After a yaksha-gana performance
They wore elaborate masks
Resplendent clothes studded
With dazzling stone work
Each time they moved into
The light zone, I blinked my eyes
They whirled like colorful tops
Let loose by a playful child
And in no time stood steady
To deliver a dialogue
I failed to comprehend
There were men women
And men dressed as women
In one corner stood the drummer
And the singer was at his high
Least concerned of the microphone
In the dark auditorium I sat:
An abstract painting of no symmetry
Hanging on a lackluster wall
As if to wash off my guilt
I self-consciously handed
A five hundred note and
Quickly walked out
The drum still beating in my ears
Following me like a tireless shadow
02oct2010
22.44hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Related quotes
The Drummer Boy
A drummer boy dressed in white tapped his drum as he passed by my bed,
he never looked at me, and not a word was said.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, was his marching beat.
There was blood from a wound, but he kept to his feet.
As he marched back and forth it looked as though he was going to fall,
but he continued to beat his drum, as he walked through the wall.
On his departure the sound of a bugle was heard above the drum,
whistling rifle shots and cannon fire added to the battle’s hum.
A boy dressed in red and white, blowing a bugle marched passed my bed,
he had suffered a wound, and blood was flowing from his head.
Blowing with all his might I could see the determination on his face,
he seemed to be running out of breath, as he slowly lost the pace.
The drummer boy came up beside him and marched by his side,
the bugle boy stood up straight, and blew the charge as he cried.
Another drummer boy passed my bed followed by two more,
the bugle boy stood and looked ahead, and then fell to the floor.
Several soldiers charged pass, with bayonets fixed for attack,
passing the drummer boy one yelled, “Keep playing and don’t look back.”
With the sound of bullets in the air and shells exploding all around
soldiers charged and fell by my bed to the now distant drumming sound.
It suddenly all went quiet as everyone disappeared through the wall,
except for the drummer boy who played as he stood tall.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum; a much softer beat,
he then looked at me with tears in his eyes, as he faded at my feet.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over The Falls
They broke out in laughter again,
His lip beaded with sweat as they strapped him in,
And he stood by and waited to be called.
The talk was of times that had gone by
And the quantity and quality of women they lie.
His eyes welled with wet and his mouth had gone dry.
As he stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited like the others before
For his turn to go over the falls.
He got up and tried it again.
For lack of persistence is surely a sin.
As he stood by and waited to be called,
He looked to the lightning with glee
And admired his vessel for its symmetry,
Feeling twelve units shy of a bachelors degree.
As he stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited to be called.
He stood by and waited like the others before
For his turn to go over the falls.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tribute To The Women
Women wash the dirty laundry at home
They satisfy there desires
Of women on human beings in the streets
Women wash
Women iron
Women is needed the whole time
To cook also
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Day Jane Fainted
Jane fainted in the town
by the coach
on Saturday morning
and her mother
and other women
were around her
and you stood
a little way away
wondering what
had happened to her
I think it must be
that time of the month
you heard one woman say
maybe
her mother said
but she's not usually
like this
she added
will she be all right?
you asked
bending down
next to one
of the women
who had gathered
her mother looked at you
and said
yes it happens
at certain times
of the month
oh right
you said
none the wiser
gazing at Jane
at her dark hair
her eyes closed
her features
white and sweaty
best give her some air
her mother said
and you all stood up
and her mother
fanned her
with her hat
then after a minute or so
Jane opened her eyes
and said
what happened?
I went all funny
and everything went white
you fainted
her mother said
waving the hat
in front of Jane's face
I want to get up
Jane said
and so you
and her mother
helped her
to her feet
and she leaned
against the wall
of the bank
and looked around
she'll be all right now
a woman said
it happens
another said
after a few minutes
they went off
to the shops
leaving you
and your mother
and Jane
and her mother
standing by the coach
I'll be all right now
Jane said
ok
her mother said
and you all walked
along the street
to the shops
Jane walking behind
with you
her hand stealthily
reaching down
for yours and giving it
a little squeeze
then releasing it again
looking up at the sky
which had become dark
threatening rain.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Choral Union
He staggered in from night and frost and fog
And lampless streets: he’d guzzled like a hog
And drunk till he was dazed. And now he came
To hear—he couldn’t call to mind the name—
But he’d been given a ticket for the show,
And thought he’d (hiccup) chance his luck and go.
