We Walk In The Moonlight
We walk in the moonlight
to buy cake meal and cinnamon
past rows and rows of houses of which the lights wink
with the veldt stripped open into the distance
and you tell my about your childhood days,
about a house on a farm now demolished,
about an inheritance that was not yours
and the old yard may be up for sale.
Stars shine like torches against the sky,
your eyes gleam secretively
with the beauty of a innocent child,
our feelings are suddenly intense and intimate.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tombstones!
rows and rows of tombstones,
glaring white in the morning sun...
with open graves before them,
and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost....
the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,
dollar bills blown by the wind...
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,
and not by name....
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped
by time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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When We Walk In The Back Garden
When we walk in the back garden
as the sun sets over the hillocks
while flowers are blooming everywhere
and others are now suddenly rising
in this early spring,
in the distance houses gleam white like tents
and the evening air is suddenly colder
when I feel the heat of your hand in mine.
When the dark night comes
we are amazed by millions of stars
and of some you know the names
but when I kiss you, you have forgotten them all
and we only see the moon gleaming reddish
while we are caught in each other
and it's as if the night comes to life in the distance
but we are free from the whole world.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Innocent Child
In the eyes of an innocent child, you see all, you know all.
In the eyes of an innocent child, you know why the sky is blue and the
leaves fall.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is no peace and there is no
war.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only peaceful co-existance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only here and now and
nothing in the distance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, there are the colours of the rainbow,
black and white.
In the eyes of an innocent child, Grey areas are not right.
We look at things in grey, black and white, but not like a rainbow.
Some say we even look through rose coloured glasses.
It would be nice if we could look at the world through the eyes of an
innocent child.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Once there came a man
Once there came a man
Who said,
"Range me all men of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was terrific clamour among the people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who staid in bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Down the seafront tonight - Pinewood Royal
Tall ships in the harbour
Waiting for a sailing far away
Stones across the water
Herring gulls drifting across the bay
Painted lady in the garden
The Blackcap sings from early dawn
The warm air slumbers
Soothing the Trevello Lawn
On the red cliffs of The Berry
The lighthouse shines till early dawn
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
We're going down to where the lights, the lights are shining bright
On the sea front you can see the rows of coloured lights
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
Just you and I
The bright lights sparkle
On the sea front walking by
The ice cream parlour
Fairground rides and coconut shy
Ocean going liners
Cabin lights blazing wave goodbye
White horses in the moonlight
Constellations across the sky
Red glow from leaded windows
A summer's evening in July
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
We're going down to where the lights, the lights are shining bright
On the sea front you can see the rows of coloured lights
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
We're going down
Down to the sea front tonight
Just you and I
poem by GuyPaul MitchellDwelly
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(Poems from Haunted Houses) Moonlight in Ardival
The tiger does not sleep tonight
it hangs in the moonlight
like a curse on the stairs
the cobras unwind
from the labours of their day
supporting the ornate spittoons
the herons and the falcons
wink their glass eyes -
“I see no ships” -
the turkey carpet stretches
a sea of Sargasso weeds
in the moonlight
in the moonlight
in the house
in the past
in the moonlight
poem by Janice Windle
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Blind!
A red-roofed house is shining to the skies;
A house red-roofed and brilliant in the wind:
A house of colour filled with wandering eyes;
And all the eyes are blind.
A gentle sound of moving fills each room:
A sound of hands, - dumb hands that touch and pry:
A sound of fingers feeling in a tomb
Before they close and die.
A hundred windows face long rows of flowers-
Long rows of flowers, and flowers that sway and dance
Where lidded eyes can gaze for hours and hours;
Blue eyes that shut in France.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Those layered Cakes
yesterday i passed by
my childhood stall by the road;
what an experience it was!
that woman in her 30s i used to see,
now only her creased forehead and face
to add another dimension between us.
how sweet her layered little squarish
suntan cakes still tasted;
those layers that i peeled off
piece by piece to savour their charms.
and as i peeled the women gave me
that more mature and
deeply heartstirring smile
that tore through the distance
between us as if each layer i had peeled carried a story of her own life.
those years of experiences
now seen in phases,
like the layers of her cake.
the child in me leapt up again.
i left behind what
have separated us
to present the innocent smile
we used to give each other.
momentarily we lived
those days when i was a child
and she a young woman.
