts the glowing, yellow buildings in two, breaks the walls into
motley halves;
pensive, he looks at the honey seeping from those huge honeycombs:
throbs of pianos, children's cries, the thud of a head banging against
the floor.
This is the only landscape able to make him feel.

He wonders at his brother's skull shaped like an egg,
every day he shoves back his black hair from his brow,
then one day he plants a big load of dynamite
and is surprised that afterward everything spouts up in the explosion.
Agape, he observes the clouds and what is hanging in them:
globes, penal codes, dead cats floating on their backs, locomotives.
They turn in the skeins of white clouds like trash in a puddle.
While below on the earth a banner, the color of a romantic rose,
flutters,
and a long row of military trains crawls on the weed-covered tracks.

poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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White Knuckles

Smack dab flat on my back
The solid ground began to crack
I pulled her down and down and down
I lost my breath
I thought I'd drown
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Her leg, my hand, a smoldering brand
Sticking to her wet body like sand
Her place, distaste, we fell from grace
Red smears across her face
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
White knuckles!
White knuckles!
White knuckles!
White knuckles

song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shattered windows, Colors of white

Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.

On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.

A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.

The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.

The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.

poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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An Embroidery

Rose Red's hair is brown as fur
and shines in firelight as she prepares
supper of honey and apples, curds and whey,
for the bear, and leaves it ready
on the hearth-stone.

Rose White's grey eyes
look into the dark forest.

Rose Red's cheeks are burning,
sign of her ardent, joyful
compassionate heart.
Rose White is pale,
turning away when she hears
the bear's paw on the latch.

When he enters, there is
frost on his fur,
he draws near to the fire
giving off sparks.

Rose Red catches the scent of the forest,
of mushrooms, of rosin.

Together Rose Red and Rose White
sing to the bear;
it is a cradle song, a loom song,
a song about marriage, about
a pilgrimage to the mountains
long ago.
Raised on an elbow,
the bear stretched on the hearth
nods and hums; soon he sighs
and puts down his head.

He sleeps; the Roses
bank the fire.
Sunk in the clouds of their feather bed
they prepare to dream.

Rose Red in a cave that smells of honey
dreams she is combing the fur of her cubs
with a golden comb.
Rose White is lying awake.

Rose White shall marry the bear's brother.
Shall he too
when the time is ripe,
step from the bear's hide?
Is that other, her bridegroom,
here in the room?

poem by Denise Levertov
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Dreaming Of Hair

Ivy ties the cellar door
in autumn, in summer morning glory
wraps the ribs of a mouse.
Love binds me to the one
whose hair I've found in my mouth,
whose sleeping head I kiss,
wondering is it death?
beauty? this dark
star spreading in every direction from the crown of her head.

My love's hair is autumn hair, there
the sun ripens.
My fingers harvest the dark
vegtable of her body.
In the morning I remove it
from my tongue and
sleep again.

Hair spills
through my dream, sprouts
from my stomach, thickens my heart,
and tangles from the brain. Hair ties the tongue dumb.
Hair ascends the tree
of my childhood--the willow
I climbed
one bare foot and hand at a time,
feeling the knuckles of the gnarled tree, hearing
my father plead from his window, _Don't fall!_

In my dream I fly
past summers and moths,
to the thistle
caught in my mother's hair, the purple one
I touched and bled for,
to myself at three, sleeping
beside her, waking with her hair in my mouth.

Along a slippery twine of her black hair
my mother ties ko-tze knots for me:
fish and lion heads, chrysanthemum buds, the heads
of Chinamen, black-haired and frowning.

Li-En, my brother, frowns when he sleeps.
I push back his hair, stroke his brow.
His hairline is our father's, three peaks pointing down.

What sprouts from the body
and touches the body?
What filters sunlight
and drinks moonlight?
Where have I misplaced my heart?
What stops wheels and great machines?
What tangles in the bough
and snaps the loom?

Out of the grave
my father's hair
bursts. A strand
pierces my left sole, shoots
up bone, past ribs,
to the broken heart it stiches,
then down,
swirling in the stomach, in the groin, and down,
through the right foot.

What binds me to this earth?
What remembers the dead
and grows towards them?

I'm tired of thinking.
I long to taste the world with a kiss.
I long to fly into hair with kisses and weeping,
remembering an afternoon
when, kissing my sleeping father, I saw for the first time
behind the thick swirl of his black hair,
the mole of wisdom,
a lone planet spinning slowly.

