Improvisurrealism
Dawn's light…bone white
a sky seeming void
of all color
Breath fogging into the air
Wasted bodies and tormented faces
Ice blue eyes
And sharp glacial glare
Highlights in shadow
Bright as cold chrome
Faces round and cratered
Like the moon
Skies skewered
By skeins of blackbirds
Crazed cry… in the dark…
Of a loon
Walls discolored
By exhalations and memories
Memories thought to be
Safely hidden behind
Rheumy, tinted eyes
Souls seared black …about the edges
Weightless and ghostly
Adorned with garlands
Of the prettiest of lies
Without whisper of sound
Fans slowly strobing
In the whine of vain effort
Push humidity around
In the gloom
Foghorns moaning
Like lost souls of the sea…
Drowned, damned and doomed!
Whose only want
Is everything…
And things that
Cannot be
poem by David Whalen
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Related quotes
King Street
A morn, a sallow lamp-lit morn,
A dawn that never breaks to day!
Old, old the faces, and forlorn;
The hearts look out, so seared, so grey!
It is as if some upturned stone
Had flung to light a vermin rout—
For things misfeatured, souls unknown,
Stagger in blind amaze about.
Along their gleaming lines of light
The charging trams go, head to ground;
Out from the drifting pathways, white
The faces flash—like faces drowned!
And there with painted features drear,
And eyes whose pathos still is sweet,
The hunted hunters prowl and peer—
Their lair the long, slow-surging street.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Night-Scented Stock
White, white in the milky night
The moon danced over a tree.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to swim in the lake!"
Someone whispered to me.
"Oh, do-do-do!" cooed someone else,
And clasped her hands to her chin.
"I should so love to see the white bodies--
All the white bodies jump in!"
The big dark house hid secretly
Behind the magnolia and the spreading pear-tree;
But there was a sound of music--music rippled and ran
Like a lady laughing behind her fan,
Laughing and mocking and running away...
"Come into the garden--it's as light as day!"
"I can't dance to that Hungarian stuff,
The rhythm in it is not passionate enough,"
Said somebody. "I absolutely refuse...."
But he took off his socks and his shoes
And round he spun. "It's like Hungarian fruit dishes
Hard and bright--a mechanical blue!"
His white feet flicked in the grass like fishes...
Someone cried: "I want to dance, too!"
But one with a queer Russian ballet head
Curled up on a blue wooden bench instead.
And another, shadowy--shadowy and tall--
Walked in the shadow of the dark house wall,
Someone beside her. It shone in the gloom,
His round grey hat, like a wet mushroom.
"Don't you think perhaps..." piped someone's flute.
"How sweet the flowers smell!" I heard the other say.
Somebody picked a wet, wet pink,
Smelled it and threw it away.
"Is the moon a virgin or is she a harlot?"
Asked somebody. Nobody would tell.
The faces and the hands moved in a pattern
As the music rose and fell,
In a dancing, mysterious, moon-bright pattern
Like flowers nodding under the sea...
The music stopped and there was nothing left of them
But the moon dancing over the tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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The Old Men
Old and alone, sit we,
Caged, riddle-rid men;
Lost to earth's 'Listen!' and 'See!'
Thought's 'Wherefore?' and 'When?'
Only far memories stray
Of a past once lovely, but now
Wasted and faded away,
Like green leaves from the bough.
Vast broods the silence of night,
The ruinous moon
Lifts on our faces her light,
Whence all dreaming is gone.
We speak not; trembles each head;
In their sockets our eyes are still;
Desire as cold as the dead;
Without wonder or will.
And One, with a lanthorn, draws near,
At clash with the moon in our eyes:
'Where art thou?' he asks: 'I am here,'
One by one we arise.
And none lifts a hand to withhold
A friend from the touch of that foe:
Heart cries unto heart, 'Thou art old!'
Yet reluctant, we go.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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And Winter Comes Again
The spicy condimental smell
Of crushed Autumn leaves
Faint distant cries
As from damned souls
Whisper from the trees
Skeletal limbs…in gelid winds
Grasping desperately
For things they cannot see
And spirits unconsigned
To either heaven or hell
Roam earth eternally
The lead ochre gleam
Of frozen stream
Hard and spare as flint
Light crystal path
with winter’s gleam
Imbued with glacial glint
Winds with razored
edges keen
Shave shapeless drifts
To ghostly forms
Spare and mean
Gives souls pause
To shrink and shrivel
In fond membrance of summer
And then
Commence into acquiescence
to icy caresses
And surrenders to winter
again
poem by David Whalen
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Peace In A Palace
'You were weeping in the night,' said the Emperor,
'Weeping in your sleep, I am told.'
