Searching For Pittsburgh
The fox pushes softly, blindly through me at night,
between the liver and the stomach. Comes to the heart
and hesitates. Considers and then goes around it.
Trying to escape the mildness of our violent world.
Goes deeper, searching for what remains of Pittsburgh
in me. The rusting mills sprawled gigantically
along three rivers. The authority of them.
The gritty alleys where we played every evening were
stained pink by the inferno always surging in the sky,
as though Christ and the Father were still fashioning the Earth.
Locomotives driving through the cold rain,
lordly and bestial in their strength. Massive water
flowing morning and night throughout a city
girded with ninety bridges. Sumptuous-shouldered,
sleek-thighed, obstinate and majestic, unquenchable.
All grip and flood, mighty sucking and deep-rooted grace.
A city of brick and tired wood. Ox and sovereign spirit.
Primitive Pittsburgh. Winter month after month telling
of death. The beauty forcing us as much as harshness.
Our spirits forged in that wilderness, our minds forged
by the heart. Making together a consequence of America.
The fox watched me build my Pittsburgh again and again.
In Paris afternoons on Buttes-Chaumont. On Greek islands
with their fields of stone. In beds with women, sometimes,
amid their gentleness. Now the fox will live in our ruined
house. My tomatoes grow ripe among weeds and the sound
of water. In this happy place my serious heart has made.
Submitted by Joe Shields
poem by Jack Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tear It Down
We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of raccoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within that body.
poem by Jack Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tear It Down
We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.
poem by Jack Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smalltown
When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
You say, no one famous ever came from here
When youre growing up in a small town
And youre having a nervous breakdown
And you think that youll never escape it
Yourself or the place that you live
Where did picasso come from
Theres no michelangelo coming from pittsburgh
If art is the tip of the iceberg
Im the part sinking below
When youre growing up in a small town
Bad skin, bad eyes, gay and fatty
People look at you funny
When youre in a small town
My father worked in construction
Its not something for which Im suited
Oh, what is something for which you are suited
Getting out of here
I hate being odd in a small town
If they stare let them stare in new york city
As this pink eyed painting albino
How far can my fantasy go
Im no dali coming from pittsburgh
No adorable lisping capote
My hero, oh, do you think I could meet him
Id camp out at his front door
There is only one good thing about small town
There is only one good use for a small town
There is only one good thing about small town
You know that you want to get out
When youre growing up in a small town
You know youll grow down in a small town
There is only one good use for a small town
You hate it and youll know you have to leave
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angeliou
Angeliou oh angeliou
Oh oh angeliou angeliou
Oh angeliou oh angeliou oh my angeliou
In the month of may
In the month of may
In the city of paris
In the month of may
In the month of may
In the city of paris
And I heard the bells ringing, and I heard the bells ringing
In the month of may
In the city of paris and I called out your name
In the month of may
In the city of paris
In the month of may
In the city of paris
Oh oh angeliou oh angeliou oh oh angeliou oh my angeliou
Walkin on a city street who would think you could ever be touched
By a total stranger, not me
But when you came up to me that day and I listened to your story
It reminded me so much of myself
It wasnt what you said but the way it felt to me
About a search and a journey just like mine
Will you be my baby
Will you be my baby now
Will you be my baby
Will you be my baby now
Angeliou oh angeliou
Angeliou oh angeliou
Yes I will yes I will yes I will
After she told all these things to me I said I got a story too
It goes something like this
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salaam Bombay
Tell me of a city not built by its own,
Tell me of a city, which can stand alone.
Talk of a place where the land is scarce
Where people will share more than their own fare.
The common man is the strength of this city
He is a man of steel, gutsy and gritty.
The Spirit of people is the fuel of existence.
No man, No child, No Woman shy of assistance
On a normal day, no one will bother you,
Come crisis, and not one will desert you.
No where in the world are people so selfless,
Call it the rudest city in the world, but not helpless.
What it lacks in Space, It makes up in Spirit
Rain may flood and blasts can rock the city.
Here the lifeline is not blood, or a heartbeat,
The life line is a rack on track.
