Kangaroo
Delicate mother Kangaroo
Sitting up there rabbit-wise, but huge, plump-weighted,
And lifting her beautiful slender face, oh! so much more
gently and finely lined than a rabbit's, or than a hare's,
Lifting her face to nibble at a round white peppermint drop
which she loves, sensitive mother Kangaroo.
Her sensitive, long, pure-bred face.
Her full antipodal eyes, so dark,
So big and quiet and remote, having watched so many
empty dawns in silent Australia.
Her little loose hands, and drooping Victorian shoulders.
And then her great weight below the waist, her vast pale belly,
With a thin young yellow little paw hanging out, and
straggle of a long thin ear, like ribbon,
Like a funny trimming to the middle of her belly, thin
little dangle of an immature paw, and one thin ear.
Her belly, her big haunches
And, in addition, the great muscular python-stretch of her tail.
There, she shan't have any more peppermint drops.
So she wistfully, sensitively sniffs the air, and then turns,
goes off in slow sad leaps
On the long flat skis of her legs,
Steered and propelled by that steel-strong snake of a tail.
Stops again, half turns, inquisitive to look back.
While something stirs quickly in her belly, and a lean little
face comes out, as from a window,
Peaked and a bit dismayed,
Only to disappear again quickly away from the sight of the
world, to snuggle down in the warmth,
Leaving the trail of a different paw hanging out.
Still she watches with eternal, cocked wistfulness!
How full her eyes are, like the full, fathomless, shining
eyes of an Australian black-boy
Who has been lost so many centuries on the margins of
existence!
She watches with insatiable wistfulness.
Untold centuries of watching for something to come,
For a new signal from life, in that silent lost land of the
South.
Where nothing bites but insects and snakes and the sun,
small life.
Where no bull roared, no cow ever lowed, no stag cried,
no leopard screeched, no lion coughed, no dog barked,
But all was silent save for parrots occasionally, in the
haunted blue bush.
Wistfully watching, with wonderful liquid eyes.
And all her weight, all her blood, dropping sackwise down
towards the earth's centre,
And the live little-one taking in its paw at the door of her
belly.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Face of God
Someone asked; God what if we were to meet face to face?
What face would I see?
Would your eyes be slanted and blue?
Would you have a jewel in the middle of your forehead?
Would your noise be pointed or would it be flat?
Would your lips be thin or would they be full?
God what face would I see?
God answers with these words.
If we were to meet face to face here is what you would see.
Pick up a mirror and the face staring back at you is not only you it is also me.
The Dark
She cradled the coffee cup
her eyes on the door
each entrant receiving an expectant glance
but each time
it was not the one
her glance then
did a sad swan dive
into the swirling mist
above the coffee cup
she hoping to see a future there
in its foaming liquid
which would foretell
he would come
he would come.
She shifted her weight
to one side then the other
lifting her hand
to signal
for another cup to come
to sit beside the faulty one
which had erred;
he'd be there in a minute or two.
But he wasn't.
The new cup would correct that fault
new fumes would swirl
and tell a different tale
of one where he rush through the door
talking of late planes, cab fares
lost cell phones, eager anticipations
breathless sorrys, apologies and regrets
all to lie there on the white linen table top
on which was arrayed two dead mugs
of now cold and stale Colombian roast,
their porcelain profiles lined up
watching a third arrive
in the lengthening night
looking up to encounter my eyes
looking upon her tabled scenario;
she quickly looked away
and then back again
wondering I think,
if I was his messenger
had news of him
who should be in the Lausaus seat
opposite her
surely to rise from the dead
ever expected
but never arrived.
I take my coffee cup emissary
lift it in my palm
my hesitancy overcome
to glide into the Lazurus seat
my cup to my lips
as her's was;
all silent
no words needed
silent communion;
gentle healing
as my cup
came down to the table top
allowing a hesitant hand
to reach out
while her eyes
grew large
peering into the reflected glare
of the night window
seeing him descend
from a taxi-cab
planting a gentle kiss
upon she who smiled
falling back into the dark
and sitting erect
we both watched
her recede
a sideways smile
on her face
and he,
he came to the door
only then to realize
that the loving scene
he thought unseen
was in fact observed
by two
one of whom he knew
and one he did not.
