The Cooking Pot!
tastes like....
rainwater on my tongue,
blood drawn from unclaimed bodies....
the wind lapping at my curtain,
the candle flickering in the dark.
gunpowder, and bourbon!
the baby's bloom opening,
rose petals 'neath my tongue.
pepper spray, and human rights....
the damp chill of the small cell.
the burning bush, the last refrain,
yesterday's nails long driven....
food scavanged from dumpsters,
the back seat on the bus....
the old woman dying on the floor!
life thrown together in the cooking pot,
left to simmer unattended....
shared in bowls made of flesh,
and dreams now long forgotten!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: The Tongue
Tongue, the muscle belly in the mouth’s floor!
That grandmothers used to narrate folklore;
With sensors to taste the food that we eat,
And speak fluently with neighbors who cheat.
The boneless tongue gives creatures satiety;
In misdemeanor, speaks words so nasty;
The tongue-tied man cannot speak out too well;
The one with a long tongue argues like hell.
The tongue can emit both a soothing word,
And also cut like a double-edged sword;
The tongue helps one to sing a sweet song,
And touch one’s nose-tip whenever too long.
The tongue can start a war or conclude it;
Some stars use it for their kissing habit.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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16 Penny Nails!
strong harsh words,
16 penny nails driven
by a big hammer....
truth tears at the flesh
of the lie and the liar!
things arent pretty anymore.
hurt is real!
homeless is real!
jobless is real!
hunger is real!
the streets are real!
prison is real!
prejudice, oppression,
hatred, violence....
people used, and thrown away!
persecution... over religion,
over sexual choice,
over political viewpoints....
wars fought over oil fields,
riot squads beating peaceful protestors...
women losing the rights
to their own bodies....
lonliness, suicide, drug addiction....
a harsh picture, faces put on bodies....
and yet beneath it all
there still lies a beauty...
all human beings, all human beings,
made in the image of God!
how can we not respect each other?
and how can we overlook....
the value of life?
with trembling hands wiping away
the blood, sweat, and urine of life...
trembling hands that when joined
become the hands of prayer!
16 penny nails, with heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
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Justice, Equality, Compassion, Human!
i spit hammers and nails,
can taste bullets and swords.
my eyes are the bodies
of the innocent that lay dying.
my fingers touch the ribs
of small children starving.
my tongue's made of coal dust,
oil, and death by profit!
my ears hear the cry of freedom
from the cells of the oppressor.
my heart sleeps neath the bridge
with the homeless family at night.
my fists smash the lie and the liar both,
my arms carry the weight
of the working class's lives.
covered with the stink of poverty,
i shed the clothes of pretensions,
apathy, and human greed.
and my desire grows hard
when i see a better day...
my back bears the stripes
of man's mistakes and failures...
i cry justice, i am equality,
i breathe compassion, i am human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pepper | Smart Mouth Poetry / lyrics
Sharp tongue, smart mouth
Fine line, know how
Stay calm, pull it together
Speaks soft, don’t sound like pepper
It hurts, tastes sharp
When you walk in, and start to talk
Cuts deep, feel it forever
My heart is burning, burning like pepper
Stop, sounding, like pepper
Scattering your pieces all over
You’re gonna, stay black forever
So I’ll ground you, the more the better
I’ll ground you like pepper
Ground you like pepper
Ground you forever
It would be better
If you stopped the pepper
Stop with the spice
Stop with the tone
Stop burning holes
Right threw my bones
I’ve got a heart
It’s soft and its tender
Try and be smart
Stop using pepper
poem by Life in a Poem
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St. Louis was dying
St. Louis was dying
Under the weight of
Lost telephones
Thrown away by
The deaf hands of
My computer speakers
The keyboard misspelled
The noon day sun
When St. Louis was dying
Under stress of crime
Thrown into the furnace fire
Where an angel was born
To save the weigh of
Telephone wires strung
Down the dirty and dingy
Alley in the back yard of
A renovated heaven
The key board of the noon day sun
Was dying under the weigh
Of a deaf tongue moved
By the speakers speaking
In a foreign language
Only understood by telephones
In the long distend night of long tongues
St. Louis is dying
Under the weigh of
Ten cent poverty
In a ten dollar year where
The furnace is stressing
Out on crime committed
In the noon day weigh
Of heaven’s back yard
Where an angel uses
The dark and dingy telephone
To call the long distend night
Heaven is dying under the weigh of
Misspelled angels dark and dingy
And lost in t he light of my computer
Where the thrown away weigh of
Poverty is spending counterfeit
Dollars worth ten cent crimes
Dying in the heaven of
The weigh of angels
Misspelling the word tongue.
poem by David E. Patton
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Campo di Fiori
In Rome on the Campo di Fiori
Baskets of olives and lemons,
Cobbles spattered with wine
And the wreckage of flowers.
Vendors cover the trestles
With rose-pink fish;
Armfuls of dark grapes
Heaped on peach-down.
