While chimney's logged lips
purse around the flaming tongue,
Spring rain, spitting, drips.
haiku by Jonathan Robin (10 January 1993)
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1. Two Red Candles Burning Through Night
chinese wedding
two red candles burn
though the night
wax sizzles,
drips, drips
with our red hot
passion for each other
drips, drips
fluidly down the bar
the whole night
drips, drips, with
each pause of
our desire
each hug of our
affirmation for
each other
drips, drips
with our thirst
for each other
drips, drips
and clings to
the bar, warm
as our bosoms
drips, drips
solidifying
the night into our
assurance
for each other
drips drips till
the morning
turning the night
into an ecstatic
tour de force,
a union crystallising in
a mass of bliss
resting quiet on
the base of two
exhaust candles
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sisters Sojourn 56
YOUR laughter drips like the
rain from the sky, it hits your
vein, like a childs broken toy,
your mind lights up, as it starts
to break down, your about to
hit rock bottom, so enjoy the veiw.
YOUR laughter drips and drips....
poem by David Gerardino
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Broken Face
I got a broken face
I got a
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face (3x)
There was this boy who had two
Children with his sisters
They were his daughters
They were his favourite lovers
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face, uh-hu, uh-hu
I got a broken face
There was this man who snapped his poke
In little pieces
And then they drilled holes
And then they put em back in there
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face
The little thing who does my laundry
Speaks no english
But if you saw her
Youd say isnt she lovely
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kissing is a rehearsal.
I managed to kiss her on lips.
Lips unlocked, my tongue slipped in.
It darted through lips and about
Her mouth, touching her tongue on tip
Then at bottom and at corners,
Sucking the tongue and swallowing the juice
Till she got fire at her bottom.
Resistance gone, she surrendered.
Kissing is just a rehearsal.
Her mouth stands for her lower one.
Man's tongue stands for his under part.
The tongue signals the man's prowess.
09.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Rain Rain Rain
Rain, Rain, Rain, come again and again,
In the winter, in the summer and in spring,
Come with joy, fall with happiness and go with sorrow,
Rain, Rain, Rain come again and again.
Rain, Rain, Rain come to relive earth's pain,
Rain, Rain, Rain come to make nature happy,
Rain, Rain, Rain come to make livings happy,
Rain, Rain, Rain come again and again.
Rain, Rain, Rain don't go away,
Rain, Rain, Rain i hope you will stay,
Rain, Rain, Rain come again and again.
poem by Vikram Pratap Singh
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Ladies First
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first,'
Pushing in front of the ice cream line.
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first,'
Grabbing the ketchup at dinnertime.
Climbing on the morning bus
She'd shove right by all of us
And there'd be a tiff or a fight or a fuss
When Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first.'
Pamela Purse screamed, 'Ladies first,'
When we went off on our jungle trip.
Pamela Purse said her thirst was worse
And guzzled our water, every sip.
And when we got grabbed by that wild savage band,
Who tied us together and made us all stand
In a long line in front of the King of the land-
A cannibal known as Fry-'Em-Up Dan,
Who sat on his throne in a bib so grand
With a lick of his lips and a fork in his hand,
As he tried to decide who'd be first in the pan-
From back of the line, in that shrill voice of hers,
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first.'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Thunder Cracks In The Gray Sky
The thunder cracks in the gray sky and the rain it is bucketing down
Above the high and dry and bare paddocks by the river that flows by the town
On those paddocks that need heaps of rain it has been awhile since they were green
This countryside is looking dry 'tis as dry as it ever has been
His feathers soaked wet from the rain the magpie flutes on the blackwood tree
From it's drenched leaves the rain drips and drips by the river that flows to the sea
To the river adown the bare hill the water in rivulets run
As soon as the rain will have stopped they will quickly dry out in the sun
The Summer has been warm and dry and the long range weather forecast is for a dry Fall
An hour of heavy thunder rain of little use though better than nothing at all
For months the farmers have been praying for rain their prayers in part answered today
But the sun shines across the brown hills and the rain clouds are clearing away
And the magpie shakes his feathers dry and no rain drops left to drip from the trees
And white butterflies flitting about in the sunshine and feshening breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Oh, Gray And Tender Is The Rain
Oh, gray and tender is the rain,
That drips, drips on the pane!
A hundred things come in the door,
The scent of herbs, the thought of yore.