The hall swam in his eyes, and soaring light
Was dazzling splendid after the dank night.
He sat and blinked, safe in his cushioned seat,
And licked his lips; he’d like a brandy, neat.
‘Who is the King of Glory?’ they were saying,
He pricked his ears; what was it? Were they praying?...
By God, it might be Heaven! For singers stood
Ranked in pure white; and everyone seemed good;
And clergymen were sitting meekly round
With joyful faces, drinking in the sound;
And holy women, and plump whiskered men.
Could this be Heaven? And was he dead? And then
They all stood up; the mighty chorus broke
In storms of song above those blameless folk;
And ‘Hallelujah, Hallelujah!’ rang
The burden of the triumph that they sang.
He gasped; it must be true; he’d got to Heaven
With all his sins that seventy times were seven;
And whispering ‘Hallelujah’ mid their shout,
He wondered when Lord God would turn him out.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Presences
THIS night has been so strange that it seemed
As if the hair stood up on my head.
From going-down of the sun I have dreamed
That women laughing, or timid or wild,
In rustle of lace or silken stuff,
Climbed up my creaking stair. They had read
All I had rhymed of that monstrous thing
Returned and yet unrequited love.
They stood in the door and stood between
My great wood lectern and the fire
Till I could hear their hearts beating:
One is a harlot, and one a child
That never looked upon man with desire.
And one, it may be, a queen.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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When Time Stood Still
Far beyond the things you see
Time rolls on eternally
Got a thing about it
Just cant live without it
Sitting there inside your mind
Just waiting for the clock to chime
On a lonely line
Stood a lonely man
No pictures on an empty wall
No body there no one at all
Just echoes in the ivory halls
When time stood still
Days line up outside the door
Thought time had stopped there was no more
Been a lonely world
Such a lonely world
No pictures on an empty wall
No toulouse, vincent, or pablo
Just echoes in the ivory halls
When time stood still
No big machine or april showers
No submarines no plastic flowers
Just echoes in the ivory towers
When time stood still
When time stood still
When time stood still
When time stood still
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That's the thing that we said about the horn before: it's a focus issue. It's like a singer versus a drummer. If a drummer's playing a drum beat, and a singer starts singing, what do you think the audience is going to do?
quote by Charlie Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Edna's Asthma
Edna had asthma
And she used to put
This big black mask
Over her face
To help her breathe
And she talked
In short gasps
And wheezed
Between words
And had the best eyes
You could remember
And a smile that lingered
Long after she turned back
To shove the mask back on
And stood with one hand
On the table to steady herself
And the other gripping the mask
And it seemed death stood
In the wings of the house
Biding his time
Leaning maybe against
The dresser or in the dark hall
And Mother said Edna thought
Others talk about her
Behind her back
And it made her quite paranoid
Hearing whispers
When it may have been
Just the harsh wind
Through loose shutters
Or dull women’s mutter
And you guess she knew
You thought about her
And loved her down
The cold long nights
Thinking of you
As that young boy
With the cheeky grin
But then death
Took off with her
Worn out and thin.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think women are concerned too much with their clothes. Men don't really care that much about women's clothes. If they like a girl, chances are they'll like her clothes.
quote by Hedy Lamarr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Women of China
Once a crowd of beautiful ladies descended
to the waterfront in Xian and Du Fu saw them.
It was the third day of the third month, the time
of the Lustration Festival. In those days
the ancient capital of China was still called Chang-an,
the city of Perpetual Peace, and Du Fu was a famous poet
during the reign of the Tang Dynasty.
However, he disliked the wasteful luxury of the women
he saw at the waterfront and the depravity
in which they were immersed.
These beauties, he said, were as flamboyant and arrogant
as gentle and elegant. The skin on their marvelous bodies
was delicate and jade pendants framed their temples.
They wore exorbitant gowns made of silk,
embroidered with gold peacocks and silver unicorns.
