On the island
Cemented into existing
among grey buildings, long grey days
they listened keen on hearing any whispering,
even tried to hear the breaking of the sea,
the howling wind and rain sifting down
but everything was barred, as life in prison is
locked behind strong steel doors, shut in
where some people came as specimens
of a political cause gone beyond
civility with guns, bombs doing the talking
taking lives, killing
and time oozed on, as meaningless,
their lives were gone.
[Reference: On The Island by Dennis Brutus.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
This winter
The air is grey
and the cold bites with the rain
and this morning, there’s fog folding around me
I am goalless and empty without you
and I do not know what your words mean,
but you have no place for me and my life is grey.
The sadness falls
like a cloak over me,
while goallessness folds around me.
My cheeks are wet and there are drops that stick to it
and its not rain and it is wet from weeping
and I do not know where to find light in the greyness.
Everything is dark and I wonder what my future holds
and your heart is made of rock,
while pain and blackness falls around me.
I am searching for a heaven that hangs sapphire blue
in the future over our lives and like the Lords blessings,
comes right through the darkness and meaningless grey
and fold open like a new morning.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Grey World
Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.
Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.
Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Grey
Grey road stretched through grey rain.
Grey rain fell though grey mist.
Grey mist enveloped all,
all the eye could see,
all the land,
all the sky
and me.
Grey covered all,
all the way down to the sea.
Glimpsed through grey the swell of the ocean,
riding the waves a wind surfer surfing,
chopping, fighting the crests with swift motion
skirting the spray, sail unfurling.
Stopping, I stared at that sight in the mist,
oh how he came dancing over the sea,
right through the rain a state of sheer bliss,
the wondrous frolic rippling throughout me
making me tingle right down deep inside.
That misty image ripped all grey apart
a glorious vision of freedom untied,
returning tremendous joy to my heart
filling me up, bringing tears to my eyes,
emerging from grey a great love of life.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Best Days
Over the river they all go again
Out into leafy nowhere hope someone's waiting out there for them
Cabbie has his mind on a fare to the sun
He works nights but it's not much fun
Picks up the london yo-yos
All on their own down soho
Take me home
Other people wouldn't like to hear you
If you said that these are the best days of their lives
Other people turn around and laugh at you
If you said that these are the best days of our lives
Trellick tower's been calling
I know she'll leave me in the morning
In hotel cells listening to dull tones
Remote controls and cable moans
In his drink he's been talking
Gets disconnected sleepwalking back home
Other people wouldn't like to hear you
If you said that these are the best days of our lives
Other people turn around and laugh at you
If you said that these are the best days of our lives
song performed by by Blur from The Great Escape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Howling
the pregnant lion, the burning bush,
the hammered flute, well gone dry.
without a prayer, the eagle falls
in blackened cinders to the earth.
the food stamp mom, her head down,
children stare with blank milky eyes.
there's another man down in the project,
news at five, news at five.
deserted smokestacks stare at an angry sky,
buildings filled with rats and ghosts.
abandoned cars, abandoned lives,
old gas pumps rusting in the wind....
and the wind blows and howls,
ripping shingles from empty houses, ...
breaking limbs from trees long dead;
drowning out the sound of children's voices....
slamming doors and breaking windows,
carryng the fated owl to the eaves.
blowing at my back like the fires of hell,
blowing in my face with the freedom of loss.
the pregnant lion, the burning bush,
the hammered flute, well gone dry.
without a prayer, the eagle falls
in blackened cinders to the earth....
and no one hears....no one feels...
the lone wolf howling....
the spirits of death howling...
the eyes of God, ... howling!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Short Term Gossip And The Gossip Hounds
Are people really so bored
with their own lives
especially in small rural towns
that other people's lives
must become common
run away gossip oh so much
more interesting than
theirs own off limits lives?
Nosy people are basically
exactly that just nosy
nosy people need
little provocation
little scent incentive
bait bloodhound
encouragement
to engage actively in
their favourite pass time.
But secretly
most people
are short term gossip
really they do not
care that much
most people
are rapid ready
to move on to
choice fresh gossip.
Thus it does not
leave many gossips
too worry about
the real blooded hound
an aristocratic sleuth
has a nose for trouble
prepared ever ready
to dig into choice dirt.
These specimens
of active inquiry
may be bothersome
when out about
on preferred case
when their nose
is out of joint
two strains truth
black and white
may be spiced
with imaginative
shades of grey.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Grey Windows...
grey windows, grey buildings,
grey streets, grey skies...
grey figures staring,
grey deals are done!
manipulate gas prices,
manipulate food...
manipulate the economy,
manipulate the election.
right and wrong,
never thought of.
hungry mouths and desperation.
win the war,
never raise a gun,
bodies strewn everywhere!
money makes gods,
without conscience or morals.
human lives just tokens,
that buy trinkets for demons!
flag draped caskets,
the stink of money overwhelms.
while patriots dig graves,
for their mothers and sisters.
right and wrong,
never thought of.
hungry mouths and desperation.
pick a President,
who'll stand silent,
as birds of prey pick the bodies!
grey windows...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Season Of Unrest
Watching TV, I really can’t quite believe my eyes.
