P.a.j.
P.A.J.
Grandfather’s generation would have said:
“He is as dead! ”
his younger brother will a stranger wed,
one’s mind sees red.
At University their paths would thread,
thoughtless they tread,
senseless instead
of following where ancestors had led,
for what they bled
to be a Jew and join a new homestead
in Talmud read.
Although on Saturday turned table’s spread, -
(he butters bread) -
one would prefer by far to fast in bed, -
(she mutters, fed) .
Why are light’s links around him shed?
why was he bred?
Upon next weekend all must dwell in dread,
what lies ahead …
5 April 1975
robi03_0072_robi03_0000 XXX_OXX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Remember the Seasons
'Gladness of life in blossom, will to wend
its way as if instead
of deathwards, voyage led
to timeless bliss ahead,
to ease unlimited.
Madness of life to dissipation friend -
unheedful, as we said,
that mortal trap is spread -
where one on mischance has fed
Time's hydra head.
Sadness of life left little to defend,
as palsied hairs are shed
and heart thumps at the tread
announcing that the thread
shall snap - too soon to bed!
Sadness of life on knife edge of its end,
all former fortune fled,
to Lethe's waters wed -
last leaf which hangs in dread
of Fate, of Time, soon dead.
Is stonewall all our trend?
Beyond perceptions bread
and butter life lends bred
by hopes and fears unread
perhaps we'll find instead
the seasons' reasons end
come clear as round life's bend
we travel onwards, send
our children hope, extend
trust, understanding blend,
man's misconceptions mend.
(7 July 1990 revised 13 April 2008 robi03_0324_robi03_0000 XXX_DJZ)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Advertising 0089 Current Version
Personal principles are praised, but instead
Public Opinion is too easily led.
The muddy brained People must beg for its bread
bewildered by twenty-six cynics of lead.
They're so artificial, those bland bywords bred,
yet represent love signals, colour code thread.
Cold copy-writers our custom importune
composing cant catchwords to cull off our fortune.
Publicity [p]reaches wherever we tread,
an encroaching octopus tentacles spread,
pours bland inky blessings on all but the dead.
Standardization with all pretence shed
industry offers fat profits ahead,
as promise of status stands sales in good stead.
Cold creams and cosmetics, shampoos for the hair,
stimulants and sedatives, to each his share,
need needs be invented to spare us from care?
The sales pitch embraces those parts of the nation
accounting for most of mankind's consumation
according to up-to-date sales information
from market research data based computation,
women, the workers, the young generation.
Commitments increase as old scruples are shed.
Spring water purchased in neat plastic bottle,
sports car equipped with an elegant throttle,
all must be sold, unemployment to throttle.
With credit all waiting from wanting is fled
For the recession, combined with inflation,
threatens the structures of civilisation;
savings must shrink or we'll face confrontation
from all who would otherwise lack occupation.
New goods and services are stimulation.
Odd sorts, shapes and sizes, confuse, so its rare
that housewives, though willing, can truly compare;
that packaging costs more than product's unfair!
With prosperous public to politics wed,
privacy's threatened, it can't be gainsaid.
Consumer protection is often misled
by headlines enticing and small print widespread.
Set in strip lighting, or spoken, or read,
through radio, T.V., broadcasted in bed.
Nor ever has Internet, spammed, been immune,
text message records, repeats, slick slogan, tune.
Printed in polychrome over our head,
in so many senses, for senseless fathead,
over the airwaves judiciously spread
from high ultra-violet to low infra-red,
pasted on posters in blue, black, or red,
advertisement squares all our savings have bled.
(5 August 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Broken
Do you know what it's like to be broken
Wish this morning that you had not woken
When all words of love have been spoken
And hopes disappear in the night.
So you know how much silence can wound
A beating heart that fate had harpooned
Laying shipwrecked forever marooned.
And pain reappears at first light.
Yes, broken we hang by a thread
Over memories and new paths to tread
Maybe stars if we look straight ahead
Look behind for the scars where we bled.
