Western Dusk
A faun-cry romps through sparks,
In the parks cascades of light foam,
Metallic vapors around steel arcades
Of the city which rolls around the sun.
A god races shimmering in a harness of tigers
Past women and bright bazaars,
Filled with flowing gold and wares.
And slave people howl now and then.
In the canal a drunken ship rotates
Sluggishly in green solar sheaves.
A cheerful concert of colors
Quietly rises before the hospital.
A Quirinal exhibits sinister splendor.
In mirrors colorful crowds circulate
On bridge arches and tracks.
Before benches a demon wakes palely.
A dreamer sees pregnant women
Glide past in slimy brilliance,
A dying man hears bells ringing -
A golden stash glows quietly in the horror.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Related quotes
En-route
A scent of myrrh which roams in the twilight.
Plazas red and desolate sink in fume.
Bazaars circle and a golden ray flows
In old shops queerly and confused.
In the dishwater decay glows; and the wind
Evokes dully the agony of burnt gardens.
The possessed pursue golden dreams.
By windows dryads rest slender and dulcet.
The dream-addicted wander pined over by a wish.
Workers surge shimmering through a gate.
Steel towers glow upward at the edge of the sky.
O fairy tale barred gray in factories!
In the sinisterness an old man trips dollish
And a jingling sound of money laughs lasciviously.
A halo falls on that little girl
Who waits before the coffee house, soft and white.
O golden brilliance which she wakes in panes!
Sun-filled noise roars distantly and ecstatically.
A crooked writer smiles as if crazy
To the horizon which is frightened green by an uproar.
State coaches of crystal move on bridges,
Fruit barrows, hearse black and sallow,
The canal swarms with bright steamboats,
Concerts sound. Green domes drizzle.
Public baths flicker in magic of light,
Execrated streets which one tears down.
A center of epidemics chaotically circles in ether,
A light from forests breaks through ruby dust.
Enchanted an opera house shines in the gray.
From alleys masks flood unforeseen,
And somewhere a fire still blazes furiously.
A small moth dances in the wind-roar.
Lodgings threaten full of squalor and stench.
Viola colors and chords move
Along cellar holes before the hungry.
A sweet child sits dead on a bank.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Little Miss Fairy
glittering, shimmering,
little miss fairy goes,
as she walks up to girls,
fulfills their dreams,
she pours her golden shimmering powder,
on their heads with a light, a shine and a spark,
her golden hair, flowing,
long and shiny, as she walks,
her creamy dress floating and flowing,
full with jewels and sparks,
her trail of light and sparks,
lights up every single place for hours,
little miss fairy,
so gorgous,
so lovely,
as she comes to my window and takes my wish,
and lights up my room,
with a tinkly, twinkly light,
and shiny, glimmering sparks!
poem by Fathmath Sana
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Cooum
Near the cinema
Stripping women
Of their souls
The river quietly breathes
Stoic like a saint
Though dying of the city's sins
On the bridge the harlot
Too weary to walk the streets
Stands staring at the waters
Mourning the river
She had lost in her hamlet
Where it skipped like a girl
Without a care
Frothing foaming giggling
Unlike the river here
Dying of the city's sins
poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam
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The Hospital Ship
There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a crimson cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
Lazily bearing my friend away,
Leaving me dull-sensed loss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Numb is my heart, but you carelessly dip
There in the drift of the bay.
There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Dim as the distance grows,
Speedily steaming out of the bay,
Speedily bearing my friend away
Into the orange-rose.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Dim are my eyes, but you heedlessly slip
Out of their sight from the bay.
There was a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a blood-red cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
But it went out with the light of the day -
Out where the white seas toss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Cold are my hands and trembling my lip:
Did you make home from the bay?
poem by W.H. Littlejohn
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The City With Eyes
The city with eyes
Sees everything,
City with eyes
Hears everything
Feels everything
The city with eyes
Sees people living on the rough side of the streets
Sees people eating crumbs from the floor
Sees people with ripped clothes and no shoes
Watching other people wearing lubatones walking past
It cries not one but millions of tears
For them
Tears which touch every one
Which soaks everything
Rain, they call it.
The city with eyes
Watching
What has happened to my city?
It cries with sorrow
The city with eyes
Feels the sadness
Of those in need, sad, hurt, …
Watching what was happy
To what is sad know
The Bells Of San Blas
What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore,--
Nothing more to master or man.
But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
Are often one and the same,--
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange, wild melody,
And are something more than a name.
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts of young and old;
One sound to all, yet each
Lends a meaning to their speech,
And the meaning is manifold.
