Not If, But When
Not If, But When?
Dim sunrise on a gray, smoky city
Cars line the roads, slowly rusting
Winds blowing ash, harsh and gritty
Acidic smog gives an evil dusting
Tires melted to pavement, rubber pools of blackness
Window Glass sagging from kiln-like heat
All move no more due to nuclear madness
In gutters, white bones scoured by gray caustic sleet
Destinations and drivers no longer exist
no organic life forms survive
Only wind blown gray ash and solitude persist
Where aspirations and ambitions did thrive
Empty buildings pleading for workers to toil
Winds moaning through windowless walls
Papers bubbling about in a bleak breezy boil
Family photos dance gaily in deserted dark halls
City streets decorated with bizarre ornamentation
Shards of glass strewn about by explosive power
Like diamonds on black tar, the macabre decoration
Grows more ashen and gray by the hour
Faces on billboards cancerously peeling
While timelessly smiling and hawking their wares
Wood rotting, braces failing, perilously reeling
signs malignantly moulting, shedding their cares
Suitcases scattered, open, pillaged and torn
Contents long ago blown away
Like the doomed souls that carried them, sad and forlorn
In and on melted pavement they lay
Wires draped from poles like funereal bunting
No current, no messages to bear
Gray spider-like webs, the strands seem to be hunting
For purpose, for signals… not there
Playgrounds deserted, charred swing seats awry
Slides rusting, tilting, small bones lay exposed
No squeals, no laughter, no kids running by
Monkey bars droop sadly, morose in repose
Religion, politics, gone to obsolescence
Purple vestments faded to brown
poisonous gas, ungodly essence
Church steeples toppled, bells sunk in the ground
Burned black, stunted trunks, a few withered branches
Like a forest of dark hooded monks at prayer
Natures been violated yet no one blanches
There’s simply…no one……there
poem by David Whalen
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Related quotes
Ducks of Equality
Dark brown-black ducks
splish-splash and
pitter-patter on
gently rocking waves
of glee
When a light gray-white duck
tip-taps and
tip-toes
shyly shivering
'May I join? ' quacks he.
The dark brown-black ducks
easily accept
the light gray-white duck
as one of their own
and joyfully they swim and play
In chilly water
'til they're freezing to the bone
And I wonder:
Why can't America be
more like the
dark brown-black ducks
and the
light gray-white duck
floating on the waves
of acceptance and equality?
poem by Charlotte Riddle
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A Rough Sketch
I caught, for a second, across the crowd--
Just for a second, and barely that--
A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed,
Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim'd hat--
With small gray eyes, of a look as keen
As the long, sharp nose that grew between.
And I said: 'Tis a sketch of Nature's own,
Drawn i' the dark o' the moon, I swear,
On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown
Hither and thither and everywhere--
With its keen little sinister eyes of gray,
And nose like the beak of a bird of prey!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Songs Of The Sky
In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.
In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.
In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.
In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.
In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.
In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.
Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.
In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.
In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.
In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.
In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.
In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.
In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.
poem by William Kruse
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An August Morning At Upper Gully
The smoke from the chimneys curled down in the sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July
And fog o'er the forest a blanket of gray
And darkening rain clouds more showers on the way.
The currawongs calling the dark birds of rain
And into the station roars the city bound train
And cars on the highway racing to and fro
And down the high woodlands the chilly winds blow.
At 7 a.m. and the temperatures low
And it's cold in upper Gully cold enough to snow
Yet on this bleak morning great beauty i see
Bright yellow flowers blooming on the wattle tree.
Their loud cackling laughter one could not mistake
And they call through the morning just after daybreak
On the higher branches of old mountain gray
The kookaburras herald a cold Winter's day.