His face wrenched, perplexed;
sin and retribution
joined now at the hip;
a bullet shot bounces back
once shot
and shooter then realizes
he will die
and apologize
simultaneously.
All now frozen;
he standing stock still
recognizing by eyewitness he is lost
turns on his heel
in full retreat
while we two
breathed for the first
our eyes
glide
to lock again
as we both rising simultaneously
to walk out
into the now hopeful dark.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Belly rub
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
Gonna catch that freesby,
then bring it right back to you.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you feed me steak, ill jump in
the pool.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you let me sleep in your bed,
ill protect you from demons and
ghost.
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For My Dog Amber Who Died A Year Ago
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
Gonna catch that freesby,
then bring it right back to you.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you feed me steak, ill jump in
the pool.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you let me sleep in your bed,
ill protect you from demons and
ghost.
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Watching Me Fall
I've been watching me fall for it seems like years
Watching me grow small, i watch me disappear
Slipping out my ordinary world, out my ordinary eyes
Yeah slipping out the ordinary me into someone else's life
Into someone else's life...
There's a thin white cold new moon and the snow is coming down
And the neon bright tokyo lights flicker through the crowd
I've been drifting around for hours and i'm lost and i'm tired
When a whisper in my ear insatiable breathes
"why don't you follow me inside?..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her hair is black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
Is always young... always young
The night is always young...
Yeah i've been seeing them strip to the bone in the mirror on the wall
Seeing her swallow him whole like it's not me at all
She holds out her hands and i follow her down to my knees
And the sucking inside insatiable smiles
"you will forget yourself in me..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her eyes are black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
And the night goes on and on
And the night is always young
And the night is never over and over and over and over and over...
And this it's gone
And this it's gone
Yeah then it's gone
Yeah it's a cruel mean cold new day and outside the snow is still coming down
And in the blood red tokyo bed i watch me coming round
She pulled him down for hours
Deeper than i've ever been
And as i fall in the mirror on the wall
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
Yeah i've been watching me go for it must be years
Watching me get slow, i watch me disappear
And one day, yeah i know, i won't come back at all...
And always over and over in his ordinary eyes
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Savage Tears
He cried tears to tear the heart.
Not the silent tears of aching sorrow.
But those of unimaginable loss.
Vast exhaling sobs that shook the earth
And silent screams that vibrated the air.
That grieved in utter stillness, soundless.
For he had wept the well of tears dry.
The irreparable loss, hard edged,
Had left him hollowed, paper thin.
A howling dissonance of pain too great.
The pit belly loneliness of deprivation.
It is the rendering down of that most deep
An unconscious dissonant of wailing.
But then as surly as the sun rises
He learned to live again, a half life,
Its true, but thankful to come to rest
And lay his head on sunnier shores.
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Characteristics of People
Long hair,
Short hair
Dark or light,
Black or white
Small or full lips,
Thin or wide hips
Blue eyes,
Brown eyes
Skinny or fat,
This or that
Everyone has one or another,
Wether it's from themselves
Or their father or mother.
poem by Jessica Goudreault
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflections on the Television Set
You can catch her staring at the television glares.
Painting pictures in her mind.
Trying to grasp what a sight she would be
If she were beautiful,
Like them.
[Strayed fingerprints speckle the screen, outlined by a thin layer of dust]
*You can catch her sitting by the ocean.
Keeping rhythm with the ebb, breathing out as it flows.
Big dark brown eyes, a strong contrast to her powdery skin.
A slender waist, forming a perfect figure down to her toes.
All accented by her long dark hair.
Falling below her shoulders, above her waist.,
With light curls forming shadows against the moonlight.
She reaches out to feel the ocean,
Her fingers stopped by glass,
Where a girl can be caught staring at her through the glares.
The screen begins to rot,
Colors fade to black.
The pictures die off,
And she's forced to face
Her reflection on the television set.