But the women that I saw in China thirteen centuries later
were very different. I saw them working hard on the fields
and in factories. Simply dressed, they walked
or rode their bicycles, and I found their bodies attractive
and comely even when they wore uniforms.
Yet 5,000 years of civilization also taught these women
to apparel themselves stylishly
with sophisticated refinement. They also like to dress up
for a charming look in traditional garments,
pacing gracefully in colorful silk chipaos.
The women that I met in China
were easy to sing and dance and laugh. And they liked
to clap their hands with joy. I saw warmth in their eyes
and friendliness in their smile.
Once on a sunny day I admired the bronze statue
of the street-sweeping girl on a Beijing boulevard.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Cargo of Sins
A sojourn in the sleep,
Led me to the valley deep,
I passed through forest thick,
And high hills and crests,
Along with a saintly guide whom I never knew.
I was led to the front of a cave,
With a huge arched entrance,
It seemed a long dark channel
Connecting to the other zone.
I saw men of massive size,
Entering into and pouring out;
They resembled chimpanzees more than the human figures.
All dressless, and moved with uncovered limbs,
With no sense of shame or disgrace.
Then I saw descending from the steps,
Men and women, all naked,
With cargoes upon their backs.
The loads were not of timber but of logs of men,
Bundled in bundles,
With no eyes, no noses and no ears;
And without extremities.
They were too abominable to see,
Their sable shaved boneless bodies
Limbered as they walked.
The weights were inseparable;
They dragged where they moved.
The saintly guide who brought me at the spot,
Whispered into my ears the secret,
“They are the sinners;
Pulling the loads of their willful wrongs,
And the chimpanzee-men,
Their attendants, employed to watch,
Lest they should have a rest.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 4)
Entering the flat
the Constable found no one there.
He searched every room,
nothing, only the fired gun on a note
left on the table.
He had noticed the back window
was left slightly ajar.
He picked up the note
and quickly read it through,
then put it in his pocket
along with the gun.
He smiled to the neighbour
as he left the flat.
He told her to lock it;
Mr D would be coming back.
At the car he got in
saying that,
they had to go back
to the station.
He sat on a bench
near the waters edge.
The white walking stick
resting between his legs.
He could not look at his watch,
as that would give the game away.
A blind man is not supposed to see,
so he had no idea of the time.
All he could tell
that day was turning into night.
He stood up;
he had to stretch his legs.
He moved along to
the bench by the bridge.
The dark waters of the lake,
lapped against the shore.
Then he heard the footsteps
walking across the wooden bridge.
He knew by the sound
they were of a woman’s shoe.
He did not look up
to see who it was,
just listened, as they got closer,
until they were in front of him.
He could now see her face,
under the light of the moon.
Her hair was dark,
and danced on her shoulders.
He wanted to say something,
but though he better not.
The killer could be lurking,
in the bushes somewhere,
waiting for his chance,
when he thought
the coast was clear.
She stopped and stood,
near the waters edge;
she watched the moon’s silver finger
dance on the breeze-ruffled waves.
He sat unnoticed except
for his white walking stick.
The blind could see nothing
at least that is what he hoped
anyone passing would think.
Then from the darkness, he emerged.
A mask of death he wore.
He moved quietly up behind the woman,
extended his hands out to her neck.
To be concluded……
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Look at Two
Love and forgetting might have carried them
A little further up the mountain side
With night so near, but not much further up.
They must have halted soon in any case
With thoughts of a path back, how rough it was
With rock and washout, and unsafe in darkness;
When they were halted by a tumbled wall
With barbed-wire binding. They stood facing this,
Spending what onward impulse they still had
In One last look the way they must not go,
On up the failing path, where, if a stone
Or earthslide moved at night, it moved itself;
No footstep moved it. 'This is all,' they sighed,
Good-night to woods.' But not so; there was more.
A doe from round a spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall, as near the wall as they.
She saw them in their field, they her in hers.
The difficulty of seeing what stood still,
Like some up-ended boulder split in two,
Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there.
She seemed to think that two thus they were safe.
Then, as if they were something that, though strange,
She could not trouble her mind with too long,
She sighed and passed unscared along the wall.
'This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?'
But no, not yet. A snort to bid them wait.