Three weeks left in August and Spring is so near
On this perhaps the coldest day of the year
And dark rain clouds gather in bleak morning sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Shades Of Gray (Master Backing Track Take 98)
When the world and I were young, just yesterday
Life was such a simple game a child could play
It was easy then to tell right from wrong
Easy then to tell weak from strong
When a man should stand and fight
Or just go along
But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of gray
I remember when the answer seemed so clear
We had never lived with doubt, or tasted fear
It was easy then to tell truth from lies
Selling out from compromise
Who to love and who to hate
The foolish from the wise
But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of gray
It was easy then to know what was fair
When to keep and when to share
How much to protect your heart
And how much to care
But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of gray
Only shades of gray
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shades Of Grey
If you start here late no one will know what you did
No the streets are straight its the soul thats crooked
Ive been treated fine Ive been treated elegantly
But Im not one for bathing in the waters of plenty
East is east west is west
And bowery is screaming while delancey rests
Well Im south of the skating but Im north of the cash
I could sure use the money but Im ashamed to ask
The traffic has buried all of last nights rain
The words are all different but the accent is the same
The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
Theres at least ten different strains of smoke in the air
And my prints are on them all to prove I was there
And I love the curses but Im not one for the trenches
And I do love the walking but thank God for the benches
Its hard to tell where green begins and the city gray stops
I guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand shops
My second had is working but the minute hand is broke again
I know time will pass but I dont know when
The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
And there are no shades of gray in between
I know the great ones have been here but where I cant tell
Theres dreams here a plenty but theyre being withheld
And Im more impressed with the closed doors than the ones that are open
The whole place tells time by a tower clock thats broken
The pigeons are ravens and the gulls are vultures
And trash is art and cash is culture
The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
There are no shades of gray in between
There are no shades of gray in between
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shades Of Gray
By barry mann and cyntha weil
When the world and I were young,
Just yesterday.
Live was such a simple game,
A child could play.
It was easy then to tell right from wrong.
Easy then to tell weak from strong.
When a man should stand and fight,
Or just go along.
But today there is no day or night
Today there is no dark or light.
Today there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
I remember when the answers seemed so clear
We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear.
It was easy then to tell truth from lies
Selling out from compromise
Who to love and who to hate,
The foolish from the wise.
But today there is no day or night
Today there is no dark or light.
Today there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
[instumental interlude]
It was easy then to know what was fair
When to keep and when to share.
How much to protect your heart
And how much to care.
But today there is no day or night
Today there is no dark or light.
Today there is no black or white,
Only shades of gray.
Only shades of gray.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horse Head Fiddle
i look for him in everywhere
in everywhere i found him not
exhausted i sleep in steppe
in the dream my gray horse spoke to me
find me neath the killing cliff
find me neath the killing cliff
hang my skull on the old larch tree
carve from its wood a two string fiddle
cover over with the skin of my face
string my hair down the neck in place
weave together anger and grief
bow down bow down and sing
i will return through you
strong and gray on mountain high
his black and white faces go running by
strong and gray on mountain high
he come with herd black faces wild
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heaven Smiling Down On Me
I feel like heaven is smiling
Down on me,
The dark gray clouds is moving
Upon me,
I feel like heaven is smiling
Down on me.
Lord will my mother know me
Once I come through heaven
Light..
This whole world is changing on
Me..
That old hour glass keep pouring
All the memories down from me
I am getting tried of
Running from this dark gray cloud
That moving upon me..
I feel I have lost my place here in this
Old world..
Heaven is smiling down on me
Will you remember my name?
I want to walk around in heaven
Will you remember me once I walk
Through heaven doors...
poem by Carolyn Sears
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I've tried doing so, for it was never my intention to paint only with gray. But in the course of my work I have eliminated one color after another, and what has remained is gray, gray, gray!
quote by Alberto Giacometti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Romance
MY Love dwelt in a Northern land.
A gray tower in a forest green
Was hers, and far on either hand
The long wash of the waves was seen,
And leagues on leagues of yellow sand,
The woven forest boughs between!