[Strayed fingerprints speckle the screen, outlined by a thin layer of dust]
*The motion is involuntary, she just needs to pull the trigger.
Fingers pry into her throat, digging out her insides.
She digs deeper, setting her insides to flames,
She watches the ashes pile up, until she's left empty.
You can find her where the blood stains the tile.
Trying to grasp what a sight she would be,
If she looked just like the pictures
Reflected on the television set.
poem by Gabriella Mendoza
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Touch Your Belly
When I touch your belly tears of amazement run down my eyes.
I am so amazed that inside your womb a life lies.
A child that was created all from our love;
God, I can’t believe that in a few weeks you’ll give birth to our miracle of love.
When I touch your belly with my ear;
I can’t believe the heart beat I hear.
It like a little drum beating a message to me;
In the sounds of the beat I swear our child is saying hi daddy.
When I touch your belly I caressing you as well as our child;
I’m caressing you to say thank you for carrying our child.
I could not have chosen a better mother then you.
These are all the things I’m saying when I touch your belly.
The Antipop
The Earth it did crack open
on the day that I was born
and a thousand merry pranksters
came dancin' through the storm.
I lay cradle bound
a howlin' out my mind
not knowin' years to come
I'd be shoutin' over din
I sucked information through the holes in my skull
as my belly gurgles hungry my mouth is always full.
I am Antipop; I'll run against the grain till the day I drop.
I am the Antipop; the man you cannot stop.
As a young man,
I plug into the tube,
but the stench of all that pretense
I cannot muddle through.
I lay on my back
and scan the radio
all that comes out my speakers
is a steady syrup flow.
I suck information through the holes in my skull
as my belly gurgles hungry my mouth is always full.
I stood by watching
and I seen 'em come and go.
I seen 'em make that million
then vanish in the snow.
They come upon you
like a pack of rabid hounds
as they slobber in your ears
and purge you with their sounds.
Pushing misinformation through the holes in my skull
my belly gurgles nauseous and still my mouth is full.
I am Antipop; I'll run against the grain till the day I drop.
I am the Antipop; the man you cannot stop.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girl On Terrace
I see a girl,
Standing on terrace,
Face covered with long curls,
Staring in the empty space,
She’s watching the stars, or the clouds,
I don’t know,
But her pale face is glowing in moonlight,
Showing her mood is a bit low,
She’s trying to catch,
Someone in the empty air,
Realizes soon it was just a shadow,
And lies back on the empty chair,
Her face is again in her hands,
Seems like gaining some words or thoughts,
Just a second passed and I hear a sob,
It seemed she was in pain,
Something hurt her a lot,
She was continuously touching,
The chair beside her,
Slowly and affectionately,
Like she was touching a person,
Close to her,
Again she realized,
There was no one sitting there,
It was again a shadow,
And seemed like she was going to shatter….
Suddenly, I saw a smile,
Reflecting pain, on her face,
Maybe she remembered something good from her past,
Or just an incident case,
She flinched,
As she remembered something,
Her face was worse than I first saw,
Her silent sobs now louder,
Than any other creatures creeping,
It seemed she was living an empty life,
Full of darkness and shadows,
I don’t know what had happened to her,
Wonder if she was hurt by circumstances, friend or foe?
Suddenly, she stood up,
And was going back downstairs,
The rhythm of stick, made me realize she was blind,
Maybe that was the pain,
Beneath her beautiful pale layers,
But I soon realized,
Her pain was more than that,
Of course,
I wanted to ask about the person in her empty shadows,
The reason for her silent sobs,
But that young girl,
On the terrace,
Sometimes smiling, sometimes sobbing,
With her pain and empty shadows,
Was lost………….
poem by Apurva Jain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cruelty and Love
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping in the yellow light
Which makes its way through the curtain web
At my heart to-night?
Ah, only the leaves! So leave me at rest,
In the west I see a redness come
Over the evening's burning breast --
For now the pain is numb.
The woodbine creeps abroad
Calling low to her lover:
The sunlit flirt who all the day
Has poised above her lips in play
And stolen kisses, shallow and gay
Of dalliance, now has gone away
-- She woos the moth with her sweet, low word,
And when above her his broad wings hover
Then her bright breast she will uncover
And yeild her honey-drop to her lover.