I see the pool out in the grass,
A bit of broken glass;
The red flags running wet and straight,
Down to the little flapping gate.
Lombardy poplars tall and three,
Across the road I see;
There is no loveliness so plain
As a tall poplar in the rain.
But oh, the hundred things and more,
That come in at the door! --
The smack of mint, old joy, old pain,
Caught in the gray and tender rain.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Spring Rain
I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.
I remembered a darkened doorway
Where we stood while the storm swept by,
Thunder gripping the earth
And lightning scrawled on the sky.
The passing motor busses swayed,
For the street was a river of rain,
Lashed into little golden waves
In the lamp light's stain.
With the wild spring rain and thunder
My heart was wild and gay;
Your eyes said more to me that night
Than your lips would ever say. . . .
I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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A Rainy Day In Early June
The gray sky clouded over the rain is drizzling down
And the golf course is deserted by the river near the town
An early June day in early Winter in the Southern Hemisphere
The sun in the rain clouds hidden it is that time of year
From once you hear him singing his voice with you remain
The magpie he is piping in defiance of the rain
The gray and brown red wattlebird with a hoarseness in his cry
Is calling on a flowering gum that drips of rain nearby
To the vast expanse of dark water that crawls slowly to the sea
And in the calm dampness of the drizzling rain come the song of the pee wee
On this rainy day in early Winter it seems a long way from the Spring
When most of Nature's wildborn birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Flaming Pie
Makin love underneath the bed
Shooting stars from a purple sky
I dont care how I do it.
Im the man on the flaming pie
Stick my tongue out and lick my nose
Tuck my shirt in and zip my fly
Go ahead, have a vision.
Im the man on the flaming pie
Everything I do has a simple explanation.
When Im with you, you could do with a vacation
I took my brains out and stretched em on a rack
Now Im not so sure Im gonna get em back
Cut my toes off to spite my feet.
I dont know whether to laugh or cry
Never mind, check my rhythm.
Im the man on the flaming pie
Im the man on the flaming pie
Now everything I do has a simple explanation
When Im with you, you could do with a vacation.
I took my brains out and stretched em on the rack.
Now Im not too sure Im gonna to get em back.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flaming Star
(words & music by wayne - edwards )
Evry man, has a flaming star
A flaming star, over his shoulder
And when a man, sees his flaming star
He knows his time, his time has come
Flaming star, dont shine on me, flaming star
Flaming star, keep behind me, flaming star
Theres a lot of livin Ive got to do
Give me time to make a few dreams come true
Flaming star
When I ride, I feel that flaming star
That flaming star, over my shoulder
And so I ride, front of that flaming star
Never lookin around, never lookin around
Flaming star, dont shine on me, flaming star
Flaming star, keep behind me, flaming star
Theres a lot of livin Ive got to do
Give me time to make a few dreams come true
Flaming star
One fine day, Ill see that flaming star
That flaming star, over my shoulder
And when I see, that old flaming star
Ill know my time, my time has come
Flaming star, dont shine on me, flaming star
Flaming star, keep behind me, flaming star
Theres a lot of livin Ive got to do
Give me time to make a few dreams come true
Flaming star
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain CAN
rain cant tell a lie,
rain can be louder then a fly,
rain cant make shoes
rain can hit the roof
rain cant be nice (person wise)
rain can make ice
rain cant bleed
rain can grow a seed
rain cant draw a toon
rain can make a tune
rain cant be a loon
rain can make a monsoon
so rain can and cant do alot of things.
here comes the rain!
oh look! it's spring!
poem by Its yellow jello my little fellow. yell
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Harmonizing The Chaos
how many heads do you have now?
five. yes five more faces.
the mouths have become your problem.
they do not seal their lips and you
crave for the silence of the crabs.
the teeth gnash, they are afraid of the
ash. the gums, yes the gums are weak
and they are not spitting out what the tongue
has been keeping.
silence. you issue the order.
they wait for the words from your heart.
they keep on waiting.
they are looking for love like you.
but there isn't any, and so they keep their
own chaos now. the tongue is licking
every part of your body and the eyes
are busy with the pictures of two shadows
making love against the light.
the hands are gentle and they start to caress
the roots of your loneliness.
love, love, love, the lips begin to whisper.
the heart wakes up from a deep slumber
and now it assumes the role
of the storyteller.
once upon a time...
and now they begin to listen again.
once upon a time, there lived a very lonely princess
and there was this prince riding on a white horse
from the castle in the sky............
the princess turned to stone
because the prince never kissed her.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New Spring
Spring!
