En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Was A Skinny Child

I was a skinny child
in short shirt and pants,
who walked blonde through the ploughed fields,
feeling the soft lumps breaking beneath my feet,

whirling through the orchard,
looking through the ink black window at the stars,
watching the golden moon for some time
while wondering when the doves will stop cooing,

while that life with the ringing of the clock
was slowly ticking to an end
and everything now is so much different,
in a world almost without meaning.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the city

As a child in the afternoons
I walked home
barefoot along a sand road
with a short sleeved shirt and short pants
and the red brown sand
burnt my feet
but the air was bright blue,

I smelled the Lucerne of the field,
sometimes took a short cut through the stream,
birdcalls were like music
and the whole world belonged to me
and in everything
I could see the Lord’s works
and knew that I was serving
a loving Father.

l’Envoi
Now I walk with hand made shoes
in a designer suit
on concrete streets
from my car to the lift
then on thick carpets
to my office
and in the background
I can hear the air conditioner
and somewhere life
has lost its soul.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Stranded (Lyrics)

Your waves come crashing down
Like a semi-auto trailer
I dive so deep in the sea
To avoid killer whales
A perfect moment here and gone
It has sailed
I'll use a hammerhead to drive
Rusty nail inside

I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me

Imagine if our world was blue and weightless
I never meant to do wrong to you
You're my starfish

You moan a tone so low beyond me
A telepathic sub-sonic frequency
I need a little air for emergency
You have to understand this urgency

I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
White sand beneath my feet
No brain between my ears
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
I know that if I had one
I'd spare us both these years

I'm feeling the sea beneath me, beneath you
White sand beneath my feet
No brain between my ears
I'm feeling the sea beneath you, beneath me
I know that if I had one
I'd spare us both these years

A sea anemone, you're my enemy

poem by Satan's Sibling
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I Be Or Don't Be (A Song)

I be or don’t be
Would be spreading whiff
As a blossom, As a bud
In the orchard of love
I be or don‘t be

Whatever the weather
I always will be there
To keep the orchard fresh
And in colour of desire
Will be watering it ever
As a blossom as a bud
The orchard of love
I be or don’t be

I will unfurl my shirt
And sway in the breeze
Will glow like flower
On the blossom trees
Would spread fragrance
As a blossom as a bud
In the garden of love
I be or don’t be

When I won’t be there
Her eyes with tears
Would be finding me
She would stop in reverie
Where I will meet her
As a blossom, as a bud
In the orchard of love
I be or don’t be

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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The Shirt

The buttonholes were empty.
The buttons had all let go.
The shirt was now a remnant,
one he did outgrow.
The sleeves were short so he rolled them.
The plaid material was faded.
Now it was getting much too tight
as he saw his name brocaded.
The name was what she called him,
'Sonny, sonny boy.'
Her voice came back when he wore it.
It was a sound of joy.

He would have to give up wearing it
and pray that she would know
that no other shirt he'd ever wear
were what her hands did sew.
Mom. dear mom you come alive
everytime I see that shirt.
It helps me when I'm missing you.
It takes away the hurt.
Every other shirt that I have worn
could never quite replace
the feeling I get when I see it
for I see your loving face.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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No Bombs Here

Gran said it isn't safe
to walk about the bombsites

Janice said
as you walked with her

off of Meadow Row
towards the bombed out sites

of WW11
there might be

unexploded bombs
she added

holding on to your shirt sleeve
there are no

unexploded bombs here
you said

to reassure
you paused midway

and stared back
to where the coal wharf stood

and coalmen went about their work
loading trucks and horse drawn carts

how do you know?
she asked

her hand gripping
your shirt sleeve tight

don't you trust me?
you said

turning your head
seeing her eyes wide

beneath her red beret
yes but maybe there could be

hidden beneath ground
you looked around

with hand above your brow
none I can see

you said
she released your sleeve

and touched your hand
her smooth skin

like soft silk
moved over yours

you mustn't tell Gran
she said

she's forbidden me
to go on sites

you sensed her pulse
tap along your palm

of course I won't
you said

and walked across
the bricks and rubble

and weeds between
even here

amidst the bombed out ruins
a touch of green.

poem by Terry Collett
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Old Child

Child. Old child,
No longer wild;
No longer speaking,
No longer beguiled;
I have become
A quiet old child.