those childhood years
when we saw people as what they were.
those childhood years
when our smiles, love
were a fountain spring of ourselves
until the days when growing up
added different shades
of feelings and thoughts
to our relationships.
i hate the layer
those creases and wrinkles
laid in me.
i prefer to see them
as a child
where she would probably be
the wise woman in some cartoon film.
how those cakes would never
be the same again.
how i loved those pink and white layers,
the pink and white that had always
carried a fairy tale behind them.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Yesterday Went Too Soon
Sitting in today, watching traffic buzzing by, and faces closing in
A victim of regret, it glitters and it fades away, like silver turning grey
Washed it all away, waiting for this dream to end, before it sucks me in
Im climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lights
Im holding out my hand but Im alone
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterday
Crashing on the ground, the silence seems to suffocate, and bury me again
Waiting for a taste, of happiness to lift me free, and carry me away
Im climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lights
I know its just a dream but Im alive
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterday
Im still missing yesterday
Ill wait, Ill wait for you tonight.
Lost another week, feeling like a leper in, a world of vanity
Its killing me today, addiction pulls you down, you know
And shes the drug I need
Im climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lights
Im holding out my hand but Im alone
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterdayIm climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lightsIm holding out my hand but Im alone
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterday.
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Crying Child
Inside my heart there's a crying child
Still remains the pain of the past
Still is there aline in pain
O, Child don't you know that?
There are truths in life won't be ever changed
All the time they stay the same
All the time they remain the pain
Over and over they revive the ache
O, Child those lost childhood days
O, Child and who can bring back the past
They are unknown inside of your heart
The longing to the unknown
Unlived
Deprived
Strange
O, Lost childhood days
O, Child Cry Cry
May your innocent tears brings back the time
O, Child may a magic take you over there
May the time stops once again right there
May the time washes away your pain
O, Child still there are tears uncried
O, Child still the happiness is lost inside your eyes.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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A accountant at a transport company
Figures on paper glare at me
with the sun hanging bright in a blue sky,
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and drivers walk about talking
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
When the managing director looks in he wants
me to make changes, to do an act of fraud.
Figures on paper glare at me
with a bonus waving,
and my name, my integrity is at stake
and drivers walk about talking
and I wonder how to get out of this trap
when I catch the eye of the managing director’s charming daughter
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
I again check calculations, re-determine and add
and I keep things correct
and my name, my integrity is at stake.
The managing director wants the final figures,
he makes threats and his temper is just under control.
Figures on paper glare at me
while I complete the financial statements
and thousands of things go through my mind
and I keep things correct
and the day rushes past
the managing director’s daughter winks at me, walks down the passage
while busses and lories drive past the whole time,
sirens are ringing in the distance and the wall-clock ticks off the last minutes
and I know that I can loose my job
and thousands of things go through my mind
when the girl walks in with eyes cutting into my soul,
say that her dad is waiting and I feel like caught in web.
Figures on paper glare at me
while busses and lories drive past the whole time
and I hear excited voices in the managing director’s office.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and I know that I can loose my job,
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
poem by Gert Strydom
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End Of The Game
There are times
when we stand on a stage
and there below the glare
of the footlights below
blinding our eyes
are rows and rows
of empty seats
where no one came to see
our farewell performance
to mark the end of the game.
15 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Eyes Of The Child
Verse1:
Gone are the days
Of ponytails and bobby socks
Lost are those childhood memories
Now I (we? ) must deal in a world
That is real real cold
Verse2:
I used to play
Dress up in my mothers clothes
Now they are just my style
Can I find comfort
Looking through the eyes of a child
Chorus:
Eyes of a child-innocent smile
Are those days gone forever?
Eyes of a child-innocent smile
Are they lost for good?
Bridge:
Whisper to me in hushed tones of love
Unconditionally let me know
Let your words linger for mile upon mile
Love me through the eyes of a child
song performed by by Debbie Gibson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Innocent Childhood
soil soil and soil, , playing in the soil,
No fear of disease, no fear of toil.
What a wonderful days that was,
i always remember my childhood, my innocent childhood..
Only friend no foes,
no thinking of what dont and what does.
No fear of future, no thinking of present,
i always remember my childhood, my innocent childhood..
What was the past, leave it, it surpassed,
what has to happen, lets face when it comes.