No city in the World like this,
Not Rome, not London, nor Paris,
Hats off to the Land of Dreams,
Salaam Bombay, I hear myself scream.
poem by Ashish Ram
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My Heart Is Forged From Fire
My Heart is forged from fire
Trapping those inside
Hurting the ones around me
Killing those who survive
My Heart is forged from fire
Burning my only Soul
Taking the lives of others
Yearning for something to hold
My Heart is forged from fire
Filled with Heartless Despair
Thinking of nothing other
Than the courage I cannot bear
My Heart is forged from fire
Death defiling my Soul
Lies throughout my head
Broken, Battered, and Dead
My Heart is forged fromfire
Slowly Burning away
And Day by Day
I feel it fade
Until it will be lost one day
poem by Nicole Chury
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A Good Man Is Hard To Find (Pittsburgh)
It's cloudy out in pittsburgh
It's rainin' in saigon
Snow's fallin' all across the michigan line
Well she sits by the light of her christmas tree
With the radio softly on
Thinkin' how a good man is so hard to find
Well once she had a fella
Once she was somebody's girl
And she gave all she had that one last time
Now there's a little girl asleep in the back room
She's gonna have to tell about the meanness in this world
And how a good man is so hard to find
Well there's pictures on the table by her bed
Him in his dress greens and her in her wedding white
She remembers how the world was the day he left
And now how that world is dead
And a good man is so hard to find
She got no time now for casanovas
Yeah those days are gone
She don't want that anymore, she's made up her mind
Just somebody to hold her
As the night gets on
When a good man is so hard to find
Well she shuts off the tv
And without a word
Into bed she climbs
Well she thinks how it was all so wasted
And how expendable their dreams all were
When a good man was so hard to find
Well it's cloudy out in pittsburgh
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I would always reserve a special place in my heart for Pittsburgh.
quote by Willie Stargell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Good Man Is Hard To Find
Its cloudy out in pittsburgh
Its rainin in saigon
Snows fallin all across the michigan line
Well she sits by the light of her christmas tree
With the radio softly on
Thinkin how a good man is so hard to find
Well once she had a fella
Once she was somebodys girl
And she gave all she had that one last time
Now theres a little girl asleep in the back room
Shes gonna have to tell about the meanness in this world
And how a good man is so hard to find
Well theres pictures on the table by her bed
Him in his dress greens and her in her wedding white
She remembers how the world was the day he left
And now how that world is dead
And a good man is so hard to find
She got no time now for casanovas
Yeah those days are gone
She dont want that anymore, shes made up her mind
Just somebody to hold her
As the night gets on
When a good man is so hard to find
Well she shuts off the tv
And without a word
Into bed she climbs
Well she thinks how it was all so wasted
And how expendable their dreams all were
When a good man was so hard to find
Well its cloudy out in pittsburgh
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home In Heaven
Thankfully, our home’s in Heaven, and this earth we just pass through,
On to a place where no one’s been, one special place for me and you.
Friend, our Lord, had said to us, before, to Heaven, Christ did depart,
In God and in Him, to place our trust, so not to have, a troubled heart.
Speaking to those, who by Grace, in Christ the Savior, we do believe,
He has prepared for us a place, that once in Heaven, we shall receive.
Friend, it is that place we long for, and one, our eyes have yet to see,
The one special place, from our Lord, where we will spend an eternity.
One far above this temporal earth, which we’ve come to know so well,
That is fashioned with eternal worth, and absent of the powers of Hell.
The City that Abraham looked for, which wasn’t upon this earthly sod,
A City built by Christ, the Lord, The Eternal City of our Lord and God.
A place prepared with the hands, of this earth’s Creator, Jesus Christ,
Who placed all the sea and lands, prepared us a home for eternal life.
An eternal place to be our very own, where there will be no more night,
Placed by Him, around His Throne; where Christ will be the Only Light.
As all this world, gets darker still, and you could use encouragement,
Why not seek out The Father’s will, and believe on The Son God sent.
He’ll give you Hope in Heaven above, when your life on earth is done,
All through that Gift, of God’s Love, Jesus Christ, God’s Eternal Son.
I Can Hear Your Heartbeat
In the silence of the side street
In the whisper of the night
From the darkness of the empty hours
To the early morning light
From the hustle down on main street
With all it's lights so bright
To the trucker on the highway
Pressing through the night
I can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet
To me
And i'm sailing on your wind song
Oh, i can feel the summer breeze
You've got me walking on my tiptoes
You've got me standing on my knees
From the mills way down in pittsburgh
To the clubs of gay paris
Ah, no matter where i roam, girl,
You can always get to me
I can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet
To me
We got freezing coca-cola
We got anything you want
I moving on that back beat
Girl, but it's you that sings the song
'cos i can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
The sound of you is so sweet
To me
Oh i still hear your heartbeat
Yea i still hear your heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet,
To me
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Water Drop
The miraculous water drop
Falling from the sky,
The romantic rain dropp
Dancing proudly on
The lower lip of a maiden,
The Divine water drop
As an elixir to the thirsty throat;
The dainty dropp for a hungry stomach;
The charming dew drop,
Shining on the morning leaves;
The kind water drop
Flowing into the fields,
The friendly tear drop
To soothe the wounded heart;
The holy dropp that washes our sins;
The Master water dropp
At the moral to tune stable
To the ups and downs of life
And for selfless service
To the co-species on the earth;
And lo, the Wild water drop
To flood and drought us
At our absurd misuse!