And through the silver Northern night
The sunset slowly died away,
And herds of strange deer, lily-white,
Stole forth among the branches gray;
About the coming of the light,
They fled like ghosts before the day!
I know not if the forest green
Still girdles round that castle gray;
I know not if the boughs between
The white deer vanish ere the day;
Above my Love the grass is green,
My heart is colder than the clay!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Shades Of Gray
If you start here late, no one will know what you did
No, the streets are straight, it's the soul that's crooked
I've been treated fine,
I've been treated elegantly
But I'm not one for bathing in the waters of plenty
East is East,
West is West
And The Bowery is screaming while Delancey rests
Well, I'm south of the skating, but
I'm north of the cash
I could sure use the money but
I'm ashamed to ask
The traffic has buried all of last night's rain
The words are all different but the accent is the same
The sun is white, and the moon is gray
And the river is black, blue and green
The young are young, and the old are old
There are no shades of gray in between
There's at least ten different strains of smoke in the air
And my prints are on them all, to prove I was there
And I love the curses, but I'm not one for the trenches
Yes I do love the walking , but that God for the benches
It's hard to tell where green begins, and the city gray stops
I guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand shops
My second hand is working, but the minute hand broke again
I know time will pass, but I don't know when
The sun is white, and the moon is gray
And the river is black, blue and green
The young are young, and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
And there are no shades of gray in between
I know the great ones have been here, but where I can't tell
There's dreams here a plenty, but they're being witheld
And I'm more impressed with the closed doors
Than the ones that are open
The whole place tells time by a tower clock that's broken
The pigeons are ravens, and the gulls are vultures
And trash
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foggy Day
Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Thru the moments of twist
That the streets are now in
And gray morning has kissed
With a diffusional spin
Every hour in its gray
As the evening passes thru
And kids in streets play
For each opportunity new
When feelings are in laughter
In every moments awake
And what there comes after
In their giving and take
Foggy day in the city
Like a haze of the grays
So much playful and witty
That is now in its haze
Sideway kids there talking
Youth of hope and a smile
Brussels playground walking
For its enduring while
Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Whisper dark soon there
With its nocturnal sleep
As darkness is everywhere
In their dreams to keep
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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In Death Valley
There came gray stretches of volcanic plains,
Bare, lone and treeless, then a bleak lone hill
Like to the dolorous hill that Dobell saw.
Around were heaps of ruins piled between
The Burn o’ Sorrow and the Water o’ Care;
And from the stillness of the down-crushed walls
One pillar rose up dark against the moon.
There was a nameless Presence everywhere;
In the gray soil there was a purple stain,
And the gray reticent rocks were dyed with blood—
Blood of a vast unknown Calamity.
It was the mark of some ancestral grief—
Grief that began before the ancient Flood.
poem by Edwin Markham
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Eyes Of Green And Gray
Eyes of green and gray
i wish you'd look my way
smile for me today
O eyes of green and gray
Eyes of black and white
of sorrow and delight
i behold every sight
through eyes of black and white
Eyes as hard as stone
so cold and all alone
lost without a home
with eyes as hard as stone
Eyes of green and gray
it's here i want to stay
and never look away
from eyes of green and gray
poem by Sergey Sibikovsky
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Some Images That I Want To Remember
my little brown dog
bringing back
the black stick
that i have thrown
to the yard
the gray gravel
and purple pebbles
scattered
on a pathway
to her garden
the ylang-ylang tree
still blossoming
on this hot
month of november
a parked maroon
pick-up
some leaves
falling on the
hood
glass jalousies
still closed
some dusts
on the computer
keyboard
opening something
closed
and
dusting off
some unwanted
memories
my hands
shall caress the
letters
and i shall start
thinking again
what now?
where to?
and where
and why?
i am empty
and i am now ready
to fill myself again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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0004 M i n d
and mind might ask,
why then are brain cells gray? Is it
because the world is just
so wonderful, that they, stunned
and amazed, cannot decide
which colour to praise first?