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring! How wonderful is the
Spring! How majestic is the
Spring! How fantastic is the
Spring! How tantalizing is the
Spring! How glorious is the
Spring! How melodious is the
Spring! How joyful is the
Spring! How breathtaking is the
Spring! How uplifting the
Spring! How happy is the
Spring! How magnificent is the
Spring! How colorful is the
Spring! How tasteful is the
Spring! How memorable was the
Spring! How flavorful is the
Spring! How aromic is the
Spring! How sweet is
Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring!
poem by Mario Saboundjian
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Refuge Sought
Tears. There are no tears.
To cool flushed cheeks.
Sate flaming eyes boiling
soft mist vapoured life.
Saline tears salted bitter life-giving sea.
Tears. Victim can never cry
to release choked emotion.
Shall never fall as spring rain.
Tainted only tears record shall show.
Are tears of dark black blood.
Tears. That will only flow
from shattered mirror’s edge.
Across wrists laid bare to touch
slashed cross pulsating vein’s life.
To darken tiled bathroom floor.
Agony’s scream no longer heard
walls mute stand unmoved.
Time drips seeps sluggish torpid
deadening sound within deaf ears.
Agony’s scream heavenward heard?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Silet
When I behold how black, immortal ink
Drips from my deathless pen - ah, well-away!
Why should we stop at all for what I think?
There is enough in what I chance to say.
It is enough that we once came together;
What is the use of setting it to rime?
When it is autumn do we get spring weather,
Or gather may of harsh northwindish time?
It is enough that we once came together;
What if the wind have turned against the rain?
It is enough that we once came together;
Time has seen this, and will not turn again;
And who are we, who know that last intent,
To plague to-morrow with a testament!
poem by Ezra Pound
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A Country Path in Late Spring
The path of mossy ground nestled
In between maternal hedgerows,
That overgrew atop, dimming down
The brilliance of the day.
Embosomed, a calm-cool vision –
Abstract takes of nature, in
Leaf-spattered green shades;
Stem-speckled brown hues;
Shards of sunlight percolating
Through the random flaws to
Up glittering sprites upon the leaves.
And avian chatter bounced along the burrow,
Smattered by the crosstalk
Of busybody insects;
But outside the green comfort zone,
Other worlds of other sounds of other life
Otherwise gave a hint of
Other dozy goings on.
Hawthorn filled the air,
Filled the nose,
Filled the head –
Pungency had overpowered all –
Gave the late-spring-early-summer haze.
Here and there a break of colour:
Odd bluebells – escapees from nearby woods –
Blue-blushing bell faces glancing down,
Aware of their erectness in the stem;
The flaming wing of red admirals
Broke through a hedge hole to
Break up the calm backdrop,
While flitting blue tits gave
To greater-bodied animation.
Nature’s warm narration –
The undertones of life.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
spring nature nature spring; spring nature nature spring
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spring spring spring spring spring spring spring spring
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Berkshires in April
It is not Spring -- not yet --
But at East Schaghticoke I saw an ivory birch
Lifting a filmy red mantle of knotted buds
Above the rain-washed whiteness of her arms.
It is not Spring -- not yet --
But at Hoosick Falls I saw a robin strutting,
Thin, still, and fidgety,
Not like the puffed, complacent ball of feathers
That dawdles over the cidery Autumn loam.
It is not Spring -- not yet --
But up the stocky Pownal hills
Some springy shrub, a scarlet gash on the grayness,
Climbs, flaming, over the melting snows.
It is not Spring -- not yet --
But at Williamstown the willows are young and golden,
Their tall tips flinging the sun's rays back at him;
And as the sun drags over the Berkshire crests,
The willows glow, the scarlet bushes burn,
The high hill birches shine like purple plumes,
A royal headdress for the brow of Spring.
It is the doubtful, unquiet end of Winter,
And Spring is pulsing out of the wakening soil.
poem by Clement Wood
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What The Chimney Sang
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
'I hate the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Children said, as they closer drew,
'`Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through,
`Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, 'It will surely snow,
And fuel is dear and wages low,
And I`ll stop the leak in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
But the Poet listened and smiled, for he
Was Man and Woman and Child, all three,
And said, 'It is God`s own harmony,
This wind we hear in the chimney.'
poem by Francis Bret Harte
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