poem by Sasikala Kamandula
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When New Year Comes
When New Year Comes
Everybody Shivers
In the month of January
Which is cold and Airy
In February winter get’s Weary
Prepares for Leaving
Paving way for spring to come
In the month of March
Flowers loom Large
April comes
Summer knocks on the Door
When May comes,
Sun Brightens
Mangoes ripe and Juicy
Long hot days
Make June very tiring
Holidays for Children
All wait for Rain
Monsoon at its Peak
When July arrives
Rain brings Smile
August is the month of Freedom
Sometimes sticky sometimes Hot
In September one feels
Better then August
We call it Autumn
One see’s Flowers
Which are colourful and Rosy
October is the festival Month
Weather is good
Winter getting Ready
November makes everybody Happy
Everybody enjoys
Lights of Deepawali(Festival of Light)
In the Cold month of December
Christmas celebrated
Throughout the the World
Everybody says goodbye to the year
Welcomes New Year
On the night of 31’st December
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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They Are Tearing Down My Grandfather's House
(An NLP Editor's Choice Award Winner in Verdant Lands of Spring) They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
The windows they've removed. To them it's real
estate, to me it's my heart being ripped in two.
The realtors, the bankers, the moneymen don't understand.
A house is more than made of wood, a house is made of man. My Grandfather's house is a memory that will
endure after it's torn down.
He's been gone for near thirty years, but his
house had lived on.
I know the world is made of change, and change
is all that's real. But one thing I cannot change,
that is the way I feel. I wipe a tear in the falling rain,
because they are tearing down my Grandfather's
house, and it gives me pain.
I love him as if it were yesteryear,
his wit and smile as warm as the sun.
The house once stood to remind me, but that too
is gone. They are tearing down my Grandfather's house,
it's made of wood and brick and stone.
Yet a house if more than made of wood,
a house is made of love.
poem by David A. Webb
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Unwavering
In a world where hearts can waver, we serve an unchanging Savior,
Who walks ahead strong and tall, to lift believers up when they fall.
Christ, the same today as yesterday, Christ is faithful in every way.
With a heart which changes never, Christ remains the same forever.
Changing times and varying roles, in the world even changes souls,
Following what this world may say, can even lead a Believer astray.
But always near and always true, Christ’s there to always guide you,
Back to this world’s only stable place, on the Rock by God’s Grace.
Saving Grace in God’s economy, remains the same for you and me,
God’s Grace, unchanging as it is, in fact changes sinners, to be His.
Grace which reaches near and far, to accept anyone where there are,
Moving us into God’s own family; into Christ’s Kingdom for Eternity.
The Grace which Christ unfurled, is still the same in a changing world,
As His unchanging Revelation, remains true and sure to every nation.
With God’s purpose set into stone, to build a Church, to call His own,
With all of those called out from, the world, to remain true to His Son.
As this world changes, be assured, there is a true stability in our Lord,
And in this Truth we can proclaim, through the power of Christ’s name,
As His Eternal Truth sets men apart, instilling The Spirit into their heart,
For the unchanged purpose in life, unwavering service to Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©11/2007)
Body Of An American
The cadillac stood by the house
And the yanks they were within
And the tinker boys they hissed advice
'Hot-wire her with a pin'
Then we turned and shook as we had a look
In the room where the dead man lay
So big Jim Dwyer made his last trip
To the {shores} where his father's laid
Fifteen minutes later
We had our first taste of whiskey
There was uncles giving lectures
On ancient Irish history
The men all started telling jokes
And the women they got frisky
BY five o'clock in the evening - correction this line
starts with BY not AT
Every bastard there was {pisky}
Fare thee well going away
There's nothing left to say
Farewell to New York City boys
To Boston and PA
He took them out
With a well-aimed clout
He was often heard to say
I'm a free born man of the USA
He fought the champ in Pittsburgh
And he slashed him to the ground
He took on Tiny Tartanella
And it only went one round
He never had no time for reds
For drink or dice or whores
{But} he never threw a fight
When the fight was right
So they sent him to the war
Fare the well gone away
There's nothing left to say
With a sl?nte Joe and Erin go
My love's in Amerikay
They're calling out the rosary
Spanish wine from far away
I'm a free born man of the USA
This morning on the harbour
When I said goodbye to you
I remember how I swore
That I'd come back to you one day
And as the sunset came to meet
The evening on the hill
I told you I'd always love you
I always did {,} I always will
Fare thee well gone away
There's nothing left to say
'cept to say adieu
To your eyes as blue
As the water in the bay
And to big Jim Dwyer
The man of wire
Who was often heard to say
I'm a free born man of the USA
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Houses chapter IX
A mason came forth and said, "Speak to us of Houses."
