En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Grey

We never thought we'd see the day
So many colours before grey,
Young knights, our swords flashed in the sun
But we'd fall on them slowly, one by one.
These days of practicality replaced our immortality
Then virile, drunken songsters would sway
Black humour, black hair now turned to grey.

We never thought we'd leave our era
Partners caught, then reeled us nearer
One french kiss, a promise at 'Top Rank'
Left breathless fishes on the bank.
Crazy haircuts, mothers were appalled
Cars out of petrol deliberately stalled.
Lover's lane kiss had us fooled
But Cupid's miss was overruled.
Black 'Mariahs' carried us away
Before our blues were turned to grey.

We never thought we'd reach the year
3 bloody quid for a pint of beer.
Balding bespectacled and rheumatic
Electric music now distinctly static
Dancing like the fathers we mocked
With women like the mothers we shocked.
All night binges have had their days
Now it's exchanging twinges and take aways
Wild lion we called youth refused to stay
Time brought us just truth. then turned away.
That harlequin before the grey.

poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summers Gone

Crack and break, lifes big mistake,
Im feeling it too, theres no way home.
The summers gone,
The summers gone away.
Back down to earth, a conscience burst,
Im feeling it too, just slipped away.
The summers gone,
The love has gone,
The sun has gone away,
Away
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey...
Just like yesterday,
Its turned to black and white.
Cold as stone, no contact known
Youre feeling it too, as thoughts decay.
The summers gone, the colours gone,
The sun has gone away
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey,
Just like yesterday,
Its turned to black and white.
Oh, youre thinking back, youre going back to places that youve been,
Where days could last forever, but you can only dream,
Oh, were going back Im looking back to places that weve seen,
Moments that have been, places we can dream.
Crash and break, lifes big mistake,
Youre feeling it too, just slipped away.
The love has gone,
The summers gone away.
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey,
Just like yesterday, yesterday
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey,
Just like yesterday, yesterday...

song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shades of Grey

Black is the color of the night
Grey is the shadow of you I sight
White is the shirt you wear
Black is your suit I declare

White is the wall you lean against
Grey is our path I sensed
Black is the memory I lost
Black is the road we never crossed

Grey is the prospect of the day
Grey is the taxi driving away
Black is the truth to never find you
Black is everything I can't undo

Black is my room without light
White is my color of hope in spite
Grey is the circle around my heart
Black is the truth like a work of art

© 2011

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Truth Black Truth Grey?

shades of truth in black or grey
truth is even driven reflected
in the colour of cars people drive

in Indonesian two colours dominate
cars are predominantly black or grey
like the colour of truth in the country

Indonesia usually ranks esteemed third
in top three for world internal corruption
without bribes this country cannot run

in this land the truth is black
truth has many shades of grey
upon these two colours is all run

Indonesia from any highway to byway
half the cost or more of building a bridge
any road in official bribes is paid out

poem by Terence George Craddock
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My vanity

When you see the grey in my hair
will you remember the black that was there?
Or will you forget and just see grey
that forms at the roots on everyday?

I used to wear it long and flowing
and preen about how it was growing.
I used a hair brush and counted the strokes,
but that's a waste of time for older folks.

Vanity's been replaced by common sense
although I say in my defense
that if I could I'd still like to see
that shiny lustre of ebony.

Beauty is burdensome anyway
and eventually I'll accept being grey.
But not just yet, maybe next year.
Alas by then more grey will appear.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Little Miss Sorrow

She had those magic eyes
You could see from miles aroud
She wore her summer dresses bright
Quite like the sky
She always came in colours
All smiles in daffodils
She let her hair down in the breez
But every little thing has changed today
Little Miss Sorrow
Every little thing turned pale and faded
Little Miss Sorrow
The sunlight doesn't show
All the colours go out through the window
She used to go out dancing
Cool silver fingernails
I used to watch her fron the bar
Following her car
She always came in colours
She always kept control
She painted yesterday in gold
But every little thing turned grey today
Little Miss Sorrow
Every little thing turned pale and faded
Little Miss Sorrow
The sunlight doesn't show
All the colours go even the rainbow
Allow me to introduce myself
I'm just a local boy
She was my Little Miss Joy
I want to call her name
My life won't be the same, Dear God
Every little thing has changed today
Little Miss Sorrow
Every little thing turned pale and faded
Little Miss Sorrow
Yes, every little thing turned grey today
Little Miss Sorrow
The weakling plays the strong
The bird forgot the song
What's going on?
What's going on?
Tell me, what's going on?
What's going on?
What's going on?
Tell me, what's going on?
From album

song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gray-Eyed King

Glory to you, inescapable pain!
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.

The autumn evening was sultry and red,
My husband returned and quietly said:

'You know, they brought him back from the hunt,
They found his corpse by the old oak tree.