And i just need one hand to hold
Not to die in merciless cold.
poem by Kevin East
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Day Of The Dread
Day Of The Dread
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Sunday, March 4,2012, @ 12: 20 PM
Rose red yet no one speaks for the dead
The blind was foolishly led
No place to lay my weary head
No one listens to the words I've said
Empty is my lonesome bed
Hanging on by a thread
Happiness hopelessly fled
By bliss I was misled
All the books I never read
So many words left unsaid
I thought I was happily wed
Precautions I should have taken instead
The heart hungers unfed
Broken it hides in the shed
Buttered both sides was my bread
The spirit bashed against the bulkhead
Lifeless it rests on the seabed
Nothing it has left to look for ahead
Unfastened fitted bedspread
For lines I never proofread
Sweet words listened by the dread
Arms were always outspread
Forgiveness I once pled
Gold has turned to poisoned lead
Rivers run red
Letters immediately I shred
Shorten are the wings I spread
Sour now is the sweetbread
Descending on a paper sled
Burdens get over fed
Prepared woefully to unwed
Needles now unthread
Ascending struggles the moped
Blues turn a bloody red
Words often misread
Never should I have let you into my head
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Shadows
The darkness holds many shadows
that tread softly in the night
and every stranger must beware
of those that lurk in shadows
with no good will to explore.
They stalk the innocent
whose hearts are warm and pure
extending what seems a friendly lure.
So stranger as you walk in peace
beware of where you tread
as those who would do you harm
lurk deep in the shadows
and crevices of your mind.
The demons that lay bare
your mortal thread
steal around in the shadows
where you tread.
Beware of the night dear stranger
and the shadows you walk through.
The darkness holds many dangers
as you walk your journey through.
29 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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Bedside Manner
Standing by your bed,
I watch you read the dreams,
Dreams I’ve wished and bled.
And I wonder how you live,
Holding thought within your head.
Daring to travel roads,
Down paths I fear to tread.
Still I wait to watch you in motion,
While I can only stand by your bed.
Watching you read my dreams,
Dreams I’ve wished and bled.
And I wonder how I’ve lived,
Forever holding these thoughts within my head.
Scared to travel paths,
Roads you’ve built with stead.
How I wish to lay with you, upon that bed.
poem by David Harrison
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To Catullus
My brother, my Valerius, dearest head
Of all whose crowning bay-leaves crown their mother
Rome, in the notes first heard of thine I read
My brother.
No dust that death or time can strew may smother
Love and the sense of kinship inly bred
From loves and hates at one with one another.
To thee was Caesar's self nor dear nor dread,
Song and the sea were sweeter each than other:
How should I living fear to call thee dead
My brother?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Moral Cowardice.
.
Should I regret or just forget.
The things I’ve done or left undone
Accumulative unpaid debt.
Part of the web the fates have spun.
The three weird sisters spin the thread
and weave into tapestry
Each thread is chosen carefully.
Though blind the sisters see ahead.
The future fate of everyone.
No one escapes what they decree.
What is to will come to be
All that you did or left undone.
So I pretend it’s predestined
and just dismiss it from my mind.
Saturday,10 April 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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When My Brother Went To Jail
It was sometime in April
I was playing outside
Hangin with my brother friends
One wanted to go for a ride
As they started to leave
One saw on the side of out house
Someting frightfull to any trouble maker
Her eyes, as if shed seen a mouse
She turned to tell my brother
The horror around the corner
With fear in her expression
The pork was ready for him to order
They drove up to the house
My brother tried to hide
But they were sure to find him
For the law he didnt obide
Eventually they found him
And put his hands in cuffs
As they read him his rights
He didnt get at all rough
Once again they took him
And put him behind bars
He'll always be my brother
No matter near or far
poem by Jazzy Thomson
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The Other
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me returns to slumber.
So fleeting the instant, so silent the time,
Already Fall slips into December.
The twilight has come.
The end is near.
The final sigh of Winter.
Nature heaves, my heart dies.
Life poised on a balanced whisper.
That cannot fly, is already gone,
Far away, twisted by a convulsive mutter.
I am lost, I am dread,
The illusion so faint, so sweet.
It was said, I once said.
You are mine, I am yours,
In you fulfilled, I drink and meet.