And he answered and said:
Build of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness ere you build a house within the city walls.
For even as you have home-comings in your twilight, so has the wanderer in you, the ever distant and alone.
Your house is your larger body.
It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night; and it is not dreamless.
Does not your house dream? And dreaming, leave the city for grove or hilltop?
Would that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.
Would the valleys were your streets, and the green paths your alleys, that you might seek one another through vineyards, and come with the fragrance of the earth in your garments.
But these things are not yet to be.
In their fear your forefathers gathered you too near together. And that fear shall endure a little longer. A little longer shall your city walls separate your hearths from your fields.
And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you remembrances, the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?
Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me, have you these in your houses?
Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and becomes a host, and then a master?
Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.
But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Freed Through His Riches
All are in bondage to Satan and sin, driven by hearts of flesh within,
But, Jesus Christ was sent to us, and in His Truth we place our trust.
It was The Father who sent Him, to save all His people from their sin,
Sent down to men who are but dust, our Emmanuel, to dwell with us.
Christ came with Truth to impart, to every weary and searching heart,
God’s Truth that sets captives free, flowing from a Cross at Calvary.
Truth that once within your heart, causes sinful ways to soon depart,
Defeating Satan for you and me; through Christ we gain the Victory.
A victory that won’t be denied, and in Heaven’s Glory we will reside,
With The Lord Jesus, forevermore, when we enter through His Door.
When His Spirit comes to live inside, in Christ He helps us to abide,
The Spirit gives men so much more, as they live for Christ our Lord.
Christ reaches down with His Grace, through The Spirit at any place,
Filling hearts with God’s Peace, from the greatest down to the least.
He empowers you to run the race, with His endless supply of Grace,
With power that shall not cease, coupled with God’s Joy and Peace.
It’s through Salvation, we are freed, from all Satan’s power eternally,
And all that we need to do is trust, our Savior who died for all of us.
Christ’s Spirit will dwell in your heart, and once inside will not depart.
So, take time to seek His face, and receive the Riches of His Grace.
(Copyright ©12/2007)
Rain Water
Morning of 21st, I am 34.
The rain outside my window drizzles a rhythm of February dawn.
Rain water flows from the early morning sane—
Rain water washes the yesterday’s pain.
Rain water and I have loved you dear—
Rain water and you come close to me near.
Rain water taps my fingertips, and I love you more than yearning—
Rain water runs deeper into our skins of longing.
Morning of 21st, I am happier.
The rain won’t stop until I melt as a better person.
(written on February 21,2008 Marikina City, Philippines)
poem by Chester Maynes
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Summer
Some men there are who find in nature all
Their inspiration, hers the sympathy
Which spurs them on to any great endeavor,
To them the fields and woods are closest friends,
And they hold dear communion with the hills;
The voice of waters soothes them with its fall,
And the great winds bring healing in their sound.
To them a city is a prison house
Where pent up human forces labour and strive,
Where beauty dwells not, driven forth by man;
But where in winter they must live until
Summer gives back the spaces of the hills.
To me it is not so. I love the earth
And all the gifts of her so lavish hand:
Sunshine and flowers, rivers and rushing winds,
Thick branches swaying in a winter storm,
And moonlight playing in a boat's wide wake;
But more than these, and much, ah, how much more,
I love the very human heart of man.
Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky,
Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake
Lazily reflecting back the sun,
And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze
Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns.
The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops
The green crest of the hill on which I sit;
And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer,
The very crown of nature's changing year
When all her surging life is at its full.
To me alone it is a time of pause,
A void and silent space between two worlds,
When inspiration lags, and feeling sleeps,
Gathering strength for efforts yet to come.
For life alone is creator of life,
And closest contact with the human world
Is like a lantern shining in the night
To light me to a knowledge of myself.
I love the vivid life of winter months
In constant intercourse with human minds,
When every new experience is gain
And on all sides we feel the great world's heart;
The pulse and throb of life which makes us men!
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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