Grown-up
Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Im Gonna Walk Dem Golden Stairs
(words & music by cully holt)
Im gonna walk, walk dem golden stairs
cause I know my jesus answers all my prayers
Well, well I know when he calls me to my home on high
Ill walk dem golden stairs when I die, when I die
Oh lord you know I can hardly wait
To reach that suite by and by by by
And now I see those per, per, pearly gate
Ill walk dem golden stairs when I die, when I die
Well, well, well
Im gonna walk, walk dem golden stairs
cause I know my jesus answers all my prayers
Well, well I know when he calls me to my home on high
Ill walk dem golden stairs when I die, when I die
When jesus says to me well done
And all my cares are laid by
Ill lay down my soul, my battles are won
Ill walk dem golden stairs when I die when I die
Well, well, well
Im gonna walk, walk dem golden stairs
cause I know my jesus answers all my prayers
Well, well I know when he calls me to my home on high
Ill walk dem golden stairs when I die, when I die
Well, well
Im gonna walk, walk dem golden stairs
cause I know my jesus answers all my prayers
Well, well I know when he calls me to my home on high
Ill walk dem golden stairs when I die, when I die
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ive Been Kicked Around
Well Ive been kicked around
What do you see
Am I alright?
Im alright
I once had a heart
I was ripped from it
Chewed up then spat out
Like a cherry pit
And if I seem a little hard
Its just that Ive been kicked around
I dont know how I got this far
The way that Ive been kicked around
Uh huh
Well Ive been kicked around
What do you see
Am I alright?
Am I alright?
Well Ive been kicked around
What do you see
Am I alright?
Am I alright?
I once had a soul
It was torn from me
I wont cry a tear
I will carry me
And if I seem a little hard
Its just that Ive been kicked around
I dont know how I got this far
The way that Ive been kicked around
Dont worry, Im all right
So if I seem a little hard
Its just that Ive been kicked around
I dont know how I got this far
The way that Ive been kicked around
The way that Ive been kicked around
The way that Ive been kicked around
The way that Ive been kicked around
The way that Ive been kicked around
The way that Ive been kicked around
The way that Ive been kicked around
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Penitent for Friend Konstantin
A gentleman in every way.
A relic from a bygone day.
His clothes well cut but out of date,
in his own time a fashion plate.
He’s not as he appears to be.
He is a ghost apparently.
Always appears at half past three
then disappears mysteriously.
Though who he was nobody knows.
A gentleman judged by his clothes,
we only know he comes and goes.
Because he has to I suppose.
A visitor from long ago
Though why he comes we may not know.
Perhaps he comes to demonstrate
that once he was a fashion plate.
Maybe condemned for too much pride
a fatal flaw he could not hide.
He must display at half past three
until he learns humility
.18-Feb-09 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Say Your Prayers
Don't want to live in a prison cell
don't want to live in a smoking room,
independence just won't come to you
in the brief of a diplomat.
Say your prayers for the future
say your prayers for the past,
it might be round the corner
it might be all we have.
Say your Prayers.
Don't want to live with a compromise
don't want to live with hypocrisy,
bureaucracy doesn't have to win
breaks the cage of the beast within.
Say your prayers in the boardroom
say your prayers on the stairs,
it might be catastrophic
it might be too damn bad.
Say your prayers.
I got the cure for compassion fatigue
spend a week with the Timorese,
running scared from the military
you can share you can share your disease.
Now we don't live with an absent master
we don't live on an island divided,
don't want my kids to grow up in shame
in a country with a different name
had to throw them out, had to break the chains.
I got the cure for compassion fatigue
spend a week with the Timorese,
running scared from the military
I come to you with a plaintive plea.
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nearly one in four women will experience domestic violence during her lifetime. And slightly more than half of female victims of domestic violence live in households with children under age 12.
quote by Lucille Roybal Allard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Domestic Abuse
Take a look at the life some choose
Slapped until cheeks are bruised
Kicked till the teeth become loose
Hate and love may be sometimes confused
But the victims always have their own views
And so I watched the accuser
Run back forgivingly to the abuser
And I was certainly not amused
I observe with scorn in my passive silence
People born to massive domestic violence
And the list goes on until I snooze
Some lovers do it due to alcoholic booze
Domestic abuse flows with blows and shoes
Personal confidence is reduced
Regular beatings are introduced
Until there is no more aggressive juice
While the culprit is always on the loose
Victims of domestic abuse
It is time to break loose
From this low esteem glaring excuse
Or tomorrow you will sow the final bad news
poem by Sylvia Chidi (2009)
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In Excelsis
It is half winter, half spring,
and Barbara and I are standing
confronting the ocean.