On this same square
They burned Giordano Bruno.
Henchmen kindled the pyre
Close-pressed by the mob.
Before the flames had died
The taverns were full again,
Baskets of olives and lemons
Again on the vendors' shoulders.
I thought of the Campo dei Fiori
In Warsaw by the sky-carousel
One clear spring evening
To the strains of a carnival tune.
The bright melody drowned
The salvos from the ghetto wall,
And couples were flying
High in the cloudless sky.
At times wind from the burning
Would driff dark kites along
And riders on the carousel
Caught petals in midair.
That same hot wind
Blew open the skirts of the girls
And the crowds were laughing
On that beautiful Warsaw Sunday.
Someone will read as moral
That the people of Rome or Warsaw
Haggle, laugh, make love
As they pass by martyrs' pyres.
Someone else will read
Of the passing of things human,
Of the oblivion
Born before the flames have died.
But that day I thought only
Of the loneliness of the dying,
Of how, when Giordano
Climbed to his burning
There were no words
In any human tongue
To be left for mankind,
Mankind who live on.
Already they were back at their wine
Or peddled their white starfish,
Baskets of olives and lemons
They had shouldered to the fair,
And he already distanced
As if centuries had passed
While they paused just a moment
For his flying in the fire.
Those dying here, the lonely
Forgotten by the world,
Our tongue becomes for them
The language of an ancient planet.
Until, when all is legend
And many years have passed,
On a great Campo dci Fiori
Rage will kindle at a poet's word.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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400 ~ Bloom
Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.
Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.
Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.
This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.
This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.
As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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Too Long
It’s been too long since I felt the soft touch of a woman’s hands rub my bald head.
It’s been too long since I felt the gentleness of a woman’s lips press against mind.
It’s been too long since I cuddled with a woman’s head up against my chest listening to my heart beat.
It’s been too long since my tongue has slipped between a woman’s thighs and her juices drip down my throat.
It has been too long since I have made love to a woman and felt her inner walls pulsate.
It has been too long since a woman made my leg shake as I climax.
It’s been at least nine months and that’s far too long.
Cookin In The Kitchen
I met an alien one night while I was walking after dark
He said dont be afraid Ive come to know Ive come to make my mark
And theres a road, and its very long
And you gotta be sweet baby
And you gotta be strong
He said why are these men and women lying here just on the street
He said why are these children dying cos they have no food to eat
And theres a road, and its very long
And you gotta be sweet baby
And you gotta be strong
Why are these people hating others for the colour of their skin
Why are your brother creatures murdered for the flesh that lies within
Dont lose the rage, dont become immune
When others criticise you
Dont change your tune
Youve got to love, with a passion that hurts
Its love that conquers baby
Its love that serves
And in the moment before you go to sleep
You can turn on me Im the blue light wrap me round you
And when the world turns its coldest shoulder
In the name of all thats good
And theres a road, and its very long
And you gotta be sweet baby
And you gotta be strong
And Ill be there, to dry your tears
And Ill be cooking in your kitchen
Food for everyone
And ill be working in the backroom
Help for everyone
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Old Woman.... (Sunset)
that old woman who walks naked
in the garden at night...
stepping barefoot on fallen petals,
leaving her footprints in the dew damp earth.
who feeds all the cats in the neighborhood,
and pours a little bourbon in her coffee.
who uses the same cup and plate everyday,
and likes to read just before dawn.
who smokes unfiltered Pall Mall's,
and keeps all her pictures turned down.
whose phone is always off the hook,
whose lips are alway moving...
that old woman no one really knows,
and most just try to ignore.
but that old woman ran with the wind,
made love with intimate strangers.
smoked dope and marched in protest,
spent several nights in jail.
wrote poetry and read Jung,
lived in communes and on the road.
found god when she found herself,
and raised three children well.
made pottery and raised her own food,
and fed anyone that was hungry.
back in the day she brought the dawn,
and now her name is sunset!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonliness (Tastes)
lonliness...
tastes like,
blood crusted on the lips,
the hint of brandy that lingers.
the first smoke
when you walk free from jail.
the crust of the pie,
the tongue of first love.
the soft place
on the back of your neck.
smoke and soot and greyness
as you walk the city streets.
the meat cooked long and slow,
falling apart in your mouth.
the trace of garlic,
the bitter shock of gunpowder.
gravel dust, spring water, ...
the last kiss,
a black and white photograph.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Landmine
When the Buffel troop-carrier detonates a landmine
we see dark dots moving in the bush
and I break loose with the light machinegun
that the empty burning-hot caps hit against me
and as long as there is movement
on the other side of the dry riverbed
our fire is drawn
until everything is motionless.
