So Long Jackson
scattered words on a canvass
Dripping paint
a bit of myth
Chance
Color
Curled up on in your head
a fire without coals
The bottle just about empty
Dead painter
Steel car with blood
Alcoholism is a decadent religion
Fame an empty seat
Fall leaves without a plan
So long Jackson
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Related quotes
Japanese-American Farmhouse, California, 1942
Everything has been taken that anyone
thought worth taking. The stairs are tilted,
scattered with sycamore leaves curled
like ammonites in inland rock.
Wood shows through the paint on the frame
and the door is open--an empty room,
sunlight on the floor. All that is left
on the porch is the hollow cylinder
of an Albert's Quick Oats cardboard box
and a sewing machine. Its extraterrestrial
head is bowed, its scrolled neck
glistens. I was born, that day, near there,
in wartime, of ignorant people.
poem by Sharon Olds
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Empty Sky
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Poets
dead poets; old cars
junked in heaps
in front of
abandoned houses...
empty mailboxes
rusting to the
ground...
empty swings creaking
in the late evening breeze;
a bottle of wine,
half-empty,
moans in the shadows.
the fields have been picked,
nothing left, but sweat stained dirt....
even the embers have grown cold,
and the pot is empty.
the sounds and smells of living
linger by unmarked stones...
dead poets; old cars...
running on empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Own Emptiness
morning
is an empty slate.
i go outside
this room into an open garden
rays of sun arrive
upon leaves soundlessly
mushrooms grow on the sides
of the old narra tree
i imagine i see some
elves
big biga leaves capture
water and on its edges are dews
i am empty like an empty slate of
morning
sunlight cannot
neither dew
nor nymphs of myth
fill it up.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Another Night Alone
Alone again tonight
In this empty time
The sound in my head
The sight leaves me blind
I'll write a million words
I'll sing until it hurts
How far could this be
Until it's seen
How long will I let this go
I can't stand to spend another night alone
I stare at the empty walls
I speak
song performed by by Sr-71 from Now You See Inside
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Canvass-1
CANVASS—1
I like red colour always
Like ten horses who drags
The chariot of sun
Your fingertips enameled
With red nail-polish
The under-water plants
With blackish red leaves- akin to blood
You spread this blood everyday
On the dry earth
In the name of religion
In disguise of revolt
Sometimes thru air-attacks
Or the marching of armies with bullets
But how valuable is this red
Without a dropp of which
The life becomes a white canvass
Rajkumar@Kolkata
17-05-2009
poem by Rajkumar Mukherjee
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What is the color of love?
What is the color of love?
I'll paint it with RED.
Do you ask me why? Because.....
Red roses are the symbol of love,
Red sunrises are the symbol of life.
What is the color of love?
I think I'll paint it with ORANGE.
I'll give it to you by the segments.
It looks so naive but....
You have to believe.
What is the color of love?
And now I'll paint it with YELLOW.
It's the sunshine of the bright day.
It's the color of flowers in spring.
What is the color of love?
I'll better paint it with GREEN.
'Green grass of home...',
Green leaves, green piece...
What is the color of love?
I think I'll paint it with BLUE.
It's the color of the sky,
It's the color of freedom,
It's the color of seas and oceans
It's the color of the devotions.
What is the color of love?
It is sometimes dark blue
When the ocean is angry
When someone's love is not true.
What is the color of love?
May be it is VIOLETTE?
Don't try to guess
As I'd like here to confess:
It's a RAINBOW!
Larisa R(Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Yes You May Paint My World
be ready
paint my world
be patient
it is not as white
as a canvass
to start with
i am spotted
like gerard manley hopkins
with his cow
and this trout
i have some
red marks on
my heart and
some stains
in my brains
i am dark
and you will need
nothing black
paint me
with the color
of gentleness
and the color
of your concern
i am not really
lovable but
you may paint
me with the colors
of your love
if you have doubts
don't worry
make something
abstract about me
i won't bother
i am your brother
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bottle 'O
I ain't the kind of bloke as takes to any steady job;
I drives me bottle cart around the town;
A bloke what keeps 'is eyes about can always make a bob --
I couldn't bear to graft for every brown.