Child. Old child,
No longer cold;
Never an old man,
Always too old;
I have become
An old child tenfold.

Child. Old child,
Forever a child;
Always rethinking,
Always exiled.
I should become
A happy old child.

Child. Old child.
Always soft-spoken;
No longer breaking,
Still being broken;
I have become
An old child, unspoken.

Child. Old child,
No longer bold;
By thinking, rethinking
Of stories untold,
All through my childhood,
I've become... old.

poem by Mihai Cosmescu
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Country Scrumping

Your country cousin took you
Across a field to a vast orchard
Where low hung branches
Made the green apples within
Reach of your young boy’s hands.
Don’t eat too many of them
Or you’ll get gut ache, she said.
Your eyes had never seen so
Many apples, row after row
In long lines down the field and
Fields beyond. You picked an apple
And bit into it. They make cider
From these, she said, picking off
An apple too and biting with relish.
Your younger sister looked nervously
On wondering if she too should pick.
Go on, your cousin said, pick and eat.
Your sister reached up and pulled
And a few apples fell to the ground
With soft sounds of thump on the
Short grass. She picked up one and
Brushed it off on her dress. Have to
Run if the farmer comes, your cousin
Said, and don’t tell of this or we’ll be
For it. For what? Your sister asked.
Your cousin looked around and replied,
A good telling off or a good tanned ass.
You stood all three of you eating, beneath
The apple trees, in the short green grass.

poem by Terry Collett
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Breaking The Law

There I was completely wasting, out of work and down
All inside its so frustrating as I drift from town to town
Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die
So I might as well begin to put some action in my life
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
So much for the golden future, I cant even start
Ive had every promise broken, theres anger in my heart
You dont know what its like, you dont have a clue
If you did youd find yourselves doing the same thing too
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
You dont know what its like
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law

song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shrinking

Have you ever had that feeling
you are growing,
or is it your clothes are shrinking?
You know when your trouser bottoms
start creeping up to your knees,
or your shirt sleeves
start climbing up to your elbows,
or your waistline begins to grow,
but your belt hangs loose,
or your chest is expanding
because the buttons keep popping of your shirt.
Oh yea, I know that feeling ever so well
as it happens to me all the time
just after my wife does the washing.
She follows the instructions to the letter,
but still they begin to shrink.
Nothing is unshrinkable when she goes to wash,
except once.
There always has to be one exception.
I had a nice towelin shirt
and when she had finished with it,
the shirt touched my knees
and looked like I was wearing a skirt.
Here I am six foot three,
yet my clothes will fit someone three feet three
and a lot thinner than me.
Now I am at my wits end wondering just what to do.
It feels like playing Russian roulette
when the next wash begins.

31 January 2011

poem by David Harris
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A Poem About The Rotten Self

it is
a law that every
human being
accepts
as is: it is always the soft side that is hidden

sort of
Achilles's heel since we do not want to be
destroyed in an instant

it is the hard side that is always shown
a carapace
an armor of the body
a steel polo shirt
a pair of pants made of platinum

a bronze heart
a brain full of lead
tin hands
iron feet

the soft side is left like a fruit that you have forgotten
inside the
cabinet because of your selfishness
that inability to accept that all things are meant to be given
away

one day
you will find all the pulp consumed by the ants

have hope get the remaining seed with dried fiber like hair
on all over its body

take it and sow it
today.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bench and the Blonde in Black

His Honor walked into the shop
For of shopping his Honor was fond.
Did she blush? Did her eyes indicate shy surprise
In that slim little, trim little blonde?
Did his bachelor heart miss a beat?
Did she flash him a smile as she turned?
Did his Honor smile back at this vision in black?
Said his Honor, 'The case is adjourned.'