With the smell of gunpowder hanging around us,
a skimpy goat-herdsman
crawls out from behind a giant ant hill
and cries about his dead goats.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Four Poetic Points For The Neighborhood To Ponder
i
it is that particular moment
when your tongue tastes the skin of the wind
and it shall tell you too about its long
and unfinished journey
it is this intimacy with the hands of the wind
the talk that both of you do more often under the moon
ii
it is when you sit on the floor
your back rests on the wall
it is this intimacy of self-talking upon itself
when the wall begins to respond
when the floor finally makes its comments
iii
the neighborhood begins to doubt you
but you have no doubt about yourself or the floor's sincerity
or the door's indulgence
or the intimacy with the wind and the wall
which offers you a buffer between emptiness and
chaos
eventually everything has come
smooth and natural
well folded like the waves
well covered like the mist on the tree tops
iv
what you have to serve to all these inquisitors
is an empty glass upon an imaginary tray
which they still have to figure out
why you are serving them the perfect drops of silence
for all their thirsts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Innocent Louse
The louse can live its entire life
on the curve of a cat’s tail
boring tiny burrows
for homes and suburbs in the flesh
with a body and a system
made for sense
and perception of a world
made of nothing but long cat hair
cat skin, cat marrow and blood
living a life of curve and wave
and bristling burrowing luxury
breathing mere inches
from quick forelimbs with scratching nails
and pursed lips ready to press and taste
tongue salivating
a jaw made to press and spit
dead husks and rendered shadows
the mouth stained
dripping
with teeth
poem by by unknown author
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How Can You Be So Unforgiving?
many times i watch you
you are very near
my breath touches your
skin
my tongue is restrained
it is true
you do not bore me
you give life like a song
of a dying bird
when i listen you start
to play with your wings
and the wind
is perplexed
when i kiss you
you begin to fly away from my
tongue which has always
been true
as ever
like the ray of the sun
to the petal of
the rose
that is my only mistake
you are not forgiving
my breath touches the shadows
of your footsteps
my tongue licks the mud.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The long road
I was a boy in a big room,
Writing things on the floor,
Wondering what i would become,
A painter or a poet,
My road i paved a long way ago,
My hopes and all my wishes,
Trying to become a man,
When i was yet a boy,
It was a long road
Moving up and down the streets,
Driven by the small beard that developed,
Seating on street corners everyday,
There was more to life they said,
Blowing whistles at girls passing,
Those were the growing days,
My heart made a choice,
Yes along the way
We are who we want to be,
The things we say and claim,
The life we all become,
I met a new life,
I met a new career,
Yes i met a beautiful woman,
In the long road of life.
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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The Blood Red Rose Reborn
Dedicated to Rosse Nor with love and best wishes.
hate vile poison grey
pour revenge away
bitter is taste of decay
the rose was not born
bud into new bloom,
as a secret ceremonial mask
to hide dark rooted emotions,
it is time for the rose
to slip into new bud,
born of lessons learned,
to life spread in beauty,
petals spread overlapping
in sweet scented symmetry,
leave the past and dark souls,
to impale upon sharp thorns
their own prey flesh piercing,
leave the past and dark souls,
to impale upon discarded thorns
of your freedom spread leaving,
while you spread in new growth,
new bloom new beauty released
the blood red rose renewed reborn,
in moonlight in the dawn red
throughout the day of parched heat
the blood red rose fresh grows
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Shall I care?
Shall I care at all, that in the dreams and in the languor of time
My poetry does not show me and my inner most being and prime
For my poems are fragrance, and not a credible reflection
Words like shadows in disharmony dance and daunt imagination
But I do care, for life will be over so soon,
And I will be lost, forgotten as my being never happen
Like a small candle in mid day bright noon
And my quill idle, blunt and not sharpen
yet, like barley bending in harsh summer winds throng
And rising again and again
So would I, free and unbroken rise from agony and pain
Day long, night long change my sorrow into words of song
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
Think
Imagine if I said I sometimes need you
I need you to this day.
Imagine if I said I sometimes hear you call my name.
Imagine if I said I still could love you.
Imagine what youd say.
Imagine if I said I sometimes still can see your face.
Think about all the things we shared.
Think about all the times we cared.
When all of your hopes have come and gone,
Think about me and Ill be there.
Theres something in the air that feels like winter
The kind we used to know.
Yesterday can seem like such a long, long time ago.
Who could ever count the miles between us?
But now I know its true.
Imagine if I said that all my dreams were dreams of you.
Think about all the things we shared.
Think about all the times we cared.
When all of your dreams have come and gone,
Think about me and Ill be there.
Think about images weve drawn.
Think about all those empty songs.
Whenever youre sure that I wont dare,
Think about me and Ill be gone.
It took me a long, long time to learn
That love is a thing you have to earn
I finally realized its true
I just cant make it without you
Think about all the things we shared
Think about all the times we cared
When all of your dreams have come and gone
Think about me and Ill be there
Think about images weve drawn
Think about all those empty songs
Whenver youre sure that I wont dare
Think about me and Ill be gone
song performed by by Information Society
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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