Lost, oh lost, hopelessly lost forever.
Escape, escape, I fly, I run, I go.
On the precipice of dreams, I roam.
Roam in search of another.
But I am, no more, I know,
No more will Beauty shine.
For what is right, what was mine
Has left, has left me for no other.
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me has fallen.
Fallen asleep, away from me,
Fallen in the hands of another.
It was said, I once said.
That love lasted forever.
The brilliant bushel of light
I surmise
Has fallen to the shadows of Winter.
So have you betrayed me,
With lies,
In lies, you lied with another.
So fall I have, in Fall I shook,
In Fall I met with a stranger.
Not of peace, not of hope.
The sightless eyes of restless demise,
These eyes of sorrow did whisper.
Of the deed you did, of the cries of joy,
The cries you never would utter.
For me, for me, for me,
For me you ever did slumber.
But for him, this man,
The alien, the fool,
You did turn yourself traitor,
You gave yourself, so entirely,
So entirely to another.
I cannot write.
The poet is dead.
I finally put an end to the torture.
It was a beautiful night,
Not a breeze crossed my sight,
On this longest twilight of December.
I slew the poet,
I slaughtered the stranger,
I murdered the man, this Other.
But in shame, in shame,
In misery, I did exclaim,
In shock I beheld another.
Not a stranger, no other man,
Truly
None other, none other was the stranger.
One and the same,
Yes, one and the same,
I had been deceived forever.
This curse, this doom,
This misery, this gloom,
Must look no further for its maker.
The artist of design,
The creator of the Line,
The one and only Stranger.
I cannot write,
This poem is dead.
I am now trapped in eternal slumber.
The poet was right.
It was said, I once said.
Beware the longest night of Winter.
The Beautiful night, the absence of light,
Will bring you, truly,
Will bring you naught but dread.
And so it was, the poet was dead.
The deed was done,
I ended the stranger, the impostor,
The traitor.
But in death, in death,
Even with his final words he said:
My brother, my brother,
What have you done my brother.
There is no Other.
Rest peacefully brother.
For together, in each Other.
I am dead.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Young William And Young April
Young William and young April
Met in the park one day.
Young William said to April,
'Why did you come this way? '
Young April said to William,
'I thought I might see you.'
Young William, then to April,
'It's funny, what you do.'
Young April gave to William
A sweet, young childhood kiss.
Young William said to April,
'Don't bother me like this.'
Young April stood in silence,
Not knowing what to do.
Then young William turned away.
Young April, torn in two.
Young William said, 'Don't follow me.'
Away from her he fled.
April then, sat down and cried,
And wished that she was dead.
William never came again.
At least, for many years.
Fearful that young April still,
Might be there shedding tears.
William walked the park again.
It seemed just like before.
Wondering if he might see her.
Young April, there once more.
Young William never noticed.
The roses hid it well.
The place they found Young April.
The place she used to dwell.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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The light's in my head - Villanelle
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead,
Though daylight is dimming, through the still open curtain-
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!
He lies in a stupor, but calls out from his bed;
And he never complains, but you fear that he's hurting-
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead.
She doesn't sleep nights, but sleeps daytimes instead;
Her breathing's still even, but death's near for certain-
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!
First they said stroke, and then heart attack- dread!
With the new diagnosis, with death he is flirting-
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead.
There's cancer and heart disease, so lightly we tread;
It's bad news for sure- her aneurysm bursting! -
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!
It's all here inside me now, all that I've said,
Now what's left in memory's darkness, I'm cursing;
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead-
And the light's in my head- the light's in my head!
poem by Patti Masterman
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Kindness
GOD helped me, so i'll help you
now you know what you've got to do.
spread a little kindness and you will see.
your life turns around rapidly.
the LORD gave us a heart that we should use
it's not something that should be abused.
bringing happiness to your fellow man
and always giving a helping hand.
it does not matter, if you're a husband or wife
if you're rich, or poor, or if you're sick or well
we all must go through some kind of hell.
the world has gotten to a point
of fear to say hello
because we think that weakness will show.
strength lies in the tender heart
JESUS proved that from the start.