There's lots of handy things about in everybody's yard,
There's cocks and hens a-runnin' to an' fro,
And little dogs what comes and barks -- we take 'em off their guard
And we puts 'em with the Empty Bottle-O!
Chorus --
So it's any "Empty bottles! Any empty bottle-O!"
You can hear us round for half a mile or so
And you'll see the women rushing
To take in the Monday's washing
When they 'ear us crying, "Empty Bottle-O!"
I'm driving down by Wexford-street and up a winder goes,
A girl sticks out 'er 'ead and looks at me,
An all-right tart with ginger 'air, and freckles on 'er nose;
I stops the cart and walks across to see.
"There ain't no bottles 'ere," says she, "since father took the pledge,"
"No bottles 'ere," says I, "I'd like to know
What right 'ave you to stick your 'ead outside the winder ledge,
If you 'aven't got no Empty Bottle-O!"
I sometimes gives the 'orse a spell, and then the push and me
We takes a little trip to Chowder Bay.
Oh! ain't it nice the 'ole day long a-gazin' at the sea
And a-hidin' of the tanglefoot away.
But when the booze gits 'old of us, and fellows starts to "scrap",
There's some what likes blue-metal for to throw:
But as for me, I always says for layin' out a "trap"
There's nothing like an Empty Bottle-O!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In An Empty Box
This poem was written by my Great Niece Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.
If there is nothing in an empty box,
what do you do?
You use an amazing thing called
imagination.
In a corner of the empty box was,
A long lasting friendship.
A pattern with no end.
A light that will never go out.
In a corner of the empty box was,
A devil, red as blood.
An ongoing argument.
A heart with no love.
In a corner of the empty box was,
A charming prince waiting for his love.
A shimmering diamond, with an everlasting twinkle.
A sea with dancing waters.
As there are only four corners of a box,
this is the last one, and in that corner there was,
A patch of growing love.
A mind with no thoughts.
A bottle with a secret message inside.
There is always a middle of an empty box,
and in the middle there was,
a smaller box.
Which held every thought anyone could think.
© Kitty Cotton
(Ernestine Northover)
poem by Ernestine Northover
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In An Empty Box
This poem was written by my Great Niece Kitty Cotton aged 12 years.
If there is nothing in an empty box,
what do you do?
You use an amazing thing called
imagination.
In a corner of the empty box was,
A long lasting friendship.
A pattern with no end.
A light that will never go out.
In a corner of the empty box was,
A devil, red as blood.
An ongoing argument.
A heart with no love.
In a corner of the empty box was,
A charming prince waiting for his love.
A shimmering diamond, with an everlasting twinkle.
A sea with dancing waters.
As there are only four corners of a box,
this is the last one, and in that corner there was,
A patch of growing love.
A mind with no thoughts.
A bottle with a secret message inside.
There is always a middle of an empty box,
and in the middle there was,
a smaller box.
Which held every thought anyone could think.
© Kitty Cotton
(Ernestine Northover)
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Rosy Dream
This is for you,
Did pencils ever write
unwritten paper
empty blank
broken moment
unsaid poems and little words of fear
This morning of our affection
we spill our emotions
through the glass of wine
of ordinary hot words....
and walk through the shore of sand
sea shore is now empty....
a rosy garden
where roses fall silent
at the gaze of the moon,
where the night falls in a rosy faint, and snow
like a' ruby 'drops....
In the morning of our belief
in the faces of stars
like a kiss of words
we rely upon,
the streets remain empty
and our watches break again...
our skies sing
in a painful breeze
we miss our little song
Did paint ever portray
unspoilt canvas
empty hands
idle colours
rest
In the morning of singing song,
whistling
birds.....
poem by Thampi KEE
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On Fire
Tell you where you need to go
Tell you who you need to be
Tell you what you need to know
Tell you when youll need to leave
But everything inside you knows
Says more than what youve heard
So much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words
Chorus:
And youre on fire
When hes near you
Youre on fire
When he speaks
Youre on fire
Burning at these mysteries
Give me one more time around
Give me one more chance to see
Give me everything you are
Give me one more chance to be... (near you)
Cause everything inside looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance Ill take
Chorus:
When Im on fire
When youre near me
Im on fire
When you speak
And Im on fire
Burning at these mysteries
These mysteries...