Into the yellow, evening glow
Saunters a man from the farm below,
Leans, and looks in at the low-built shed
Where hangs the swallow's marriage bed.
The bird lies warm against the wall.
She glances quick her startled eyes
Towards him, then she turns away
Her small head, making warm display
Of red upon the throat. Her terrors sway
Her out of the nest's warm, busy ball,
Whose plaintive cries start up as she flies
In one blue stoop from out the sties
Into the evening's empty hall.
Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes
Hide your quaint, unfading blushes,
Still your quick tail, and lie as dead,
Till the distance covers his dangerous tread.
The rabbit presses back her ears,
Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes
And crouches low: then with wild spring
Spurts from the terror of the oncoming
To be choked back, the wire ring
Her frantic effort throttling:
Piteous brown ball of quivering fears!
Ah soon in his large, hard hands she dies,
And swings all loose to the swing of his walk.
Yet calm and kindly are his eyes
And ready to open in brown surprise
Should I not answer to his talk
Or should he my tears surmise.
I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair
Watching the door open: he flashes bare
His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes
In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise
He flihgs the rabbit soft on the table board
And comes towards me: ah, the uplifted sword
Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broad
Blade of his hand that raises my face to applaud
His coming: he raises up my face to him
And caresses my mouth with his fingers, smelling grim
Of the rabbit's fur! God, I am caught in a snare!
I know not what fine wire is round my throat,
I only know I let him finger there
My pulse of life, letting him nose like a stoat
Who sniffs with joy before he drinks the blood:
And down his mouth comes to my mouth, and down
His dark bright eyes descend like a fiery hood
Upon my mind: his mouth meets mine, and a flood
Of sweet fire sweeps across me, so I drown
Within him, die, and find death good.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Great, for just a moment in time
Fire in my belly,
Inspiration had struck,
like a lightning bolt in the desert,
From the Clouds onto the sand,
A moment until the dust settles.
My Eyes, they are widened,
To see all, that surrounds me,
I grab Pen, I grab Pad,
and I write, and I scribble, and I draw large sketches,
And let my belly fire grow and devastate,
The fire becomes similar to a bush fire,
my pencil or pen writes across the pages of my pad,
and the ink and lead consume the lines and blank spaces.
And make creations of those in my mind.
A lion you become, Part of a bohemian Pride,
looking down upon your art with a great flowing mane,
and a roar of pride as you claw a title across the top.
Inspiration had struck,
And it makes you feel strong, powerful, even invisible,
And Proud.
You become a lion in its pride with a flowing great mane,
like lightning striking down on a desert,
A belly fire crawling across the bush,
You become Great, For just a moment in time.
poem by Sam Seymour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Degradation of a race
Black hair, black skin, black eyes,
Square face, square teeth, square chin,
Fleshy breasts, fleshy back and fleshy lips
Are features of Dravidian descendents.
Pale hair, pale skin, pale eyes,
Long face, long teeth, long nose,
Thin chest, thin locks and thin lips
Are features of Aryan descendents.
The former is flesh eating, lustful,
Emotion ridden and industrious.
The latter is grass-eating, lust tamed,
Manoeuvring and goal conscious.
Siva, Parvathi, Kali with Asuras
Are portrayed with Dravidian features.
Rama, Krishna, Lakshmi, Sarasvathi
With devas are of Aryan features.
All Itikas, Puranas and Epics depict thus.
They are held as holy scriptures
By both the races alike.
08.10.2000, Paralkemundi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Cirque D'Hiver
Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,
fit for a king of several centuries back.
A little circus horse with real white hair.
His eyes are glossy black.
He bears a little dancer on his back.
She stands upon her toes and turns and turns.
A slanting spray of artificial roses
is stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice.
Above her head she poses
another spray of artificial roses.
His mane and tail are straight from Chirico.
He has a formal, melancholy soul.
He feels her pink toes dangle toward his back
along the little pole
that pierces both her body and her soul
and goes through his, and reappears below,
under his belly, as a big tin key.