His Honor walked into his court.
Said the advocate, 'Shop-ladies lack
Much appeal, I submit, when these dark frocks they fit -'
Said his Honor, 'I like 'em in black.
Yes, I like 'em in black when they're blonde.
And I am not concerned with the cost.
It's a question of taste; and I've no time to waste.'
Said his Honor, 'Your action is lost.'

His Honor walked into the church.
'I will,' breathed his Honor, and beamed
On his blonde who, alack, was no longer in black,
For in ivory satin she gleamed.
Said the clergyman, 'Say after me -'
Said his Honor, 'My true wedded wife. . .
Er - at - sickness and health....and - er - all worldly wealth....'
Said his Honor, 'The sentence is life.'

His Honor walked up and walked down,
Sobbed the blonde, 'But you don't seem to care!
Why, my grey, pink and green are not fit to be seen;
And I haven't a rag fit to wear!
And you always did say I looked nice
In black suits? Twenty guineas? What fun!'
Then she smiled, kissed his neck, as he wrote out the cheque.
Sighed his Honor, 'Your suit, dear, is won.'

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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She Walked Barefoot...

she walked barefoot,
across them factory floors,
down that gravel road,
across the yard,
and into that old house.

she walked barefoot,
across them kitchen floors,
down that long hallway,
across the floor to the bed.

she walked barefoot,
between them garden rows,
out in the fields,
down through the pines
to the creek.

she walked barefoot,
down them hospital halls,
down the aisles of the church,
out in the cementary
to the grave...

she walked barefoot,
into the arms of eternity,
and i'd give all i am
to wash her feet
with my tears!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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One Leg Anne and the Innocent Flirt.

Sister Mary pushed Anne
in her wheelchair
to the white table
where you were sitting

with Lydia Sad
and Malcolm
and a curly headed girl
with burn scars

on her face and neck
there
said the nun
here you can sit

and wait for breakfast
and catch the morning sun
Anne looked glumly
at the sky

and said nothing
as the nun
walked away
I wonder

what's for breakfast?
Malcolm asked
stewed cat on toast
Anne said

looking at Lydia Sad
whose blonde hair
and blue eyes
gave her

an angelic look
that's horrible
the girl with burn scars said
don't eat it then

Anne said
Malcolm looked at you
it wouldn't be that
would it?

He asked
no
you said
Anne's just having you on

why do you have to spoil
my fun Skinny Boy?
Anne said
it's not funny

Lydia muttered
not funny to say that
about cats being on toast
how are your haemorrhoids?

Anne asked Lydia
saw the fat nun
giving you the bum pill
Lydia blushed

and Malcolm looked
at the white table top
I'm telling Sister Bernadette
about you

the girl with burn scars said
go put your head
between your thighs
and breathe the air

Anne said
the girl got up
and left the table
followed by Lydia

and Malcolm
that's got rid of them
Skinny Boy
Anne said

why are you so horrible?
you asked
looking at her red skirt
just covering the stump

of her amputated leg
have a good look Skinny Boy
and she pulled up
her skirt to reveal

the naked flesh
and plump stump
you noticed
how the scar

seemed to pull
into a smooth redness
what do you think?
Anne asked

I've seen it before
you replied
when?
She asked

you showed me
the other week
while you were being weight
in the bathroom

she smiled
and pulled down
her skirt
I like you Skinny Boy

you're just
an innocent flirt
and she laughed
and her wheelchair rocked

and you smiled
and wondered
what she meant
by the word flirt

and looked discreetly
at her short red skirt.

poem by Terry Collett
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Give Me Back My Shirt

You stole my shirt again
The one with stains
Beneath my armpits

You lied and said
The shirt somehow fell
Into your suitcase

A dark black shadow
That hurled itself off a cliff
And landed inside your
Sad blonde soul

And when you sleep alone at night
In the naked stretch of your wine-soaked skin

Do you smell my harsh manly aroma
In the pillow of your theft?