Sometimes my love is melancholy
and I hold her head in my hands.
Sometimes I recall our hair grows after death.
Then, I must grab handfuls
of her hair, and, I tell you, there
are apples, walnuts, ships sailing, ships docking, and men
taking off their boots, their hearts breaking,
not knowing
which they love more, the water, or
their women's hair, sprouting from the head, rushing toward the feet.

poem by Li-Young Lee
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White mist

The White Clouds
Morphing wonderfully
Changing into Elephants
Then...
Rearranging into children
Playing with balloons.

White clouds
Shaped into swaying cradle
Pushed by the winds
With its toil
There is no sadness

Clouds
Strolling since eternity
When there was nothing
They were here
If they could
Telling us
Strange fables
Grand olden cities
Worlds of acient souls
Wars and battles
Won and lost.

White Floating fluid
Dispearcing the suns light
Covering a landscape
With cool mist
Grey and silver shapes
Giving way to storms sulking
Off in a near horizion
Finding joy and gladness
From their soft shapes
Without any sharp cutting corners

Will I never forget
They lay pendent
Between our two worlds

poem by Howard Johnson
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In The Middle Of The Year

In the middle of the year,
Seldom the sky shows his face.
The clouds reign with friends,
And, the land hails drops of rain.
The clouds play origamy with,
The folding flakes of their
Feather making rafts, boats, ships
One after another on the chest of
The sky, some restless clouds,
Fall to earth to feel the adventures
Of their life, to get into the
Embrace of the stream, river
Seas and oceans, to be evaporated
Again to meet their friends.
They smile, laugh and giggle,
With their hearts' content.
The sun sees this behind the,
Mountains of clouds, peeps
Sometimes, to give ray to,
The rain-bathed earth---
Then the earth, shines in joy!

poem by Nilakshi Das
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Blending With The Sky Again

clouds colored black

Rising from the earth

Floating on red skies

The sun Is gray

Rectangular to the

Earth shaped like

An ovum

A splash in the sea

Like an inverted comma

He is Icarus

He just drowned

They do not think

It is me

The sea is not green

It is blacker than black

I am trying to be

Off-white for you

To see.

But you can’t

You did not try

Thinking hard enough.

You have no time

For this

For me

Or anything else.

Sometimes I think

I should have

Grown myself

As the suicide bomber

And then explode

Inside you.

Perhaps you

Will notice me

Finally.

My

Color must not

Be red.

I may

Blend with the

Red sky again.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I May Blend With The Red Sky Again

clouds colored black
Rising from the earth
Floating on red skies
The sun Is gray
Rectangular to the
Earth shaped like
An ovum
a sensate object
splashes in the sea
Like an inverted comma

He is Icarus
He just drowned

They do not think
It is I

The sea is not green
It is black

I am trying to be
Off-white

for you
To see

But you can’t
You did not try
seeing hard enough.

You have no time
For this
For me
Or anything else.

Sometimes I think
I should have
Grown myself
into a suicide bomber
And then explode
Inside you.

Perhaps you
Will notice me
Finally.

My
Color must not
Be red.
I may
Blend with the
Red sky again.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The July Sky

The sky is pouring all day long,
Water from it's pitch dark pot.
The trees, plants and shrubs so got
Relieved from that scorching hot.
Ah! they said to each other-
Rain is blessings, is not it?
How could one live, happily,
In such painful burning heat?
They all chat and smile and crackle.
Flowers let out sweet fragrance,
The faded greenness then chuckle-
As raindrops start their ballet dance.
We should take rest, can work no more-
The Nimbus clouds discuss with friends,
They labored hard throughout the day.
The lightning, mapping all clouds' ends,
Taking metal scale, he rubs on sky,
Announces-all clouds must take a row.
Whose tasks are left, they stay for now,
The white ones make queue, you can go.
Hearing these words, clouds do the same.
Drizzle starts and blows soothing breeze.
Clouds go back, ending their long game,
The earth, shakes hand with smiling trees

poem by Nilakshi Das
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To Be Red

i may blend with the red sky again

clouds colored black
Rising from the earth
Floating on red skies
The sun Is gray
Rectangular to the
Earth shaped like
An ovum
a sensate object
splashes in the sea
Like an inverted comma

He is Icarus
He just drowned

They do not think
It is I

The sea is not green
It is black

I am trying to be
Off-white

for you
To see

But you can’t
You did not try
seeing hard enough.