I pity the queen. He was so young!..
In just one night her hair turned white.'

He found his pipe on the mantelpiece
And went out to his nighttime shift.

I'll go and wake my daughter now,
I'll look into her little gray eyes.

While outside the rustling poplars say:
'Your king is no longer upon this earth…'

Another translation.
By Yevgeny Bonver:

The Grey-Eyed King

Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.

This autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,

'He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They'd found him under the old oak's dome.

I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey.'

He found his pipe on a warm fire-place,
And quietly left for his usual race.

Now my daughter will wake up and rise --
Mother will look in her dear grey eyes...

And poplars by windows rustle as sing,
'Never again will you see your young king...'

poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Black and White (Stream XV)

I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
Positive.
For we live in a too white world
Maybe we should have grey days,
And light days.
Why should Black be negative and White poitive?

For me then, today is a grey day.
Maybe tomorrow will be a light day.

Copyright P H Brookes 2012

poem by Paul Brookes
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The Grey World

Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.

Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.

Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.

poem by Leon Gellert
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Starless And Bible Black

Sundown dazzling day
Gold through my eyes
But my eyes turned within
Only see
and bible black
Ice blue silver sky
Fades into grey
To a grey hope that oh years to be
and bible black
Old friend charity
Cruel twisted smile
And the smile signals emptiness
For me
and bible black

song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey Windows...

grey windows, grey buildings,
grey streets, grey skies...
grey figures staring,
grey deals are done!

manipulate gas prices,
manipulate food...
manipulate the economy,
manipulate the election.

right and wrong,
never thought of.
hungry mouths and desperation.
win the war,
never raise a gun,
bodies strewn everywhere!

money makes gods,
without conscience or morals.
human lives just tokens,
that buy trinkets for demons!

flag draped caskets,
the stink of money overwhelms.
while patriots dig graves,
for their mothers and sisters.

right and wrong,
never thought of.
hungry mouths and desperation.
pick a President,
who'll stand silent,
as birds of prey pick the bodies!

grey windows...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Where You End

Are beyond your control
I love you and you're beautiful
You write your own songs
But if the right part is leaving
Turned out to be wrong
If I could kiss you now
I'd kiss you now again and again
I don't know where I begin
And where you end
Thought I fell in love the other day
With an old friend of mine
I was running kisses
Down every inch of the spine
We had the roof down
The sun came shining in
The black fact is...
that I was thinking of you
If I could kiss you now
I'd kiss you now again and again
I don't know where I begin
And where you End
I slept in the sun the other day
I thought I was fine
Everything seemed perfect
Until I had you on my mind
I tried to love you
I did all that I could
I wish that the bad now
And finally turned into good
If I could kiss you now
I'd kiss you now again and again
I don't know where I begin
And where you End
If I could kiss you now..
If I could kiss you now..
If I could kiss you now..
Oh where you end,
Is where I begin.
Oh where you end
Oh where you end
Oh where you end

song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wild Wild Sea

I saw it again this evening,
Black sail in a pale yellow sky
And just as before in a moment,
It was gone where the grey gulls fly
If it should happen again I shall worry
That only a strange ship could fly
And my sanity scans the horizon
In the light of a darkening sky
That night as I walked in my slumber
I walked into the sea strand
And I swam with the moon and her lover
Until I lost sight of the land
I swam till the night became morning
Black sea in the reddening sky
Found myself on the deck on a rolling ship
So far where no grey gulls fly
All around me was silence
As if mocking my frail human hopes
And a question mark hung in the canvas
For the wind that had died in the ropes
I may have slept for an hour
I may have slept for a day
For a woke in a bed of white linen
And the sky was the colour of clay
At first just a rustle of canvas
And the gentlest breath on my face
But a galloping line of white horses
Said that soon we were in for a race
The gentle sigh turned to a howling
And the grey sky she angered to black
And my anxious eyes searched the horizon
With the gathering sea at my back
Did I see the shade of a sailor
On the bridge through the wheelhouse pane
Held fast to the wheel of the rocking ship
As I squinted my eyes in the rain
For the ship had turned into the wind
Against the storm to brace
And underneath the sailors hat
I saw my fathers face
If a prayer today is spoken
Please offer it for me
When the bridge to heaven is broken
And youve lost on the wild wild sea
Lost on the wild wild sea...

song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glamorous, Sophisticated

What a mess - what a terrible mess - trial and
error is awful, I should have guessed; grey - I
HATE grey, unless tinted blue, black and grey
in bed linen are insupportable - to combat the
effect I constructed a bulwarks of pink-purple
covered notebooks on my side of the bed

I shall hide the black and grey pillowcase tonight,
already covered my favourite pillow with something
else, grey sucks colour out of everything - I wear
black to disappear but my bed should be HERE;
this is awful, one of my biggest mistakes - still,
we were constrained, nothing else in the shop

I hate shopping in any case, my new T-shirt too large,
the glamorous, sophisticated black and grey without
symbolical meaning, I fight it with the pink and green
of my paper doll - how did I ever acquiesce to some-
thing as bleak and menacing as this - oh yes, there
was nothing else, I should hang myself!