'It was nothing but a dream,' said the Empress;
But her face grew gray and old.
'You thought you saw our German God defeated?'
'Oh, no!' she said. 'I saw no lightnings fall.
I dreamed of a whirlpool of green water,
Where something had gone down. That was all.
_'All but the whimper of the sea gulls flying,
Endlessly round and round,
Waiting for the faces, the faces from the darkness,
The dreadful rising faces of the drowned._
'It was nothing but a dream,' said the Empress.
'I thought I was walking on the sea;
And the foam rushed up in a wild smother,
And a crowd of little faces looked at me.
They were drowning! They were drowning,' said the Empress,
'And they stretched their feeble arms to the sky;
But the worst was--they mistook me for their mother,
And cried as my children used to cry.
_'Nothing but a whimper of the sea-gulls flying,
Endlessly round and round,
With the cruel yellow beaks that were waiting for the faces,
The little floating faces of the drowned.'_
'It was nothing but a dream,' said the Emperor,
'So why should you weep, dear, eh?'--
'Oh, I saw the red letters on a life belt
That the green sea washed my way!'--
'What were they?' said the Emperor. 'What were they?'--
'Some of them were hidden,' said the Empress,
'But I plainly saw the L and the U!'
'In God's name, stop!' said the Emperor.
'You told me that it was not true!
_'Told me that you dreamed of the sea gulls flying,
Endlessly round and round,
Waiting for the faces, and the eyes in the faces,
The eyes of the children that we drowned._
'Kiss me and forget it,' said the Emperor,
'Dry your tears on the tassel of my sword.
I am going to offer peace to my people,
And abdicate, perhaps, as overlord.
I shall now take up My Cross as Count of Prussia--
Which is not a heavy burden, you'll agree.
Why, before the twenty million dead are rotten
There'll be yachting days again for you and me.
Cheer up!
It would mean a rope for anyone but Me.'
_'Oh, take care!' said the Empress. 'They are flying,
Endlessly round and round.
They have finished with the faces, the dreadful little faces,
The little eyeless faces of the drowned.'_
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Blue February Promised
January's promise
was disguised
in a February blue
while the sun was
shinning thru
In the cold
while the flowers
were blooming
bright blue
Clear skies and
coming snow
Y'a know, I only
wish the best,
you know
From the yellow butter
and almost white
jonquil's bloom
To the other
and empty
gloom
I turn only out of effort
turn into the cold and blue
turn slowly to you
slowly raising my hand to you
would you too
poem by Midnights Voice
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We... (Stoned By The Struggle)
we, who are stoned by the struggle,
whose faces bear the marks of living.
whose hands tremble a little
as we unbutton the shirt...
whose eyes dim still see.
whose bodies smell like bodies,
whose feet need to be washed.
whose hearts whisper in the empty night,
whose souls restless roam the earth.
whose dreams have become the small things,
whose breath smells of brandy and smoke.
whose doors are unlocked,
whose beds are offered...
we, who are drunk with living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Early Works - Raptures Dream
A raptures dream of fragrant memories
a cloud dispelling pleasure sky
the formation of a colony of sons
a heart of rambling arms entwine.
Somewhere in a shadowy past
lies a threat to future things
a gorgons dream of many heads
of walls of stone and fortress bent
a sharp cry from the Dennison’s deep.
A world of torturous souls
where mentful visits are lost
nowhere to find the hidden man
whose armour has no dent.
No longer shall we presuppose
on where our destiny went,
a rush of shadows fall again
on raptures dream of fragrant memories.
15 May 1979
poem by David Harris
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In Memory of the Men at the Yale Hotel
Here's to the men
Who lived at the Yale
These sad sweet souls
Each had their own tale
Of lives lived in youth
In the Great Depression
Memories of hunger
And political repression
So off they all marched
To the second World War
Returning with scars
Too deep to ignore
They turned to the bottle
And drowned in their sorrow
Spending alcoholic nights
With no thought of the morrow
Lost and forgotten by
Family and friends
With only faint memories of
Who they'd once been
But all of God's angels
Never lost sight
Of all those brave souls
Who fought the good fight
And now they are home
In the Light from above
They've finally found peace
In God's Perfect Love
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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The Old Magic
Gray is the sea, and the skies are gray;
They are ghosts of our blue, bright yesterday;
And gray are the breasts of the gulls that scream
Like tortured souls in an evil dream.