Future planning! What is this?
i always remember my childhood, my innocent childhood..
Play was religion and play was God,
only thing which gave fear, was my fathers rod.
Crying crying crying a lot, then said love you pappa,
i always remember my childhood, my innocent childhood..
poem by Zeya Mallick
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The Fence
Around my yard there stands a fence
It keeps the outside world out and I safe within
Though the structure is not that immense
It does the purpose as which it was built for and meant.
Neighbors and strangers it keeps out of my yard
Along with their trash and pets which does it harm
I am my yards protector, landscaper and guard
As it is my beauty, and not a trash bin or someone's farm.
My fence allows and welcomes the sunshine and the wind
Mother nature is always welcomed to visit and roam
The squirrels and the birds are always welcomed in
And welcome are the bee's with the pollen they've sewn.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects my yard from the enemies about
Too me it makes such perfect sense
Better to stop the entering, than for me to scream and shout.
As my yard is not the playground for a child to use
Or a shortcut for many persons to walk or run
As it it my yard which I won't neglect or abuse
And the work that I do on it, it will never be done.
In the summertime there will be plants to raise
And the leaves to rake when it becomes the fall
While hoping mother nature with me will always stay
And because of my fence, it will protect it all.
Around my yard there stands a fence
It protects and guards my yard everyday of the year
To others though it might cause an offense
As though it tells the people, not to come over here.
It is my yard which is mine to raise it like a child
To cut it and groom it and keep it nice for all to see
But truly it is GOD'S acre, which I saved from the wild
Then through the wonder of nature, in life I do believe.
So as days will come you will see myself in my yard
And sometimes you might see me nervous and tense
I hate clutter and trash so from there it is always barred
Also to protect my yard and myself, is my mighty fence.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Living Off The Land
remember how we planned, to just live off the land
just the love 4m each other was our only need
money was just an object for those full of greed
recalling the days of our youth.all we needed was love n truth
remember how we would just lay around and plan
how we could just live off the land
ly on the dirt, that covered the earth
beneath an old oak tree.......just us snuggled 2gether
so happily....planned on living like that 4ever
looking high into the sky
to the stars twinkling so bright..bathing in the river by moonlight
or taking a walk along a beach
hand in hand
looking into the never ending sea
walking barefoot in the crystal sand
or resting in a field
picking berries for a meal
running and playing through the rows
where the corn grows
money was an object meant.......for greed
love was the only thing spent....it was our only need
then we grew up....and faced reality
poem by Krissi B'williams
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Children Of The Heart
Have you ever left?
Your childhood alone
Have you ever let?
Your childhood dreams go
I've never really known
The joys a child should know
I've never really seen
What it's like to just being a child
But in each of us there lies
A child breaking to be free
To learn life's mysteries
In child like dream
To run with friends and family
Free just like a breeze
To play in the fields
Of a childhood memory's
What is it really like?
To be a warrior of old
What is it really like?
To be innocent in ones life
What is it really like?
To be a hero in a child's dream
I sigh and often dream
What it would be like to be free
Free of all your burdens
In a child's innocent world
Of dreams
Can you explain to me?
What the mystery a child hold's
Why do we crave
Our childhood of old
I smile and think often
Deep inside my soul
There will always be a child
Bursting forth to be free
Just wanting to let go
There will always be a child
Wanting all their dreams
To fly into a world of fantasy's
And just being free
Smiling softly to myself
I close my eyes and dream
Of when I was a little girl
Reliving all my dreams
poem by Kaila George
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Women's song of the corn
How beautiful are the corn rows,
Stretching to the morning sun,
Stretching to the evening sun.
Very beautiful, the long rows of corn.
How beautiful is the white corn,
I husk it,
I grind it.
Very beautiful, my white corn.
How beautiful is the red corn,
I gather it and make fine meal,
I am glad doing this.
Very beautiful, my red corn.
How beautiful is the black corn,
I give it to my father,
To my mother,
I give it to my child.
Very beautiful, the black corn.
How beautiful is the mottled corn,
Like the sky with little clouds,
I eat it looking at the sky.
Very beautiful, my mottled corn.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Serial killers are everywhere! Well, perhaps not in our neighborhood, but on our television screens, at the movie theatres, and in rows and rows of books at our local Borders or Barnes and Noble Booksellers.