Are We Better Now Than Then (stand naked in front of a full length mirror)
Better Now Than Then?
(stand naked in front of a full length mirror and try not to giggle or gag)
We were then:
Small wiry bipeds on dry plains of Serengeti
Stringy, tight muscles, strong hands, with long slender fingers
Low, beetled brow over dark eyes, seeing distant
Long pointed nails, ridged and discolored, tip slender delicate digits
We are now:
Tall upright bipeds, on dry, sere, parking lot at Walmart
Folds of flaccid fat, fallow, loose, hanging over belts
Squeaky-clean, sausage-like, weak, fat fingers
Skin stretched tight over pudgy, pillow-like hands
We were then:
Hardy travelers, to distant mist shrouded mountains
Feet naked, soles hardened, over plains of rock, sand and gravel
Long slender bows, slung over lean shoulders and arrows in hide pouches,
Obsidian knives, tucked in scant leather loincloths
We are now:
Overweight omnivores, driving air conditioned cars across heat-shimmered blacktop
Aching feet shod in spring-soled Nikes, Ipods and ear pods slung cross sallow chests
Cellphones esconced in synthetic leather, hung from belts, supporting extra large Dockers
Weak, myopic eyes, desperately scanning vast uncharted parking lot
In search of the always elusive parking space, nearer the doors
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Garden Lady
Her fingers long and slender
As to the rest of her
Wonder how such frailty could, labor
Seen with dirt under nails
Her drive is a better world
She has gone further
Than just a frail young woman
Her fingers long and slender
With the smell of future flowers
Soon will give you much to see
Exceeding your garden needs
The plants she sows
They are hardy
They will grow
Through heat
Through neglect
She will give you what you expect
And tell you not to neglect
Keeping them alive is nothing new
Seedlings comming through
In a secret garden
Away from the cruel....
She holds a thornless rose
Timeless and fragile
Pretty and pink
With other pastel inks
The blossoming is forever
In her heart
A model for all to know
For no other could grow
Another season begins
Life lush and green
That is her nature
Fingers long and slender
poem by Howard Johnson
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Morning (Poem From The Movie Il Postino)
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in your hair;
naked, you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails-
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves-
and becomes a naked hand again
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXVII: Naked You Are As Simple as one of your Hands
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
You have moonlines, applepathways:
Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as the night in Cuba;
You have vines and stars in your hair;
Naked, you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails,
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Mother Goddess
a circle of stars over
her head
hands holding white
flowers
her feet on top
of a snake
her long black hair
smooth skin
wavy eyelashes
slender fingers
virgin
pure
mother of all
in plaster of Paris
painted and revered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Death Papers.... (Part Two)
i, the body
of earth and wind,
cry for the mountains,
the valleys, and rivers.
i am man,
the warrior naked,
muscled dark and lean.
with eyes borrowed from the hawk,
and hands that turn the ground.
i bear the feet of time determined,
the marks of the whip scar my back.
with hardened phallus,
and panting breath,
i follow the trail of the wolves.
i am woman,
the warrior naked,
long hair swept by the wind.
with eyes borrowed from the owl,
and hands skilled in healing.
i bear the feet of time determined,
the scar of the chains on my wrists.
breasts born with fire,
garden wet with hungry birth,
i am the trail the wolves follow!
and now,
i, the body
lay down my cross,
seed in the furrow,
sunlight waiting
for darkness's goodbye kiss.
for i, the body,
am earth and wind....
mountains, valleys,
and rivers cry for me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Parking Lot
Every means of transport
Needs a parking space
Airport, seaport
A parking lot
Each to mark
The journey's end
One behind the wheel
Is duty bound
World's a huge parking lot
People come and go.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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The Prayers
The rocking hands swayed me back,
The centuries full four and ten behind;
Placed me on the cold wet sandy bank,
At the time of dawn, half light, half night.
Behind I saw stretched sandy plains,
In front calm sea with small ridges
Moving when gentle air moved.
Far away I beheld a ship coming
Ashore from the remote distant land,
Anchored instantly after the voyage long.
I beheld then the men four riding on
The steeds, galloping along splashing waters;
Fully armoured,
Equipped with sharp shining swords;
And captured they the descending voyager,
From the shoulders who cast at me,
A resigned patient look.