Its mouth is open very wide,
and it has dug up its green,
throwing it, throwing it at the shore.
You say it is angry.
I say it is like a kicked Madonna.
Its womb collapses, drunk with its fever.
We breathe in its fury.
I, the inlander,
am here with you for just a small space.
I am almost afraid,
so long gone from the sea.
I have seen her smooth as a cheek.
I have seen her easy,
doing her business,
lapping in.
I have seen her rolling her hoops of blue.
I have seen her tear the land off.
I have seen her drown me twice,
and yet not take me.
You tell me that as the green drains backward
it covers Britain,
but have you never stood on that shore
and seen it cover you?
We have come to worship,
the tongues of the surf are prayers,
and we vow,
the unspeakable vow.
Both silently.
Both differently.
I wish to enter her like a dream,
leaving my roots here on the beach
like a pan of knives.
And my past to unravel, with its knots and snarls,
and walk into ocean,
letting it explode over me
and outward, where I would drink the moon
and my clothes would slip away,
and I would sink into the great mother arms
I never had,
except here where the abyss
throws itself on the sand
blow by blow,
over and over,
and we stand on the shore
loving its pulse
as it swallows the stars,
and has since it all began
and will continue into oblivion,
past our knowing
and the wild toppling green that enters us today,
for a small time
in half winter, half spring.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Hot Line
Take me to the river baby drink my wine
When Im going down wont you throw me a line
Lead me to religion take me up them stairs
When I take a tumble will you say me some prayers
When will you show me a sign
When will you throw me a line
Help me to the answer baby set me free
Im torn between the devil and the deep blue sea
Maybe if you wanted you could save my face
Keep me out of trouble and Im a living disgrace
Show me to a sucker and youll see my name
Standing in a line with the shadows of fame
Lead me to a legend take me up them stairs
When I take a tumble will you say me some prayers
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look at the Time! (A Drinking Song)
Look at the time! It's half-past six!
Time for me to be getting my kicks!
I'll have some whisky,
It'll make me frisky,
And then I'll get up to my usual tricks!
Look at the time! It's half-past seven!
And I feel that I should be going to heaven!
I'll have some rum
'Cos I'm not dumb,
And then I'll be drunk by ten to eleven!
Look at the time! It's half-past eight!
I didn't know it was getting so late!
I'll have some brandy
Instead of shandy,
And then I'll be able to face my fate!
Look at the time! It's half-past nine!
(And I know that this doesn't really rhyme!)
I'll have some gin,
It's a bit of a sin,
It's time for a party and I'm feeling fine!
Look at the time! It's half-past ten!
Time to go back to bed again!
I really think
I've had enough to drink,
But I'll be back on the bottle tomorrow again!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Conversation of Prayer
The conversation of prayers about to be said
By the child going to bed and the man on the stairs
Who climbs to his dying love in her high room,
The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move
And the other full of tears that she will be dead,
Turns in the dark on the sound they know will arise
Into the answering skies from the green ground,
From the man on the stairs and the child by his bed.
The sound about to be said in the two prayers
For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies
Will be the same grief flying. Whom shall they calm?
Shall the child sleep unharmed or the man be crying?
The conversation of prayers about to be said
Turns on the quick and the dead, and the man on the stair
To-night shall find no dying but alive and warm
In the fire of his care his love in the high room.
And the child not caring to whom he climbs his prayer
Shall drown in a grief as deep as his made grave,
And mark the dark eyed wave, through the eyes of sleep,
Dragging him up the stairs to one who lies dead.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Did You Say You Make It On The Stairs?
did i really hear you right?
making love on the stairs
and then the boy
comes surprisingly
asking both of you
what are you both doing
on the stairs
both of you naked
while he pumps
on you
like one ever hungry
lover?
how shameful!
well, okay,
the boy is your son
and the man
is your husband
was the bed broken?
or the stairs
too exciting?
was the marriage
too boring?
well, ok,
i understand,
you split with him
could be the
staggering steps on the stairs
could be that the boy
finally understands
could be that the bed
is not that warm
you split for good
and uhuh?