There is white on the wings of the sea and sky,
And white are the gulls' wings wheeling by,
And white, like snow, is the pall that lies
Where love weeps over his memories.
For the dead is dead, and its shroud is wrought
Of good unfound and of wrong unsought;
Yet from God's good magic there ever springs
The resurrection of holy things.
See--the gold and blue of our yesterday
In the eyes and the hair of a child at play;
And the spell of joy that our youth beguiled
Is woven anew in the laugh of the child.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Free Souls
Free Souls
Rise from the depths of the graves hidden way back by a thick fog of hate
Free souls
Surrender themselves to the red moon turned crimson by the blood stolen from their hearts
Free Souls
Tainted Scarlett by the filthy hands that cut their bodies like the cactus begging for moisture
Free Souls
Let out deep sad moans that make no words... moans that are harmonized by betrayal and pain
Moans who's' symphony cuts their ears like razor sharp insults...
Free Souls
Wonder in this circumference filled deep with cold dark debris... blinding them from hopes of ever seeing the morning glow....
Free Souls
Weep thick murky sewage flushed from others insecurities and selfishness
It runs down their eyes and bodies burning every hope of purity they tried to hold on too
Free Souls
Turn their bodies on all humanity as backstabbers throw rusted daggers into their backs
Laughing with disgust as they hope this will be the one way to take their freedom..
Free Souls
Fight to stand tall and peel off that layer on their bodies created by molested mouths breathing fiery words meant to burn their souls but fails as it disfigures their rotten tongues instead
Free Souls
Kneel as they become one with their bodies once again... their heart beat finds a familiar rhythm breathing life into them...
Their blinded eyes widen as their path becomes clear..
Their flesh heals from all the wounds...
Their lips move to the motion of sweet sounds manifesting from their hearts....
Their words shout out in song and praise to themselves... the waves destroying the weapons being cast at them...
Free Souls
Are are free... never to be held captive by chains inflicting sharp pain into their every being
Free Souls
Can now be FREE... free to see the morning glow
I AM NOW FREE.....
Lerato Ladyfair Shuping
January 8th 2009
poem by Lerato Shuping
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Amid A Winters Rain
A blur of lights hurry by
In the near dark of a winters day
People shuffle past, faces obscured
With coats, hats, umbrellas
Trying to defy the weather
Songs play out on the radio
A near enough distraction
To the gloom of this afternoon
The grey, black sky overhead
And ceaseless cold wind blowing
Then the patter of rain falling
Building to a roaring crescendo
Drumming against windows
As though never to end
Memories of blue skies
And the high lit sun
Faded away
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Blow Away
Live in my head for just one day
I see myself and look away
The road is showing now on my face
Soon I'll disappear, I'll disappear without a trace
Faces that I've seen turn old and grey
I've lost too many friends along the way
Memories I never thought would fade
They fade and blow away
I wish that I could disappear
Unzip my skin and leave it here
So I could be no one again
And never let nobody,
I'd let nobody,
I'd let nobody in
Faces that I've seen turn old and grey
I've lost too many friends along the way
Memories I never thought would fade
They fade and blow away
So now the walls are closing in
Because in life you sink or swim
Sometimes these shoes don't feel right in my head
Feel like a book that can't be,
A book that can't be,
A book that can't be read
Faces that I've seen turn old and grey
I've lost too many friends along the way
Memories I never thought would fade
They fade and blow away
song performed by by Staind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twin Faces
I gazed into her lovely eyes
and saw miniature faces
of myself looking back at me.
Do these blue orbs see what I see?
Is what I see what she perceives
through these tinted panes to her soul?
Can she see Mr. Hyde lurking
behind the comely mask I wear?
A smile on her innocent face
appeared, then she gently kissed me
caressing my cheeks with both hands.