They are a voice of the Past,
Of an age that is fading fast,
Of a power austere and grand,
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o'er this western world,
And the Priest was lord of the land.
The chapel that once looked down
On the little seaport town
Has crumbled into the dust;
And on oaken beams below
The bells swing to and fro,
And are green with mould and rust.
'Is, then, the old faith dead,'
They say, 'and in its stead
Is some new faith proclaimed,
That we are forced to remain
Naked to sun and rain,
Unsheltered and ashamed?
'Once, in our tower aloof,
We rang over wall and roof
Our warnings and our complaints;
And round about us there
The white doves filled the air,
Like the white souls of the saints.
'The saints! Ah, have they grown
Forgetful of their own?
Are they asleep, or dead,
That open to the sky
Their ruined Missions lie,
No longer tenanted?
'Oh, bring us back once more
The vanished days of yore,
When the world with faith was filled;
Bring back the fervid zeal,
The hearts of fire and steel,
The hands that believe and build.
'Then from our tower again
We will send over land and main
Our voices of command,
Like exiled kings who return
To their thrones, and the people learn
That the Priest is lord of the land!'
O Bells of San Blas in vain
Ye call back the Past again;
The Past is deaf to your prayer!
Out of the shadows of night
The world rolls into light;
It is daybreak everywhere.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Home Train Improvisation 04 02 2004
HOME TRAIN:
Improvisation Number 01 24 04
From city light horizons she is going to become my day-lady
rising too soon sprung spouting with tulips and the early spring
on the home train my heart beats fiddle bass tones and sings
desperate reasoning in the heart: why her whole body stands on
my soul softly resting upon that generation of secret separate trusts
intended in the passing smile for the joy of being alive being alive
for just one more day from distant light horizons on the home train
from distant city light horizons my city leaves me with my lady
my joy on the home train to soon sprung early tulips crocus in
the rain in the solar fun my lady to soon sprung in the early spring
all rise to spread the joy and join the fun on the home train for just
one more day from distant light horizons my city leaves me with
my lady on the home train to soon my heartbeats fiddle bass tones
and sings she is too soon sprung joyously into spring my heart beat
sings for her whole body stands on my soul softly resting in my joy
time is passing rapaciously through the night passing city after city
the home train races out of light horizons sucking my city away
fading into the rhythm of the blues quietly my lady to soon sprung
begins to make her midnight move joyously leaping into spring
blooming with the rising sun with tulips and the joy of passing time
rapaciously through the night I will hold her softly for nothing more
than the repetitious passing of time while she will hold me too; city
after city the home train races out of light horizons onto spirit lifted
tracks with my lady to soon sprung from city light horizons on
the home train from distant light horizons the city leaves a mellow
glowing cinder each time I leave her she is the love that draws me
back; city after city now nearer home where my love to soon sprung
in springs come and gone she is my wife my mistress my platonic
friend city after city wherever she lets me in; she’s with me every day
she sits with me on the home train she sits a seat away at the cinema
on the benches in the park in the lobby the dining and the sleeping car
the lounge and café I sleep where the memories stay -on the home train.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Do not reproduce without permission.
poem by Lee B Mack
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These Lost, These Come At A Cost Women
I see these city lights and flashy cars
These beautiful women lost under stars
These daughters and sisters and mothers
These lost women
These come at a cost women
Given a glance then a dance
Given the means to live by the fiends of these beautiful women
Lost in a daze of green
A daze I've seen
Spotlights on these beautiful women
Eyes on these and cheers for these beautiful women
Lies in these and fears in these lost women
These come at a cost women
Show, bought and ready to go
At a price higher then they know
These women worth more then gold
Priceless
But still sold
Oh these lost women
Don't you know your beautiful
Not hot women
That your beautiful
Not meant to be bought women
Beauty needs to be taught in these women
Instead of this that is not
Left in them to rot
Oh these beautiful women
These I've seen
Women whos pupils are all green
Men whos eyes are gazed in between wide thighs
Silent cries eventually taking its toll
Night after night eventually breaking the soul
I see these city lights and flashy cars
These beautiful women lost under stars
These daughters and sisters and mothers
These lost women
These come at a cost women
Don't you know your beautiful
Not hot women
That you’re beautiful
Not meant to be bought women.