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Starless

Sundown dazzling day
Gold through my eyes
But my eyes turned within
Only see
Starless and Bible black
Ice blue silver sky
Fades into grey
To a grey hope that oh years to be
Starless and Bible black
Old friend charity
Cruel twisted smile
And the smile signals emptiness
For me
Starless and Bible black

song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey Wolves Grey

The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.

As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.

He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.

And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.

And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Ten Grey hairs and a silver one

I discovered my first grey hair
when I was Seventeen years old
It had to do with broken up my first relationship

I discovered my second grey hair
when I was Twenty years old
It had to do with the quarrels at home

I discovered my third grey hair
when I was Twenty-one years old
It had to do with searching for work

I discovered my fourth grey hair
when I was Twenty-three years old
It had to do with loosing my job

I discovered my fifth grey hair
when I was Twenty-five years old
It had to do with giving up my unborn child

I discovered my sixth grey hair
When I was Twenty-eight years old
It had to do with opening my pub

I discovered my seventh grey hair
When I was thirty years old
It had to do with giving birth to my daughter

I discovered my eight grey hair
When I was thirty –two years old
It had to do with the first day at the kinder garden school

I discovered my ninth grey hair
When I was thirty-four years old
It had to do with to find out that some thing was missing

I discovered my tenth grey hair
When I was thirty-five years old
It had to do with the fights between my sisters and mum

My one Silver hair I discovered lately
Has to do with you
Because I miss you so hard …

poem by Pascale Ost
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The Farmer's Bride

Three summers since I chose a maid,
Too young maybe-but more's to do
At harvest-time that a bide and woo.
When us was wed she turned afraid
Of love and me and all things human;
Like the shut of winter's day
Her smile went out, and `twadn't a woman-
More like a little frightened fay.
One night, in the Fall, she runned away.

"Out 'mong the sheep, her be," they said,
Should properly have been abed;
But sureenough she wadn't there
Lying awake with her wide brown stare.
So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down
We chased her, flying like a hare
Before out lanterns. To Church-Town
All in a shiver and a scare
We caught her, fetched her home at last
And turned the key upon her, fast.

She does the work about the hosue
As well as most, but like a mouse:
Happy enough to cheat and play
With birds and rabbits and such as they,
So long as men-folk keep away
"Not near, not near!" her eyes beseech
When one of us comes within reach.
The woman say that beasts in stall
Look round like children at her call.
I've hardly heard her speak at all.
Shy as a leveret, swift as he,
Straight and slight as a young larch tree,
Sweet as the first wild violets, she,
To her wild self. But what to me?

The short days shorten and the oaks are brown,
The blue smoke rises to the low grey sky,
One leaf in the still air falls slowly down,
A magpie's spotted feathers lie
An the black earth spread white with rime,
The berries redden up to Christmas-time.
What's Christmas-time without there be
Some other in the house than we!

She sleeps up in the attic there
Alone, poor maid. `Tis but a stair
Betwixt us. Oh! my God! the down,
The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her-her eyes, her hair, her hair!

poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Greetings

Greetings

The lone star beer was ice cold, turned my teeth into
glaziers. My mind froze as polar bears hunted seals
on ice floes. I shuddered and thought of home.

“Don’t you like the American way? ” A tall Texan said.
He looked like a US Marshal, grey suit and a Stetson
hat, also grey.” I love America, especially Texas”, I said.

With frostbitten lips I told him I had been to New York
too, but preferred Houston. To this everyone smiled
and the big man said: ” welcome to Texas.”

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Desolate Field

Vast and grey, the sky
is a simulacrum
to all but him whose days
are vast and grey and --
In the tall, dried grasses
a goat stirs
with nozzle searching the ground.
My head is in the air
but who am I . . . ?
-- and my heart stops amazed
at the thought of love
vast and grey
yearning silently over me.

poem by William Carlos Williams
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The Return

They turned him loose; he bowed his head,
A felon, bent and grey.
His face was even as the Dead,
He had no word to say.

He sought the home of his old love,
To look on her once more;
And where her roses breathed above,
He cowered beside the door.

She sat there in the shining room;
Her hair was silver grey.
He stared and stared from out the gloom;
He turned to go away.

Her roses rustled overhead.
She saw, with sudden start.
"I knew that you would come," she said,
And held him to her heart.

Her face was rapt and angel-sweet;
She touched his hair of grey;

. . . . .

But he, sob-shaken, at her feet,
Could only pray and pray.

poem by Robert William Service
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