A buck from round the spruce stood looking at them
Across the wall as near the wall as they.
This was an antlered buck of lusty nostril,
Not the same doe come back into her place.
He viewed them quizzically with jerks of head,
As if to ask, 'Why don't you make some motion?
Or give some sign of life? Because you can't.
I doubt if you're as living as you look."
Thus till he had them almost feeling dared
To stretch a proffering hand -- and a spell-breaking.
Then he too passed unscared along the wall.
Two had seen two, whichever side you spoke from.
'This must be all.' It was all. Still they stood,
A great wave from it going over them,
As if the earth in one unlooked-for favour
Had made them certain earth returned their love.
poem by Robert Frost
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Her Drummer Boy
Once upon a
time
a very young
girl
started
searching
for her
drummer-boy.
She came
in
contact
with one
thinking
this
is he
not so.
Time passed
quickly
other drum
beats
were heard
but they
were not
the right
beat.
Then one
day
in the far
distance
she heard
a foreign
drum
so very
different.
It was a
new love
song
one
she had
never
heard
before.
The drum
beat
grew
louder
louder
bidding her
come and
explore.
As she
stepped
near
there was
he
standing
in the
forrest
alone.
drumming
their
love song.
At last
she had
found her
drummer-boy
the one
she spent
years
searching
for.
poem by Heather Burns
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Jello Man
Hey yeah yeah
Give up that booze
and take out the trash
give up the night life
and stop smoking that hash
give up the good sex
it's a heart attack
surrender life
wrap it up in a sack
All dressed up
in the kings new clothes
climbing up the monkey's nose
standing out
like a stiff on parade
you're overworked and underpaid
Jello man,
jello man
got you on the run
Jello man,
jello man
blocking out the sun
Jello man,
jello man
beating on his drum
Jello man,
jello man
got you on the run yeah
Stop all the traffic
put this time on hold
stop all the press
cos it's been bought and sold
stop the revolution
there's nothing left to fight
will the last man standing
turn out the light
Standing out with the freaks in the cold
sucking down on a Virginia gold
the cabarets all dressed for the kill
they'll stiff you now
and give you the bill
Jello man,
jello man
got you on the run
Jello man,
jello man
blocking out the sun
Jello man,
jello man
beating on his drum
Jello man,
jello man
got you on the run yeah
Solo
Jello man,
jello man
got you on the run
Jello man,
jello man
blocking out the sun
Jello man,
jello man
beating on his drum
Jello man,
jello man
got you on the run yeah
Jello Man
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We found that just by the way we stood, affected women dramatically, and if you look at our show, you'll see that we always stood with our legs open our fists on hips and our bat bulges forward, which had a profound effect on women!
Every time I talk about this, I say: when the singer is singing, he must be respected, you must be able to hear what he's saying. You can't put a trombone and a drum up there, and a microphone on the drum, microphones on everybody. You can't hear what he's saying.
quote by Compay Segundo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Misogyny
Women walking in the park
'neath branches drenched in light
summer dresses, low cut tops
and smiles that invite
Women with their depthless eyes
and bodies built for sin
lips through which they mouth their lies
to draw the weaklings in
Watching women on the train
and wishing they were mine
maybe I will take me one
and keep her for a time
Drowning in their depthless eyes
choking on their spite
I will change things in the park
'neath branches drenched in light
poem by James Atkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women
Women behind bars, women in fast cars, women in distress, women with no dress
Women in airplanes, women who play games
Women in uniform, see that woman with her clothes gone
Women who satisfy, women you cant buy
Like women in magazines, and women in a limousine
Women who sip champagne, women who feel no pain
Women in a disco, and women who dont wanna know, no no
Oh, women wanting sympathy, women feeling extacy
Women who live in fantasies, bringing man to his knees
Women who boil to love, women who need a shove
Women who cant be beat, get that woman in the back seat, yeah yeah
Women in the usa, those women steal your heart away
Women into rock n roll, women who steal the show, go go go
Women that you write songs about, women that turn around and kick you out
Women you dream about all your life
Women that stab you in the back with a switchblade knife
Oh women, oohoo, talking bout women, all round the world
Yeah women, all the naughty girls, talking bout women, come on baby
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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