You have no time
For this
For me
Or anything else.

Sometimes I think
I should have
Grown myself
into a suicide bomber
And then explode
Inside you.

Perhaps you
Will notice me
Finally.

My
Color must not
Be red.

I may
Blend with the
Red sky again.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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July Sky

The sky is pouring all day long,
Water from it's pitch dark pot.
The trees, plants and shrubs so got
Relieved from that scorching hot.
Ah! they said to each other-
Rain is blessings, is not it?
How could one live, happily,
In such painful burning heat?
They all chat and smile and crackle.
Flowers let out sweet fragrance,
The faded greenness then chuckle-
As raindrops start their ballet dance.
We should take rest, can work no more-
The Nimbus clouds discuss with friends,
They labored hard throughout the day.
The lightning, mapping all clouds' ends,
Taking metal scale, he rubs on sky,
Announces-all clouds must take a row.
Whose tasks are left, they stay for now,
The white ones make queue, you can go.
Hearing these words, clouds do the same.
Drizzle starts and blows soothing breeze.
Clouds go back, ending their long game,
The earth, shakes hand with smiling trees.

ORIGINAL

poem by Nilakshi Das
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Cry Clouds Cry (Haiti Tribute)

Cry clouds cry
tears from the heaven
showers the land as many die
so cry clouds cry

Bodies piled up in count
as many died
earth trembled beneath feet
as the heavens abide
so cry clouds cry

Children left with no hope
families broken apart
left a void in our heart
as masses quake and buildings
shake as relationships break
so cry clouds cry

Black rain fall from the sky
as to many die
all cause of so much lies
so cry clouds cry

It hurts to know you care
and for that we always hold you near
thousand left this world but we still bear
as the voice of the nation we began to hear
so cry clouds cry

Let your voice be heard
though it was observed
it brought our nation together
and that was well deserved
so cry clouds cry

poem by Robert Roberts
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There's A Dark Cloud Over My Head

There is a dark cloud over my head
With every move i make, every step i take
It keeps following me
Lord you know i want to free
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Now as the rain begins to fall, i feel so small
I'm always getting wet with the rain of prejudice
Look there is a mist of discrimation
And the fog of injustice
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds hanging over my head
Lord you know i want to be free
It's hard to look through the thickness of the clouds
Standing under the dark clouds the sun never shines
As my eyes glist for a brighter tomorrow
My sisters and brothers are filled with sorrow
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Why do they keep following me
Lord you know i want to be free
This cloud kept many of our people down
This cloud has kept us bound
Our head hanging to the ground
A cloud of sorrow and pain
A cloud of loneiness and despair
Wondering does anyone care
Now as i look beyond the horizon with the telescope
Of my mind
It was fantastic what i've found
If you can look beyond your dark cloud, sorrow and pain
You will see a star shining so near, yet it seems so far
Beyond your dark clouds, there is a galaxy of deterination
There is a star of i am somebody and it's shining
For the whole world to see
Let's load up our spaceship of education
Put our satellite into orbit, let's speed on to culture
Proudness
Gravitation of ignorance will never hold me down
There's no time for malfunction in our dreams
For many years our focus was ecliped
Eclipse we were inferior, eclipse we couldn't make it
Couldn't go to the same school
We can see clearly now my sisters and brothers
Let's walk in the light, let's fuel up with knowledge
Independence, awareness
Yes use the telescope of your mind
The satellite of youe soul
The orbit of your heart
To reach that certain star, no matter how near or far

poem by Leon Thomas Lee
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Yellow Rose

She came in my dreams last night,
She left a yellow rose and a love note on pillow next to me,
As always the inscription read,
'we are friends for ever and in the eternity'.

Since a rose is a rose,
why the red rose shines in the glory of love?
why the white roses remind us of our departed souls?
and why the yellow rose shines the rays of friendship in all of us?

Like sunshine bursting through grey clouds,
The aura of friendship emanates from its golden petals,
The frozen dew drops on its soft satin petals,
glorifies tears on my cheeks in the times of sadness,
Its mere presence and the fragrance,
fills my heart with the scent of warmth and affection.