so you are now free
at last
from those stairs
from the bed
and the boy has to make
the inevitable choice
between pa and ma
the stairs he will always remember
anyhow
yes, the boy not the pa
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wait of Water - (Villanelle)
a shift in the tectonic plate
early morning siren screeches
across the ocean people wait
awakened to this twist of fate
tsunami warning, clear the beaches
a shift in the tectonic plate
minute by minute news updat
listen to the experts speeches
across the ocean people wait
all trying to anticipate
how far this devastation reaches
a shift in the tectonic plate
don’t live in a complacent state
lessons Mother Nature teaches
across the ocean people wait
as the local pastor preaches
although his prayers come too late
a shift in the tectonic plate
across the ocean people wait
poem by Charlie Parant
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Is That You
Cats droolin on the bar stool, shake your hips and crack your whips
Cheap seventeen and trashed out, you went too far, been a bitch you are
Your reputations in the bathroom, its on the wall and down the hall
I hear youre cheatin with my teacher after school, tell me what you do
When you know, you always get the boys you like
Play nice, then stick them with your knife, take off your insecure disguise
Is that you, crawlin up my stairs, is that you
(is that you, crawlin up my stairs) is that you, lookin half way dead
Write on the mirror with your lipstick, much too vain, got scattered brains
You used me just enough to get off, act your age, get off your stage
When you know, you always get the boys you like
Play nice, then stick them with your knife, take off your insecure disguise
Chorus:
Is that you, crawlin up my stairs, is that you
(is that you, crawlin up my stairs)
Is that you, lookin half way dead, is that you
(is that you, lookin half way dead) is that you, with your long black hair
You always get the boys you like, play nice, then stick them with your knife
You always get the boys you like, play nice, then stick them with your knife
Take off your insecure disguise
Chorus repeats out
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faithful servants never retire. You can retire from your career, but you will never retire from serving God.
quote by Rick Warren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The duel
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"
And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(Now mind: I'm only telling you
What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)
The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
Employing every tooth and claw
In the awfullest way you ever saw -
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(Don't fancy I exaggerate -
I got my news from the Chinese plate!)
Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
(The old Dutch clock it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)
poem by Eugene Field
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The Breakfast
Look, the golden plate is ready set
On the round table for breakfast.
Glitters reflecting tinges of my blood
In tune with the table of mud
With the green medow streaking to fret.
Listen, worshiping Aurora at dawwn daily
Comes to me that golden plate by priority.
The green paddy rooted in deep water
Fans soothingly with its ricy flavour.
Feel, it makes golden plate more catchy.
I cook the rice to petalsoft
Adding ghee and jaggery enough to taste.
I resolve with my prayers in bundle
To offer the made rice i.e 'pongal'
To the above deity of splendid light.
On the muddy table, over the glisten
Placed a plantain leaf, served on
The pongal.I then whisper'my sun,
Enlightened by the plate of your glisten'!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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No retiring
When you retire from a thing,
You are going to get something
To retire to, from which
You have to retire on a later date.
09.10.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Hoping For Footsteps (Stream XV)
Her door ajar, I try to slide past
Know from the past
That she listens.
Lonely she listens,
Listens in hope,
Hoping for footsteps
Stepping her way.
She catches me on the stairs
Me stacked with laundry.
She expectant,
Stands with folded arms,
A shelf for her ample bosom,
Blocking my way.
'Done your washing then? '
'Um' I say noncommittally
But now she has her opening
And opening her mouth
Tells tales of progeny
And their progeny.
She lives her life vicariously
For they live far off
Only seen on high-days and holidays.
I Listen,
Watch her wattles
Shake and quiver
As she delivers, what to her, is vital news,
Which is no news.
This sad cackling hen.
I feel stuck between the stairs and the stars
No where to bolt.
No bolt hole,
I half listen
Nodding.
Nodding off
Smiling I shake her off.
'Sorry very busy, must go' I say.
A lie.
Later I think-
How sad.
To be the single highlight of her day.
poem by Paul Brookes
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You Made Okay To Do It Your Way
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You complained,
That you couldn't take the weight.
And a waiting too late makes it okay.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Mans Gone Now
My mans gone now
Aint no use a listenin
For his tired footsteps
Climbin up the stairs
Old man sorrows
Come to keep me company
Whisperin beside me
When I say my prayers
When I say my prayers
He come aroud
He come up, he come around
Aint that I mind workin
Workin means travelers
Journeyin togheter
To the promised land
But old man sorrow
Mountin all the way with me
Tell me that Im old now
Since I lose my man
Since I lose my man
Since I lose my man
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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