HE brought LAZARUS back from the dead
because in him he saw that his heart bled.
he walked with crutches most of his life
for he was born with a crippling disease
and cuts and bruises, he had many
but food he did'nt have any.
yet the little he had, he shared with the dogs in the streets
they licked his wounds
and kept him warm at night.
till he woke at morning light.
this is the kindness that the LORD sees
which is inside you and me.
kindness creates a domino effect
as it touches one another
making us sister and brother.
so spread the kindness, spread the word
let the LORDS' voice be heard.'
poem by Louis Rams
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This Kingdom
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
The wild and eerie winter is upon us,
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
Your solution to royalty is absolutely ahead,
The summer believed me, it was absoluteness,
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
We say and did formulae of chemistry in bed,
The same post of evil as absentmindedness,
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
Our results bespeak in front of the led,
The exact opposite of leading is malice,
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
When does the king seek kindness from the misled?
Your happiness is special with malpractice.
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
The understanding I sought was hunger to be read,
A shining example of pride is in books of passiveness.
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Seven Day Weekend
See the girl in the cabriolet
Im gonna make her mine someday
The traffic stops and she steps out
Every man starts to scream and shout
Theres a space in the week
Its a date I can keep, oh yeah
Seven day, seven day, seven day
Its a seven day weekend
Seven day, seven day, seven day
Its a seven day weekend
See the girl in the pale peach dress
Shes got a body build to caress
Like a one-eyed cat
Outside a seafood store
Shes got me begging
More, more, more
Ive been saving and saving
And saving my money
To spend it on her
* seven day, seven day, seven day
Its a seven day weekend
Seven day (seven day)
Seven day (seven day) seven day
Its a seven day weekend
Seven day (seven day)
Seven day (seven day) seven day
Its a seven day weekend
(* repeat)
Seven day (saturday)
Seven day (every day) seven day
Its a seven day weekend
Seven day (seven day)
Seven day (seven day) seven day
Its a seven day weekend
Seven day (seven day)
Seven day (seven day) seven day
Its a seven day weekend
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is It Saturday Yet?
I'm a product of the nation
My Nintendo's on the floor
On a permanent vacation
Momma's bangin' at my door
Na na na
She's screamin at me
But I don't wanna understand
And I go ooooh
It goes on and on and on
[Chorus]
Is it Saturday yet
Cuz I wanna get up
Is it Saturday yet
It just feels like a Saturday
Baby
Is it Saturday yet
I just wanna get up
Is it Saturday yet
Cuz it feels like a Saturday
Baby
Is it Saturday
I was raised by the television
Jerry Springer was my dad
And it wouldn't matter
If Martha Stewart was my mother
And Aaron Carter was my brother
Cuz I'd still be bad
I'm a product of the nation
I'm the last generation
Na na na
They won't stop screamin
And I don't think they understand
And I go ooooh
It goes on and on and on
[Chorus]
Information overload
Comin through my mind
That I can't control
In the back of my head
Are the eyes that I see
That has got to be
A side of me
And I go ohhhhhhhhh
She's screamin at me
But I don't wanna understand
[Chorus]
song performed by by Nick Carter from Now Or Never
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why The Tears I Shed?
Why the tears I shed?
Hunger is around,
I'm well fed.
Why the tears I shed?
The fire has gone out,
Warm is my bed.
Why the tears I shed?
Love is without sense,
On me lies her head.
Why the tears I shed?
The living is on alms,
Aplenty is my bread.
Why the tears I shed?
Life seeks mercy,
More blessed is the dead.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Gasoline Alley Bred
Woman, get your head out of curlers.
Time get your butt out of bed.
Get down your hats and baggage, my child.
Going back home,
going back to the homestead.
I'm a-gonna heat me some water,
and put a shine upon my shoes.
Telephone my ma,
Keep the room above Joe's
'Cause we're coming back,
coming back to the homestead.
Everything is packed,
getting back to the homestead.
This time, this time we'll stay.
I know that we could have made it;
we had ideas in our heads.
And I wish somehow
we could have saved it
but we're Gasoline Alley bred.