Yellow rose you are perfection in creation,
I wonder why you have to wither away in time,
With every falling petal, a heart is broken,
with every withered yellow rose, a token of eternal friendship is lost.

poem by Jay P Narain
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On the banks of the Hudson...an autumn day...

My boat is cruising down the river of my days
Leaving a white spreading wake of joy
Friends smile and I react in kind
The clouds sweep across the skies
Little breaks of sunlight seep through
and light the buildings on the river
Glowing gold and gleaming pink
In the sunset
Tugs, busily drone away at work
And the large liners ponderously stagger
into the dock
Buildings reach up into the sky
To catch the rays of a fast fading summer
The trees are bursting into flame
And throbbing with life before they sleep for the winter
....Along the Hudson river..........

poem by Annie Mark
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Primrose

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole--
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks--
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the flange of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree--
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes--
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.

poem by William Carlos Williams
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Animal

I look out over this dusty ridge ~~ I look around me and wonder why I am alone all the time ~~ Even though I know I am not ~~ Wondering why I feel this way ~~ I feel as if a animal is tearing me apart on the inside ~~ I want to say something about the feeling of claws ripping though my chest ~~ I feel the wind pick up ~~ I notice the clouds ~~ I want the hurt in my chest to stop ~~ I look down into the valley of this place ~~ Knowing I am so far up, making the trees look like ants ~~ It starts to rain, as it rains I start to cry ~~ All I want to know is what happened ~~ Why won’t you let me know you after all this ~~I am soaked to the bone ~~ It is a cool rain ~~ The animal is still clawing me apart on the inside ~~ I tell myself that I can do something about it ~~ The more I start to realize what I can do to fix this ~~ The more the hurt stops, the animal stops for now ~~ My knee’s fall to the ground with a heavy thud ~~ The animal starts to pace ~~ I see the mixture of rain and mud clouds from it ~~ Then as more happens, as I try to fix it ~~ All it does is make the animal return ~~ The memories return ~~ My heart starts racing ~~ The animal is more fierce then before ~~ The hurt returns, along with all the heart ache ~~ The rest of my body grows weak as it start’s clawing in my chest ~~ My body falls the rest of the way to the ground with another heavy thud ~~More mud and dust clouds raise up ~~ The animal claws are like razors in my chest ~~ My face is now laying upon the mixture of mud and dust ~~ My limbs go numb ~~ I can hear the animal’s roaring in my ears ~~ I can feel my eyes slip shut ~~ I can’t see anything but black ~~ I know it won’t be long before I let the animal have it’s way ~~ All I wanted to do is know you ~~ I can feel the animal starting at my heart ~~ The animal starts to clam as I take my last breath of life ~~ Then I know is it all over, and I’m gone ~~ There is finally peace ~~

poem by Marla Smith
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I am a rose

What color am I? Am I red, pink, white, oh wait I am black...
Black is the color of many dark secret places and or ideas, which we may never want to enter...
So why do I feel like I am a black rose? Do I have secrets hidden so deep that no one can even sense them?
I wish I were a red and or a white rose. Those two colors can mean many of things but what you find the most is that of marriage...
Red is the color of love and white is the color in which we use mostly for a wedding. I want my darkness to turn to light. With my color of a rose may the light bring out a marriage...
I am a rose of many colors which one are you? ? ?

poem by Kristen Palmitier
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Being Lost In Cloudy Skies

it is the longing
denied
that these eyes
inflict pain upon
its macular
hole

it is this darkness
that is missing light

it is this
denial that presses
truth to the
edge
banging its head
against
the unprecedented
wall

the thoughts
fly upon its big
black wings

beak pointing to
a landscape
in that dream

clouds hang
fold upon layers and layers
blurring
the vision of
your destination

it cannot go back
it has no option but to
move and fly some more

it cannot fall
its feet cut by the sharp
edges of the winds

it finally becomes
an illusion
dissolving in flight

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mowing the Lawn

The chestnut tree is now stripped bare
and all of the golden leaves have been raked,
bagged in black sacks.

The last summer sun
hangs white hot in the autumn air
while the lawnmower growls willingly.

There’s sand and grass
coming into my nose and the weed-eater
cuts away the jungle.

I see the two cats
climbing down a evergreen tree
from the roof of the garage

and there are ripe yellow tomatoes
on stems in long rows
and a few figs swelling out
hanging on branches
and I cut tufts of grass
at the back of the prickly pears.

poem by Gert Strydom
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