The country’s losing control, I’m starting to realise.
If I was caught up in the riots, I’d be shaking with fear,
But, to be honest, I wouldn’t even dare venture near.
All that people can see for many miles around,
Are buildings on fire, being razed to the ground.
Some people have literally lost all their possessions,
Which hits them harder in this time of recession.
Faced with rioters with masks to hide their faces,
Riot-trained police are put through their paces.
The authorities seem to be rapidly losing control,
And their lack of strong presence is taking its toll.
In some places, are police dressed in their riot gear.
All around, you can almost smell the sense of fear.
Cars and buildings are being deliberately set on fire.
People are running amok till their heart’s desire.
They’re breaking down people’s front doors,
As well as looting goods from the nearby stores.
Many shops have had their windows smashed;
Their goods carried off to where the loot is stashed.
Petrol bombs and missiles are being thrown at the police,
Who are doing their best to restore relative peace.
The streets are bathed in orange firelight,
As police and rioters continue to fight.
Staff have locked themselves in; to scared to leave work.
Scared of getting caught up in the mobs going berserk.
TV reporters try their very best to keep us up to date,
But, with their own lives at risk, reports have to wait.
Unrest has now spread far and wide.
Law abiding citizens run and hide.
People are being forced to leave their homes.
Through the dark streets, terrified, they roam.
Unrest has been brewing for quite a while.
With cutbacks and job losses, people get riled.
People wonder where will be targeted next.
The whole country, this problem now affects.
I’m concerned for the safety of a dear friend.
I do so wish these awful riots would end.
I really do hope that it’s not long before,
Peace and harmony are restored once more.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Bring The Beat Back
Black rain falling on me
Black rain is all that I see
Black rain colours the sand
Too fast I don't understand
False prophets talking about our life our destiny
Rain forest still alive sounds like a joke an irony
The air smells dirty we can all see pollution
To heal the world is not a game or an illusion
We see the world hunger not enough to eat
We close our eyes walking through the lonely streets
Strange disease there's nothing there's no cure
Cancer aids and much more we know for sure
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
Sometimes we get angry there's no focus in our life
When people get hungry they gonna learn how to survive
Homeless people concealed in the street
With no hopes and no dreams with no shoes for their feet
How many guns they have to melt they have to burn
Return to good sense when will we ever learn
Fighting this freedom for everyone for you and me
I know that this world is the place for us to be
Black rain made out of steam
Black rain to the extreme
Black rain what can we do
Too fast a nightmare comes true
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
The message is love
They've got drugs for children sniff to be free
They've got so much corruption this is all w
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn To Rust
turn down the wick!
there's a time for fighting,
a time for prayer, and
a time for just being...
in stillness.
you and i have felt things,
known things, seen things,
that most people never notice
in their mad rush to the grave!
feel the wind blowing through
the alleys, tugging at the doors
of vacant buildings... you know
its name... it has been
your lover, and your companion!
watch the sunlight dancing through
the shadows, lapping up darkness
like a thirsty dog... i am that dog!
the whispering moan of the grass
turning brown in the heat....
as our lives, and our loving
turn to rust!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Sounds
I can hear her heart beat
It seams a little strong
I can hear the things I did wrong
I can hear her thoughts
By looking in her eyes
I can hear her all the times she cried
I can hear the memories
As they echo off the wall
Falling from the pictures down the hall
I can hear regret
Building up in side of me
And I can hear all the things
I could not see
Those are the sounds of a woman leaving
Stronger then the wind in a willow tree
Those are the sounds of a heart breaking
You can't hear it
But the noise is killing me
I should of heard it coming
But I chose to pretend
I should of recognizes that sound
Way back then
But I just wouldn't listen didn't want to all those years
Now the truth is ringing clear
In my ears
Those are the sounds of a woman leaving
Stronger then the wind in willow tree
Those are the sounds of a heart breaking
You can't hear it
But the noise is killing me
Those are the sounds of a heart breaking
You can't hear it
But the noise is killing me
I can hear it
And the silent is killing me
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Days Of Our Lives
How many times have you walked through my door
How many times have you heard my song before
How many lines until the end of time
These are the days of our lives
How many times did you hear mother say
You would do fine if you didn't sleep all day
Oh mother dear, I'll get a job next year
These are the days of our lives
How many times did you walk down the street
Avoiding cracks that were thrown at your feet
These rainy days were sent to make us pay
But these are the days of our lives
How many roads must a woman walk down
How many walls will surround the town
All that I am could get us out of here
These are the days of our lives
Did you believe in the stories at night
Weren't you afraid when they turned out the light
Oh, such a gas, I'm sorry it won't last
These are the days of our lives
These are the days that some of us regret
These are the days we learn to forget
These are the days that turn us out this way
These are the days of our lives
Of our lives
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Were Talking
about failures and i told her
i am not afraid of failures
they do not kill me
they are but postponed successes
in our lives
that i am no longer bound by failures for long
that they do not harm me
that we are incharge and things and people harm us
only if we allow them
we are the kings of our thrones
our territories are within our grasp
we breathe and we give life to what is near us
we are the doors
and we only let in
those that we love and who can love us in return
we shut ourselves
from pain
and we make each pillar of our kingdoms
strong
we were talking about love
and we like to be silent from then on
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grey Thrush at the Door
'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!' Low at first and flattering,
Full of soft seductiveness on a wheedling note.