Yet the years haven't really been wasted,
and I know it in my head.
We did good for the life that we've tasted
'cause we're Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley bred
Woman, you can really believe it,
I did everything a man could do.
Breaking my back just to make us a dime.
That won't mean a damn
when no one wants to know you.
Woman, I know how you're feeling.
I've seen the hurt upon your face.
How many time do you think that I've cried?
Knowing every day that your heart was getting broken,
holdin' back your pride til you were nearly chokin'
Oh let's get away.
chorus
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Light In My Darkness
as the day gets closeri ponder on what i told her she sees the light in my darkness as i wonder what she has caressed and she sees my poteintial as i am hororendously altered to what i am yet to be and she sees me for who i truely am as i slam my fist into this door a crippleing blow i should say as i lay here wondering why she sees light in my dark ness
as light filter through a darkness that is so true we wander thy dark wood wondering how to find our fate not to hate the one ho put us through wondering pondering why she sees the light filter through a darkness that is so true
as light penitrates my dark and wounded heart paying no mind to what it has healed as i seal my fate of which i take and it to claims me as a true dark but light finds my soul and she sees the light in my darkness that is so true
i am not as dark as i seem to be cuase she sees the light in me and i see the light in her which i truely pefer
and as i ponder on which i have said and i have sped down the road of life which is truely darkand she has saved me because she sees the light in my darkness of which i may contort due to the light she sees
as the darkness is contorted to see optimistically of all this strife as this knife drops to the floor as the darkness begins to contort
with this life i shall change as li lay me down to sleep i pray my soul the lord to keep if i die before i wke i pray my soul the lord to take as i partake in this in a heavenly manner i believe i see the light in my darkness as i see ture the beloved i shoved all my grief down the drain and she sees the light in my darkness as do i
hate is a fate that we we all can partake as we see the key to life as the kife is droped to the floor as the door slams into its jam life is contorted and then altered as we all can falter as the slaughter of man takes place as an ace is droped on the table as we all can tell this is a fable to be heard as a hearse takes your friend to her grave and she told me to say this that you are gay like the fey folk al i sasy this life flies by as shooting star and the i drive my car off a cliff into a tidal rift and float to the very end as i send a message to those who dont have hope and then i float to the land of the dead to spread this hate as we partake in the slaughter of man as i pretend the light was never spread and as i am beheaded by the beast with three heads as a hockey puck goes throgh a staind glass window as she is made a widow because of the war of the worlds and the darkness is once more contorted to her will and she sees me and the light in the darkness
forsay to end this fable i say to thee my life is a creed of which to be fallowed as i swallow the waters of the holyto souly depend on her to see tme for who i am truely am and thy light with in me thierein lies the secret of life which we all pass and not see as light filters through allof the dark and not lighted as my foresight is met light and dark meet for one last battle as life begins to contort and falter
then again life is always contorting to her will and the light spreads through a darkeness so trueonce more she sees the light in me in order to see the doves fly for her love for me cause she sees light in me and as i weave a tread so thin i send a message of hope in order to cope with the sin of man as i tan the hide of the beast so fierce that has dieed due to the light she brought me cuz she sees the light with in me
poem by Andy Pierce
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The Ballade Of The Average Reader
I try to touch the public taste,
For thus I earn my daily bread.
I try to write what folks will paste
In scrap books after I am dead.
By Public Craving I am led.
(I' sooth, a most despotic leader)
Yet, though I write for Tom and Ned,
I've never seen an average reader.
The Editor is good and chaste,
But says: (Above the public's head;
This is _too_ good; 'twill go to waste.
Write something commonplacer-
Ed.)
Write for the average reader, fed
By pre-digested near-food's feeder,
But though my high ideals have fled,
I've never _seen_ an average reader.
How many lines have been erased!
How many fancies have been shed!
How many failures might be traced
To this-this average-reader dread!
I've seen an average single bed;
I've seen an average garden-weeder;
I've seen an average cotton thread-
I've _never_ seen an average _reader_.
L'ENVOI
Most read of readers, if you've read
The works of any old succeeder,
You know that he, too, must have said:
'I've never seen an Average Reader.'
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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