Ah! I can recall the heavy rough brows,
Long nose, thick lips, complexion black,
Perforated ear with a silvery ringlet,
Long dress and loose sleeves.
Turned then he to the centre,
Bended knees, sat to offer the prayers,
Under the lurking long curved blades.
Then the same rocking hands brought me back,
To sign a bond, to make a new turn,
And rectify direction of the derailed gait,
Eyes I found watering full flowing,
Drenching cheeks and the whiskers all.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Dislocated Limbs
Like dislocated limbs, we're out of place,
Pulled from the socket—loose, slacked and dangling.
Like elastic skin, we're stretched across space,
Flapping against the breezes of mangling,
Distorted flesh full-pressed, flung in the air,
Hung-dried in the diorama-scape skies.
We're pinched in the tight grasp of vision impaired
Which clings, clutching at our conditioned eyes.
We'd rather not see, becoming blinded,
Looking inward on blankness's design.
Through distantiation, I'm reminded
My fingers fit the notches of your spine.
Though we lie apart, twisted and broken,
Our hearts will repair when they're awoken.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Dance With Me
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
[slim:] I can see you over there just chillin with your girlfriends, cant
Believe your by your self you should be hear with me, chillin with me,
Drinkin with me, freakin with me. oooohhh whoa, whoa!
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
[slim:] I can see it in your eyes that your looking at the time. you wanna
Leave this party and I know you wanna leave with me. to chill with me, to
Drink with me, to freak with me, oh baby!
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
[slim:] everybody sing along....
[112:] if you sexy and you know it clap your hands (clap [5x])
If you sexy and you know it clap your hands (clap [5x])
If you sexy and you know it and you really wanna show it,
If you sexy and you know it clap your hands (clap [5x]) yeah!
Beenie man: this is a dance break come on the thats when he starts to rap
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
[chorus:]
I see you looking at me
I can tell by your eyes that your feeling me
And I really want you to get close with me.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me.
My drop tops in the parking lot
And I wanna take you back to my spot.
But we still got a lil more time to rock.
So wont you dance with me...dance with me!
song performed by by 112
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Her The Gun
Downtown, drive by, a drink card in her hand
All night hustler parking by the stand
Full blown engine, she comes on like a fight
Give her the gun, boy youd better hold on tight
I dont know why, she brings me on
I dont know why, ooh but she brings me on
Shes a right runner, real mean mother too
I cant wait to see her break in front of you
Making a movie star upon the screen
If daddys looking, you come on like a queen
I dont know why, she brings me on
I dont know why, but she brings me on
-(instrumental)
Downtown drive by, a drink card in her hand
All night hustler parking by the stand
Full blown engines she comes on like a fight
Give her the gun, boy you better hold on tight
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Motherhood
She sat on a shelf,
her breasts two bellies
on her poked-out belly,
on which the navel looked
like a sucked-in mouth—
her knees bent and apart,
her long left arm raised,
with the large hand knuckled
to a bar in the ceiling—
her right hand clamping
the skinny infant to her chest—
its round, pale, new,
soft muzzle hunting
in the brown hair for a nipple,
its splayed, tiny hand picking
at her naked, dirty ear.
Twisting its little neck,
with tortured, ecstatic eyes
the size of lentils, it looked
into her severe, close-set,
solemn eyes, that beneath bald
eyelids glared—dull lights
in sockets of leather.
She twitched some chin-hairs,
with pain or pleasure,
as the baby-mouth found and
yanked at her nipple;
its pink-nailed, jointless
fingers, wandering her face,
tangled in the tufts
of her cliffy brows.
She brought her big
hand down from the bar
with pretended exasperation
unfastened the little hand,
and locked it within her palm—
while her right hand
with snag-nailed forefinger
and short, sharp thumb, raked
the new orange hair
of the infant’s skinny flank—
and found a louse,
which she lipped, and
thoughtfully crisped
between broad teeth.
She wrinkled appreciative
nostrils which, without a nose,
stood open—damp holes
above the poke of her mouth.
She licked her lips, flicked
her leather eyelids—
then, suddenly flung
up both arms and grabbed
the bars overhead.
The baby‘s scrabbly fingers
instantly caught the hair—
as if there were metal rings there—
in her long, stretched armpits.