Who comes in mercy now, crumbs of comfort scattering
For a grey bird pleading from a cold, cold throat?
Just a thread of tallow-fat, just a scrap of meat!
Grey thrush is at the door. 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!'
Grey bird, friendly bird, merry bird in summer time,
For summer is a merry time, full of tuneful mirth.
Sunny days are singing days. But winter is a glummer time
With lean days of scant fare; frost has locked the earth.
Song goes as sun goes, and harshly drives the sleet.
Where comes the almoner? 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!'
'Sweet! Sweet!' Now it grows imperious:
A short call, a loud call, impatience in its tone.
Why am I left lingering? See, my plight is serious.
A poor bird all forlorn, starving and alone.
Grey Thrush is a-hungering, begging scraps to eat.
It's far beyond my breakfast time! 'Sweet! Sweet!'
Now a footstep on the floor. Now a sudden fluttering,
And Grey Thrush is waiting there beside the open door.
Kookaburra cocks an eye; greedily he's muttering;
But grey bird is first to swoop upon the proffered store,
A scrap of song in gratitude, then up, and off, away.
And the mendicant has vanished till another frosty day.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Rainbow
I live at one of those Grey Clouds
Not really know that I am lifeless
I heard people talking about rainbow,
They’d met each other, always in a happy occasion
I wish I met the rainbow myself
Then perhaps I would know,
What the people say is not true
That there is no thing such rainbow,
That could make people’s eyes glittering
In Blue color of the sky
In Green color of the valley
In Red color of the blood
In Yellow color of the sun
I am belongs to the Grey Clouds
I Love Grey, as it is all the color I have in life
Then one day, at the ticking time of my ordinary Grey-day
I see something really bright,
With the scent of a precious flower I’d lost in the mist
For a moment I’m overwhelmed
Then I took a step further…
Away from something so beautiful, that wasn’t Grey
But the figure reveal and I stranded there
I Never learn that there are many color one’s could posses
Day goes by,
The Grey Cloud is the latest place I’d like to be
It was the rainbow…
Holding me and warm me
With a lot of bunch of dream in my empty mind
Dream I never knew
Dream I never dare to explore
The forbidden dream for my Grey outfit
I’m content with joys,
The first time I ever feel grand to face my life
My heart reflecting the color of rainbow
Blue for the peace soul
Green for the new beginning
Red for the faith
Yellow for a bright hope
Not very long
The thunder strikes,
The lightning burned my rainbow
All was Grey again
The rainbow gone away
Prefer to have a quite-smooth journey with all its color
While the thunder sent me here
Back to the Grey Clouds
poem by Niken Kusuma Wardani
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A Commonplace Day (after Thomas Hardy's poem of that name)
All day from dawn to dusk, the drizzling rain;
everything today is painted grey;
and as for me - I shut my heart, alas;
and took that paint and washed my mind with grey…
Outside the window, just a pane away:
the eager soil, the leaves of plant and tree
bathe and sing and grow and shine with praise;
yet why do I not hear that song, in me?
more feeble I than plant or soil or tree;
I cannot even sing their humble praise;
why build a house against the water’s grace,
and leave my wizened heart dry, graceless, mean?
Better today would it have useful been
to be a raincloud; humble; generous;
free of grey thought that idly renders me
less than the least of servants of my God;
so make me grey as generous raincloud; clod
of saturated, grateful earth; write, rain;
shout, whisper, words of flowing gratitude;
on greying days, paint grey as purest joy;
and be again, that drenched and laughing boy..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Through The Veil for Dave Walker
there's a light
in the window
of the house
forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.
footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink
half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time....
whispering, whispering....
names that cannot
be heard.
voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs
on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,
touching small particles
of being left like gifts....
lives unwrapped into mine!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Wind Doesn't Cry Mary
Tempests that howl over chimneypots
No words whispering Mary
Not a single name not a single verse in rhyme
That traffic light didn't turn blue
The wind didn't say anything at all this time.
Another time, another age, the wind
Played with us but now its through
Now there is nothing left to murmur
The wind doesn't whisper Mary
The urban lights twinkle and glow
Wet dark streets decay and buildings grow
Bombs splatter and fields decay
But that for most of us is far, far away.
The wind doesn't whisper Mary
But its true, we are still staggering along
The road is long, the wind is strong
But doesn't whisper the words of that song
And the wind doesn't cry out
Mary
poem by Rani Turton
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A Night of Storm
Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown,
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,
Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone.
Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
More dark and strange thy veiled agony,
City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden
What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat,
Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet,
Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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