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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These Lost, These Come At A Cost Women
I see these city lights and flashy cars
These beautiful women lost under stars
These daughters and sisters and mothers
These lost women
These come at a cost women
Given a glance then a dance
Given the means to live by the fiends of these beautiful women
Lost in a daze of green
A daze I've seen
Spotlights on these beautiful women
Eyes on these and cheers for these beautiful women
Lies in these and fears in these lost women
These come at a cost women
Show, bought and ready to go
At a price higher then they know
These women worth more then gold
Priceless
But still sold
Oh these lost women
Don't you know your beautiful
Not hot women
That your beautiful
Not meant to be bought women
Beauty needs to be taught in these women
Instead of this that is not
Left in them to rot
Oh these beautiful women
These I've seen
Women whos pupils are all green
Men whos eyes are gazed in between wide thighs
Silent cries eventually taking its toll
Night after night eventually breaking the soul
I see these city lights and flashy cars
These beautiful women lost under stars
These daughters and sisters and mothers
These lost women
These come at a cost women
Don't you know your beautiful
Not hot women
That you’re beautiful
Not meant to be bought women.
©Copyright 2008
poem by Regan Mackenzie
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This Is Me:
One says I have the heart an angel,
One says I have the heart of the devil,
Well,
I'm neither an angel, nor the devil,
I'm me.
A women,
A women who will believe in anyone who can believe in themselves,
Even believe in those who don't believe in themselves,
A women who loves all things,
Weather dark of light,
For as I know the world cannot cooperate without the other,
I hate the things that make me mad,
Like racism, bullying, age discrimination, being a women and not have full rights to everything, and watching people suffer and go throw hell right in front of my eyes,
A women who is strong as steel,
But has compassion and is full of love,
One who likes to get her way, but can allow others for there's, too,
This is me.
A women,
A women who loves pissing people off,
But a women who wants to comfort the sad,
A women who loves to give her heart out,
To where it on her sleeve so people can see,
But don't when they take advantage,
A women who likes to cuss like a sailor,
Yet who loves to sweet words,
This is the women I am,
This is me,
And how I am...
poem by Sherry Painter
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The Women Of My Past
I remember the women of my past
How to them, I was just a plaything
Relationships that would never last
After they took all I had to bring
I admit it, I had some fun
Especially between the sheets
Nights ended and with the sun
I was alone between those sheets
There were women who wanted to play
With my body but mostly my mind
To them, all I was was an easy lay
Was this the only kind of woman I would ever find?
Flings, and a one night stand or two
Not that I wasn't looking for more
It seemed that was all they wanted to do
The next morning, I was shown the door
Looking for her, my.elusive love
I met women who became friends
But she, the woman I dreamt of
Was somewhere between this Earth's ends
To find her, I would solemnly vow
I'd never give up or stop trying
I had my share of heartache, and how
Some women liked me better crying
Long before this, the biggest mistake of my life
I was a horny teenager, with a pregnant girlfriend
Doing the right thing, I made her my wife
Ten years later, it shattered to an end
Damn! The years fly by so fast
Women, they come and they go
Adding to the women of my past
Barbara darling, you'll stay I know
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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Emerald City Sequence
(quincy jones/charlie smalls)
Emerald city green:
I want to be seen green
Wouldnt be caught dead, red
cause if you are seen green
It means you got mean bread
Youve got to be seen green
To show that youre stuffs layed
If youre not seen green
You better be wearing jade
Oh, youve got to be seen green
Dont tell them your cupboards bare
That you gave up one weeks feed
To pay for your colored hair
Oh, oh, oh
An announcement from the great powerful oz:
I thought it over and green is dead
till I change my mind, the color is red
Emerald city red:
I wouldnt be seen green
Ooo! oo! oo! ah! ah!
I wouldnt be caught dead
And if Im caught at all
Then catch me in dead, red
Ooo!
Youve got to be dead red
Youve got to be real hot
So throw away those green gems
And wear rubies on your yacht
Youve got to be dead, red
Youve got to have flash and flair
And if youre not seen red
Then you shouldnt be seen nowhere
Ah!
How quickly fashion goes down the drain.
Last week when you all was wearin pink
Already for me red was old.
The ultimate brick is gold.
Thats the new color, children
Emerald city gold:
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
You got to be seen gold
Watch out for the new kind
You got to have old gold
Like some from a gold mine
You got to be wearin gold
The twenty four carat kind
And once youve shined it up
It should ought to make you blind, ah!
You got to be seen in gold
To show that youre super slick
It helps to pay tips and tolls
Its the ultimate yellow brick
Its the ultimate
Gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Gold, gold, gold, gold
Gold!
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flow
It flows
over highways
dripping down
lamp-posts
through gutters,
pounding
storm drains,
filling
narrow lanes,
past dark houses,
past high-tension
wires, driving
through
constraining fence,
unfettered
it fills
the green hills
and rolls
through folding slough, past
low bridge and causeway,
ever lower
down to Suisun Bay,
unstoppable
like a swimmer’s blood
pulsing through throbbing vein,
reaching for gate of gold
to break free,
to become
one with
One.
poem by Steven Federle
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Fall Leaves Dance
Look up and they're green,
Look up and they're yellow and green.