(Mix all the colours of the paints,
and the result is gray.)
or is it because they feel themselves
so dull in comparison
with the miracle which is creation,
the miracle they (miracles themselves) , faithful, serve?
(Mix all the colours of the spectrum,
and the result is white.)
or is it, because they know
their work lies between ultimates
such as (do they themselves
call them this?) black,
and white? do they know
their work is equity –
to balance all things, so that gray is not gray
as we use gray for worldly metaphor; but
the gray of lakes at peace;
of silver that lives in itself,
needing no sun but its own innerness;
mercury that is moved but longs
to be united in a perfect sphere;
gray of clouds that know
the blessings that they hold;
and, the shining gray of mind -
for which gray hair is living metaphor,
the wisdom which life holds in store for you -
as how many poets, this moment round the world,
are joining new electric paths of thought between
these tiny, great gray worm-like cells which hide, compact,
their vast and inner space which spins out eager words
of metaphor, for that so nameless,
boundless, dazzling spectrum,
the radiant space of self?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In October
Along the waste, a great way off, the pines,
Like tall slim priests of storm, stand up and bar
The low long strip of dolorous red that lines
The under west, where wet winds moan afar.
The cornfields all are brown, and brown the meadows
With the blown leaves' wind-heaped traceries,
And the brown thistle stems that cast no shadows,
And bear no bloom for bees.
As slowly earthward leaf by red leaf slips,
The sad leaves rustle in chill misery,
A soft strange inner sound of pain-crazed lips,
That move and murmur incoherently;
As if all leaves, that yet have breath, were sighing,
With pale hushed throats, for death is at the door,
So many low soft masses for the dying
Sweet leaves that live no more.
Here I will sit upon this naked stone,
Draw my coat closer with my numbed hands,
And hear the ferns sigh, and the wet woods moan,
And send my heart out to the ashen lands;
And I will ask myself what golden madness,
What balmed breaths of dreamland spicery,
What visions of soft laughter and light sadness
Were sweet last month to me.
The dry dead leaves flit by with thin weird tunes,
Like failing murmurs of some conquered creed,
Graven in mystic markings with strange runes,
That none but stars and biting winds may read;
Here I will wait a little; I am weary,
Not torn with pain of any lurid hue,
But only still and very gray and dreary,
Sweet sombre lands, like you.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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I Want a Wind
I want a wind
To start in the far-off mountain
To rush down in a raging fury
And fill this dull and silent valley.
I want a wind
To wrap around the gray tree trunks
To rattle the leaves and grass
To whistle by the window’s glass.
I want a wind
To make the pine trees clack together
To tangle the hair of the Barbie girls
To make the dust on the roads to swirl.
I want a wind
To take the litter on the sidewalk away
To blow the mist from the falls my way
To echo throughout this listless day.
I want a wind
To burst through the window and into here
To scatter the papers from their neat piles
To steal my breath and give me smile.
poem by Sophia White
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Above The Wide Brown Country
Above the wide brown country in the gray evening sky
A black shouldered kite out hunting he hover as he fly
With quivering wings it hover suspended there in space
Scanning the ground for small prey it hangs in the one place.
And then it flies a little and the same pattern repeat
And scans around with it's microscopic like eyes for mouse or frog to eat
All in the depths of Winter it hunts for smaller prey
But most little creatures under cover on a chilly Winter day.
With black bands on it's wings and shoulders and mostly gray to white
The reason for it's common name of the black shouldered kite
In the weakening light of evening it is hunting out late
And may have to go to it's roost hungry as the clock on none does wait.
Above the wide brown country at a quarter after four
In the fading lamp of evening just an hour of light or a little more
Left for it for to make a kill and to ease it's appetite
And it may have to go to roost quite hungry for to spend a hungry night.
poem by Francis Duggan
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