He canters three steps, then he makes a bow,
canters again, bows on one knee,
canters, then clicks and stops, and looks at me.
The dancer, by this time, has turned her back.
He is the more intelligent by far.
Facing each other rather desperately—
his eye is like a star—
we stare and say, "Well, we have come this far."
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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The Kiss
She turns her head gently
From left to right
And from right to left,
Avoiding my blazing lips.
Her shiny ebon hair
Gracefully frames her charming face.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The blue waves of the sea,
The flight of birds very high,
The azure serenity of the sky.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The green tranquility of the forest
Happiness and sadness,
Her beautiful soul, suffering and love,
The pristine spirit of an ivory dove.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The pure white blossoms of Lily
And the sun rising over the mountain,
The bliss and joy of life, the sorrow and the pain.
She turns her head gently
From right to left
And from left to right
Until my lips meet with hers
And I kiss her enchanted, throbbing and trembling.
Time stands still, only the hour grows thin,
Her delicate fingers plough my bare skin.
poem by Paul Hartal
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New Year's Morning 2011
Cold rain falls
as the earth turns
for another round.
Last night’s cheer
dives into deeper tears
as his wan face
rises in the air.
His gaze is sad;
your sharp tears wash
his watching eyes
and hungering arms
can not bridge
the thin divide
that separates was
from is.
But this morning
the green, new world waits
slick and shivering,
crying for warmth
and a reason
to go on.
Let me be your warmth.
Let my arms enfold you
as I share my little light
to end your long,
cold night.
poem by Steven Federle
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Points
Counting points every day
To try and keep my weight at bay
Low cal this low fat that
Its all to keep me from getting fat
Meer morsels appear upon my plate
Were once was full my mighty plate
Green stuff coming out my ears
I should have buckteeth and rabbit ears
The weight is dropping really slow
I have such a long way to go
Rabbit food and plate so bare
About my weight I really care
Four months down the line
Lost loads of weight and feeling fine
No more grumbling about the food
That balanced diet done me good
Chellaston
06 04 2010
poem by Jim O'Donnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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El #1
Here we are,
in the belly of a creeping snake,
lurching and burping up some of the people
as quickly as it gobbles them up.
It ducks and weaves amongst the tall concrete grasses
only to stop as it passes
to engage in the burping and gobbling gesture again.
Here we are,
in the belly of a creeping snake
Its a wonderful thing, this
movement is molten silver
Like a dancer who might have had her training in outer space.
I am here, in this belly, warm and protected
for a long time you might have suspected.
There is no reason to leave
unless I want something new.
Its a wonderful thing, this movement is molten silver
Its now or never, and we make a break for the light.
I take in a deep breath and inhale the flavor of freedom,
my first move isn’t to vote but choose the ice cream.
We all scream for ice cream, till it falls out of our grasp
and onto the concrete below.
Its now or never, and we make a break for the light
poem by Paul Velat
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Hidden Sweetness Is There
217
What hidden sweetness there is in this emptiness of the belly!
Man is surely like a lute, no more and no less;
For if, for instance, the belly of the lute becomes full, no
lament high or low will arise from that full lute.
If your brain and belly are on fire through fasting, because of
the fire every moment a lament will arise from your breast.
Every moment you will burn a thousand veils by that fire; you
will mount a hundred steps with zeal and endeavor.
Become empty of belly, and weep entreatingly like the reed
pipe; become empty of belly, and tell secrets with the reed pen.
If your belly is full at the time of concourse, it will bring Satan
in place of your reason, an idol in place of the Kaaba.
When you keep the fast, good habits gather together before
you like slaves and servants and retinue.
Keep the fast, for that is Solomon’s ring; give not the ring to
the div, destroy not your kingdom.
Even if your kingdom has gone from your head and your army
has fled, your army will rise up, pennants flying above them.
The table arrived from heaven to the tents of the fast, by the
intervention of the prayers of Jesus, son of Mary.
In the fast, be expectant of the table of bounty, for the table of
bounty is better than the broth of cabbages.