Do you wet yourself in the taste of
The baby felons we might make?

Do you imagine yourself wearing
My body
Upon the sharp thrusts of my
Contempt
And
Love?

For a liar, a thief, a fetishist for
Fabric
That revives memories
Of lust long faded

You stole my shirt again
The one that has faint traces
Of your drool, in the way you
Drip yourself upon me
In the hot slumber of your
Babbling incoherent dreams

Give me back my shirt
It was a present from my sister
Who rarely bought me anything
Except for a blue cotton candy
Vivid blue
Like your icy sullen eyes
In the childhood
Of my lonely
Indelible
Lament

poem by Catman Cohen
Submitted by anonym
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Fields Of Gold

Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
Youll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
Well forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that Ive broken
But I swear in the days still left
Well walk in the fields of gold
Well walk in the fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold

song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breaking The Girl

I am a man
Cut from the know
Rarely do friends
Come and then go
She was a girl
Soft but estranged
We were the two
Our lives rearranged
Feeling so good that day
A feeling of love that day

Twisting and turning
Your feelings are burning
You're breaking the girl
She meant you no harm (chorus)
Think you're so clever
But now you must sever
You're breaking the girl
He loves no one else

Raised by my dad
Girl of the day
He was my man
That was the way
She was the girl
Left alone
Feeling the need
To make me her home
I don't know what when or why
The twilight of love had arrived

(chorus)

song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orchard Road

Writers: leo sayer & alan tarney
To tell the truth its really such a sad affair
Standing here waiting in the cold night air
But Ive got to make this call
cause my heart is breaking.
I hear the bips drop a coin in the slot
Has it been that long
I thought youd forgotten me
Well I know that its getting late
But I just couldnt wait
Will I have the nerve to say
I just wanna come back
You shouldnt just go away
I just wanna come back
Ive been struck by such a bad luck
I need a place a little happiness and some love
I think I can see it now
Now let me paint the picture
Its twelve oclock and the curtains are drawn
Theyre counting sheep down in orchard road
Youre hanging on the telephone line tonight
And I wish I could be in orchard road
Not much been happening here
I think Ive got a job
Theyre gonna call me next week
And Ill be working out of town
But it sure beats hanging around
Whats that? tomorrow at two
Youre kidding me -- no
Is it allright with you
I dont know what to say
Itll be like a holiday
When you say youre all alone
Makes me wanna come back
And this house is not a home
I just gotta go back
Its twelve ten when I put down the phone
The moons shining down on orchard road
And Im feeling like a schoolboy again and tonight
Ill see you in my dreams of orchard road
Its funny but I thought Id never go back
I think sometimes I might loose track
But I remember you and the things we do
And I want it back.
In orchard road youve got my heart
I left it in your doorway
In orchard road a welcome back
Is waiting there just for me
In orchard road the sun will shine
Again I know I know
In orchard road you keep my love
Just waiting there for me
Its eight oclock and the dawns arrived
In orchard road its breakfast time
I climb in my car and I turn the key and Im gone
I am coming home
To orchard road
Im coming home

song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ricky & G-child

Ricky: say man, how many lumps do you want?
- whatchou mean how many lumps i want?
G-child: say man, i'm gonna lump you right upside your funk. man!
Ricky: you lump me, i'ma lump yo ass right back.
- man, well you better do yo thing then, cause i'm bringin' the real.

song performed by by Warren G
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ricky G-child

Ricky: say man, how many lumps do you want?
- whatchou mean how many lumps I want?
G-child: say man, Im gonna lump you right upside your funk. man!
Ricky: you lump me, ima lump yo ass right back.
- man, well you better do yo thing then, cause Im bringin the real.

song performed by by Warren G
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A child learns to discard his ideals, whereas a grown-up never wears out his short pants.

quote by Karl Kraus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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