Im standing on the edge of me (x3)
Im standing on the edge
Chorus:
And Im on fire
When youre near you
Im on fire
When you speak
(yea) Im on fire
Burning at these mysteries...
song performed by by Switchfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Arms
Empty arms
That long for you
And they wait
Dear just for you
And these arms
Will stay this way
Till you return
To them someday
Each lonely night
I go to bed
I hug the pillow
Where you used to lay your head
Empty arms
But not for long
Cause my babys coming home
And when he
Walks through the door
These empty arms
Ill have no more
And when he
Walks through that door
These empty arms
Ill have no more
These empty arms
Ill have no more
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bring Me Your Cup
Did I ever say, how I feel about you
A thing I never found that easy to do
The things that you do, dont need to be heard
You know your actions, baby, speak louder than words
(chorus)
Ive got the bottle, bring me your cup
Pop the cork, and try a sup
And when youre empty, Ill fill you up
Well drink it down till the sun comes up
Im heading home, like a steaming train
Foot to the floor, in the driving rain
My head is aching and my mouth is dry
Ive got a thirst only you can satisfy
(chorus)
Ive got the bottle, bring me your cup
Pop the cork and try a sup
And when youre empty, Ill fill you up
Well drink it down till the sun comes up
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swollen....
he staggered a little
as he walked against the cold.
he was an old man, his hair long,
his beard unkept.
his clothes were ragged, his coat torn.
at the head of the alley,
they had the young girl's car
blocked in. she was out of the
car and trying to fight them
off.
one of the thugs slapped her.
the old man heard her cry for
help as she fell.
picking up an empty bottle,
he lunged into the fray, swinging
wildly and making animal sounds.
he caught one of the boys on the
side of the head as the bottle
shattered.
pulling his knife from his pocket,
he stabbed the second one just as he
caught a blow to the face.
he turned in a bloody rage as the third
boy ran.
wobbled, he heard the girl. 'c'mon, get
in with me... we've got to go! '
he heard the sound of the sirens as he
fell into the seat...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Crash
Lying in bed
Crying your eyes out
Curled in a ball
Nice and tight
Crash today
Seven men died
Seven in a van
One in a car
Bottle of vodka
In the passenger
Seat
Driving unable to maintain
Drifting and veering
Unable to control
Car smash the van
Through the windshield
One goes
Lying on the floor
Others come and
Count dead bodies
One left live in the van
Mind regained and
Awareness received
All is dead
All is dead but you
Later that night
Lying in bed
Crying your eyes out
Curled in a ball
Magnum in hand
Silence has come
Lying in bed
No more crying
Curled in a ball
Lose and feeble
No sound is silent
Eight men died
Today
poem by Tommy D'Attore
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Man And Bottle
Just an empty brandy bottle by the door
An empty bottle standing on the floor
Last week 'twas worth a carpenter's day's pay
But now it isn't worth taking away.
Last week 'twas full of brandy to the top
But in it now there's not a single drop
Just like a candy box without the candy
What value a brandy bottle without brandy?
The man who drank the brandy he is dead
Like all dead men a pine box is his bed
He rests in peace where all dead people lay
Six foot under graveyard earth and clay.
He drank the brandy and then drove his car
But alas the poor man did not travel far
His car left the road and crashed against a tree
And with his life he paid for gluttony.
Next time you're in a bar and have to drive a car, do think
Hard liquor is a thing you ought not drink
Spare a thought for the poor man who drank the brandy
And ask the publican for a beer shandy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Take It While You Can..
LONG and empty faces keep their
eyes on the television screen,
FIRE flies jockeying for
position, on a cold and quiet
dream,
A murmer of sounds coming from
your head, or is it the rain,
wind, or a song from, i loved
you once, but now i must pack
up and leave.
LONG and empty faces......
poem by David Gerardino
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