Then they're yellow, orange, red and green.
And then most are yellow, green, orange, brown,
Masses of moving colors, dancing up and down.
Slow, colorful dances bemuse the morning breeze,
The pace quickens with the evening wind.
It's right, it's left, it's up and down,
It's east, to west, to north, to south,
Warmed and energized by the setting sun.
Squirrels race among the leaves
Doing their dance routines,
Skimming and swaying the branches,
Weighting the limbs and twigs
With buoyant starts, stops and turns.
The new season is appearing: Fall is here!
Quietly and slowly birds hop from branch to branch
Camouflaged among the leaves
That silently fall, to carpet the ground and invite
New crushing, musical rolls from children at play.
poem by Hildred Marjorie Schloss
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Homeland Africa
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi
Down the ocean a ship comes sailing through the waves
Filled with hundreds of men they take as slaves
Just long for their true homeland africa
And to be saved they want to be free
Men women and babyslaves
Coming to the land of liberty, liberty
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi...
They are tired of waiting for a brand new day
Some of them sing and chant some of them pray
And some men got a little tired too
No one knows if the journey pay
Men women and babyslaves
Coming to the land of liberty, liberty
Ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi ship ahoi...
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Power to the Women of the World
Power to the women of the world
Women with W for winners
Women with O for Order
Women with M for Movement and mothers of hope
Women with E for energy, everywhere, every time
Women with N for Necessity
Women of the world
Our struggle needs your attention
Our struggle needs your support
Your children in on earth have no future
Your children in in the wolrd will die, if you sit
Your children in in the world are dying
Your husbands are culturally polluted and they are dying
Your pots are blown by light air
Your fire have burned months ago
Your future is no more
But this is your time
Your time to rise Women of the world
Power to the women of the country
Power to women
Power
poem by Alex Lushaba
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The Light Is Always Green
We dig our models with the brains the size of models
And cars that we can trust with out wives
And we dig converstations with girls from every nation
But not the ones that whisper or tell lies
Wherever theres a will theres a motorway
Wherever there is greed there is speed
And theyve always got to be there for yesterday
Welcome to the new scalextrics breed
And the light they always show to them
Is green, green, green
And the heels they always show to me
Are clean, clean, clean
Were only flying past so we dig our sevice fast
From the waiters to the women to the wine
Never mind the match, Ive an urgent date to catch
Get me to the concert hall on time
Pretending to be pilots in a war
Pretending to weave between the flak
No-one knows what the missions for
Blinkered horses on the track
And the light they always show to them
Is green, green, green
And the heels they always show to me
Are clean, clean, clean
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Many Women I Know
So many women I know are quite wise
Of the wisdom of the fair sex I have come to realize
If women ruled the World it does seem to me
There would be far less wars and more of harmony
Between people of different races of every Land
With women's people skills this not hard to understand
Most women I know see war as all wrong
Few women one ever hear sing a war song,
Maggie Thatcher one woman who to the thinking of women not true
A real warlike leader to give her fair due
The wisdom of her gender by her actions she denied
In her time as British Prime Minister people she did divide
On an averge far less aggressive than males it does seem to me
Though most males I know with that would not agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Luminous Hour
Far on the hill flute-sounds.
Fauns lurk in the marshes,
Where sluggishly the slender nymphs
Rest hidden in reed and seaweed.
In the pond's mirror-glass
Golden butterflies ecstacize,
Quietly an animal with two backs
Moves in the velvety grass.
Sobbing in the birch grove
Orpheus breathes tender love-babble,
Softly and jokingly the nightingales
Join in his song.
Phoebus a flame glows
Still on Aphrodite's mouth,
And drizzled from ambergris scent -
The hour reddens darkly.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Women & Men
When the ship runs out of ocean
And the vessel runs aground
Land's where we know the boat is found
Now there's nothing unexpected
About the water giving out
"land's" not a word we have to shout.
But there's something beside the shoreline
Moving across the beachhead
Coming up from the shipwreck
Making as if to say:
Women & men
Women & men
Women & men
Women & men
(women & men) bringing with them messages of love
And every where they go love will grow (love will grow)
(women & men) when you see the faces of the women
And the men, you too will know (you will know)
Women & men have crossed the ocean
They now begin to pour
Out from the boat and up the shore
Two by two they enter the jungle
And soon they number more
Three by three as well as four by four
Soon the stream of people gets wider
Then it becomes a river
River becomes an ocean
Carrying ships that bear
Women & men
Women & men
Women & men
Women & men
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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