And, as she stately swung,
and then proudly, more swiftly
slung herself from corner
to corner of her cell—
arms longer than her round
body, short knees bent—
her little wild-haired,
poke-mouthed infant hung,
like some sort of trophy,
or decoration, or shaggy medal—
shaped like herself—but new,
clean, soft and shining
on her chest.
poem by May Swenson
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Eleanor
She’s in the garden before light, because of her heart I suppose,
she strokes and stares at the petals of the deepest crimson rose.
Her slender right-hand’s delicate fingers grasp the stem so tight,
as blood drips through her fingers onto her clothes of the night.
No signs of pain show on her face as the thorns pierce her skin,
but tears roll down her cheeks, as she suffers a greater pain within.
Her once only love has gone because he has found someone new,
now she has only memories and a heart that’s been torn in two.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Big Yellow Taxi
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique, and a swinging hot spot
Dont it always seem to go
That you dont know what youve got till its gone
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop, shoo-bop-bop-bop
They took all the trees and put em in a tree museum
And then they charged all the poeple twenty-five bucks just to see em
Dont it always seem to go
That you dont know what youve got till its gone
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop, shoo-bop-bop-bop
Hey farmer, farmer, put away your ddt now
Give me spots on my apples but leave me the birds and the bees, please
Dont it always seem to go
That you dont know what youve got till its gone
They paved paradise and they put up a parking lot
I say, they paved paradise and they put up a parking lot
Dont it always seem to go
That you dont know what youve got till its gone
They paved paradise and they put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop
Late last night I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi carried off my old man
Dont it always seem to go
That you dont know what youve got till its gone
They paved paradise and they put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop
Dont it always seem to go
That you dont know what youve got till its gone
They paved paradise and they put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop
Oh, now, they paved paradise and they put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop
Hey, steam rolled paradise and put up a parking lot
Shoo-bop-bop-bop-bop
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting For Tonight
I went walking down the boulevard
Past the skateboards and the beggars
I was out looking in the windows
Just out walking, letting my mind roam
If she hung around too much I might take her for granted
But when I was away, she seemed an angel
The only one who really cared about me
The only one without an angle
For so long Ive been lonely
Now Im too weak to fight
Ive been waiting for tonight
Ive been waiting for tonight
(good night my love, sleep tight my love)
Yes and I had a little time to kill
As I crossed the parking lot
And I was feeling lucky to have a place to go
Yeah my nerves were feeling shot
For so long Ive been weary
There was no end in sight
Ive been waiting for tonight
Ive been waiting for tonight
(good night my love, sleep tight my love)
Oh Ive been waiting round
For a night like this
Yeah I felt it coming down
Since her first kiss
(good night my love)
Yeah and Im wrestling with my overcoat
Yeah Im fighting with my thoughts
Im gonna trust my intuition
Im gonna hope I dont get lost
For some time Ive been lonely
Ive been too weak to fight
Ive been waiting for tonight
Ive been waiting for tonight
(good night my love, sleep tight my love)
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Opposites
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Walked out into the street
And splashed in all the pubbles till
She had such shocking feet
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Stayed quietly in the house
And sat upon the fender stool
As still as any mouse.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Her hands were black as ink;
She would come running through the house
And begging for a drink.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Her hands were white as snow;
She did not like to play around,
She only liked to sew.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Lost hair ribbons galore;
She dropped them on the garden walks,
She dropped them on the floor.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
O thoughtful little girl!
She liked to walk quite soberly,
It kept her hair in curl.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
When she was glad or proud
Just flung her arms round Mother's neck
And kissed her very loud.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Was shocked at such a sight,
She only offered you her cheek
At morning and at night.
O Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Your happy laughing face
Does like a scented Summer rose
Make sweet the dullest place.
O Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
My dear, I'm well content
To have my daughter in my arms,
And not an ornament.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Fantasies Of A Mirror Part-1
The mirror gasped as she stood in front of it with her tresses flowing longingly
The mirror looked in her dark brown eyes
The mirror admired her almost perfect lips
The mirror gazed longingly at her perfect hips
The mirror took her in its arms
The mirror embraced her reflection in itself
The mirror ran its fingers through her soft hair
The mirror kissed her lips a thousand times
The mirror bit her slender neck
The mirror whispered a thousand nothings in her ears
The mirror …..The mirror ……The mirror
The mirror left its love bites all over her soft warm body
poem by Leonard Rebello
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Dark Of Night
IN THE DARK OF NIGHT , YOU REACH OUT TO ME , AS I TAKE YOUR HAND, YOU DRAW ME CLOSER AND TOGETHER WE STAND.THE LOOK IN YOUR EYES, THE TOUCH OF YOUR KISS, OUR HEARTS BEAT IN RYTHEM WHEN YOU HOLD ME LIKE THIS, THE TOUCH OF YOUR FINGERS AS THEY SEARCH AND EXPLORE, LEAVES ME BREATHLESS AND WEAK AND YEARNING FOR MORE, THE FEEL OF YOUR BODY PRESSED TIGHT AGAINST MINE, WE ARE LOST IN EACH OTHER, AS THE DARK OF NIGHT TURNS BACK TIME.I REACH OUT TO YOU TO DRAW YOU NEAR, ONLY TO WAKE TO FIND YOU ARE NOT HERE, .IM HOLDING YOUR PILLOW, AND HOLDING IT TIGHT, AS MY CRIES OF SORROW PIERCES THE QUITE, I CALL OUT YOUR NAME IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, I ASK FOR ONLY, ONE LAST CHANCE TO TOUCH YOUR FACE, TO HOLD YOU CLOSE ONE MORE TIME IN THE DARK OF NIGHT. .THE ONLY ANSWER THAT I HEAR, IS THE SHATERING SOUND OF A BREAKING HEART, AND THE ROARING SOUND OF THE SEA OF TEARS , AS I BEGIN FALLING APART., MY FINGERS KEEP SEARCHING THE EMPTY SPACE , WISHING FOR ONE LAST CHANCE TO REACH OUT AND CARESS YOUR FACE.THEY ONLY FIND YOU ARE NOT THERE, THE COLD ROUGH SHEET AWAITS THEM THERE, AS THEY KEEP SEARCHING IN THE DARK NIGHT AIR.
poem by Judy Compton
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In Dressing Room
In dressing room
Naked eventually to see the hands and feet
See the length of hands and feet
Like to see one’s length or shortness
Naked finally to see the body
See the body’s fat and lean
Such to see one’s tolerance and mean
In dressing room
Holding the picked and chosen clothes
Finally lone to face the mirror
Put on and take off, Take off and put on
Try on and change, change and try on
After all
How many times I should change to face a shameless I?
After all
How many time I should change to face the world
poem by DePen Chang
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Does Not Apply To Them
Sometimes I wonder
if some drivers can read or not
when it comes to parking in a parking lot.
They ignore the one way system,
the entrance and exits signs
when they want to park their posh new cars.
If you point out their mistake,
they become quite indignant
as if that does not apply to them.
They feel they have the right
to do just as they please
and use the exit instead of the entrance
forgetting everyone else
who may have been
in front of them in the queue.
4 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Town Types No. 9 - Long John, The Snob
Long John McDougal, the wax-end and leather man,
Solon of the main street, full of curious lore,
Keen-eyed and frugal, politician, weather man,
Pegging there, or stitching by his shop front door;
Keen-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal
Talked as he toiled there, or harked to others' woes,
With his tousled old grey head and steel-rimmed spectacles,
His old steel spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John the leather man: boots, bridles any a thing
Fashioned out of leather, could his wise hands mend.
'Cease your foolish blether, man! For I have cobbled many a thing
Cobbled it and cured it wi' me strong wax-end.
Cease your foolish blether, man. 'Tis Long John, the leather man
Has shod the feet of half the town, an' no complaints from those.'
And his old head would waggle and his steel-rimmed spectacles
His smeared old spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John, the cobbler, sets aside his sowing owl,
Sets aside his apron and gives his hands a rub,
And trots off for his nobbler, just as he has been going all
These long years for his whisky at the Railway pub.
Long John, the cobbler, calling for his nobbler:
One I'll tak', or two I'll tak', but I'm content wi' those.'
And he gazes e'er so wisely thro' his steel-rimmed spectacles
His bent old spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
Long John McDougal sat to have a crack there,
Just within his shop door the day I left the town,
Keen-eyed and frugal. And if I ever went back there
I know I'd find him fadeless, his wise law laying down
Kind-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal,
Spouting weather prophesies, downing fiscal foes,
Peering, with his head back, thro' grime-dimmed spectacles
His old steel spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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