I knew then it did not matter
what I saw in those twin faces
hidden now behind her closed eyes.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Epilogue (Part Three)
shivering nails,
black and white coffins whisper.
bodies without heads,
strewn in the sand.
the taste of gunpowder
on my lips.
i bow, but cannot pray!
the sound of the oil rigs,
the coarse rhythm of greed.
take and destroy, take and fulfill!
the cry of sea life,
the gurgling choke,
soon to be the children
of flaccid men.
buildings like bodies,
stripped empty and bare.
the memories smell
of life that once was.
empty, and pulsing,
with the want of need,
no one hears the ghosts within.
hunger and homelessness,
heroin and Jesus.
the shelves are bare,
the mother's eyes are bleeding.
the nameless and unwanted,
cast aside in the storm,
while ghouls walk amid
the rubble of the lie.
sing for me, pray for me,
take my hand, take my hand...
even when i close my eyes,
i still hear, still feel,
the faces of the wind!
and god, if there be,
in each and every tear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Quest
I am looking for Love. Has he passed this way,
With eyes as blue as the skies of May,
And a face as fair as the summer dawn?--
You answer back, but I wander on,--
For you say: 'Oh, yes; but his eyes were gray,
And his face as dim as a rainy day.'
Good friends, I query, I search for Love;
His eyes are as blue as the skies above,
And his smile as bright as the midst of May
When the truce-bird pipes: Has he passed this way?
And one says: 'Ay; but his face, alack!
Frowned as he passed, and his eyes were black.'
O who will tell me of Love? I cry!
His eyes are as blue as the mid-May sky,
And his face as bright as the morning sun;
And you answer and mock me, every one,
That his eyes were dark, and his face was wan,
And he passed you frowning and wandered on.
But stout of heart will I onward fare,
Knowing _my_ Love is beyond--somewhere,--
The Love I seek, with the eyes of blue,
And the bright, sweet smile unknown of you;
And on from the hour his trail is found
I shall sing sonnets the whole year round.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Different Slant
from my gallery of faces
he has the softest eyes
I have ever seen,
watery and doe full
is it compassion and empathy
that I see,
or some rheumy humor
bathing the scene
all doubts are washed away
by the sonorous baritone,
the soft and delicate tones
of interest and feeling
and a shy smile,
now I know what
she sees in him,
the seas and oceans,
green fields,
skies blue,
and merry meadows
too,
they are his sun
and her moon
a divine dance of
heavenly bodies
admiring and
circling each other
with a love that lives
breathing a notalgia
an infinty at echoes
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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The Bunyip
Oh, came you up by the place of dread
(west red, and the moon low down)
where no winds blow and the birds have fled
and the gum stands dead and its arms gleam white,
and the tribe sneak by with a stealthy tread
in the ghostly light,in the ghostly light.
Brave Worraland went one grey nightfall
(A woi! woi!) where the grim rocks frown;
he came no more to the camps at all
(Skies dark, and the moon low down).
As we came up by the gully side
(Deep dusk, and the moon low down)
A Dingo whined and a Curlew cried
and the reeds replied as in hushed affright
where tall brae Worraland screamed and died
in the ghostly light, in the ghostly light.
For the Thing lurks there in the haunted place
(A woi! woi!) where the pool is brown,
where lost ones vanish and leave no trace
(Day dead, and the moon low down).
Of, go not by near the bunyip's lair
(Stars dim, and the moon low down)
or tip-toe past and beware, beware
the dark pool snare and be set for flight,
for things of terror have happened there
in the ghostly light, in the ghostly light
and in the gunyas we crouch and hark
(A woi! woi!) where the dead men drown
The monster's bellow across the dark
(Stars gone, and the moon low down).
poem by James Martin Devaney
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My Shadow In Vain
Stroll to the cafe
My God how time flies
I close up my brain
And another friend dies
I feel like a mirror
Feel like nothing is mine
I could go back to crying
But now dying seems fine
So I hang from the ceiling
Or I sit on the air
Or rot in a corner
Until somebody cares
Faces at random
I quote people I knew
Id love to be like me
If I could feel like you
Here am i, more roche five than pain
Here am i, just me and my walls to blame
Here am i, I really dont feel quite sane
Here am i, still searching for my shadow in vain
Lock my door I only think in black and white
Ill even try to look ashamed
Moving out of central
Somebody knows me well
Says hell spill the whole story
He may be lying I cant tell
Meet me inside
Ill keep my head to the floor
And one hand on the handle
Of the mad/sane door
Here am i, more roche five than pain
Here am i, just me and my walls to blame
Here am i, I really dont feel quite sane
Here am i, still searching for my shadow in vain
Lock my door I only think in black and white
Ill even try to look ashamed
My shadow in vain
My shadow in vain
My shadow in vain
My shadow in vain
My shadow in vain...
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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