A Night Attack
Be still. The bleeding night is in suspense
Of watchful agony and coloured thought,
And every beating vein and trembling sense,
Long-tired with time, is pitched and overwrought.
And for the eye,
The darkness holds strange forms.
Soft movements in the leaves, and wicked glows
That wait and peer. The whole black landscape
swarms
With shapes of white and grey that no one knows;
And for the ear, a sound, a pause, a breath.
The hand has touched the slimy face of death.
The mind is raking at the ragged past.
……A sound of rifles rattles from the south,
and startled orders move from mouth to mouth.
poem by Leon Gellert
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My Narrow Mind
Wicked, wicked
From the mouth I spout - o lord
Don let these thoughts come out
My knees they knock and my feet they fail
The thoughts I think I see your face turn pale
Take my hand an you will see - the one in the wayback
Take my hand an you will be the one atop the swayback
Your word so pretty
Yes I love that sound
My heart like a hammer does pound
My breath it leaves me to speak it
My legs they tremble to the ground
Wish I was a Bible thumpin fool
Ye from the old school
A mind as narrow as the road I walk
Always upright when I talk but
Take my hand and you will see...
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God Save The South
It was a red hot night night in mobile
Sweat glistened on the reverends chin
His mohair suit was shinin
He told us all about sin
It could be wall to wall in wall street
We could be livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
Across the street in the pool hall
Bubba put the eight ball down
Its a high five celebration
They passed the jack around
Its wall to wall in wall street
Were livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Shut your mouth
Some long haired boys with guitars
Playin behind the chicken wire
Theyre goin up to new york city
Gonna sing about atlantas fire
It could be wall to wall in wall street
We could be livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
And God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
And God saved the south
So,yankee boy shut your mouth
And God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
So, yankee boy shut your mouth
God saved the south
So, yankee boy shut your mouth
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second thoughts of the past
Her soft hands half-open
About to touch mine
I shapes some words inside my mouth
My tongue almost slipped
But I stopped the conceived utterance
We left without saying goodbye
We traveled paths
That never crossed again
I sometimes think this time
What if she touched my hand
They were trembling
What if I uttered the words
Necessary for said occasion
“I love you, please do not go! ”
Why did I close my mouth that day
Why did she not touch me?
Love should have won.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Is Music
What is music?
What is music?
Is music the languages that shoot out of my mouth and speak in silence?
Is music the moving of my lip according to my mind command?
What is music?
Music is the one two word that my mind put together in my mouth
Music is the airs that escape a snap of my violence teeth
Music is the wisdom sound my mind and mouth produce
Music is the combine sound that entertain my ear drum
What is music?
Music is a simple sound I verbalize to state my joyful soul
Music is the jingle that loosen my soul in time of desire
Music is the sounds that launch me to a free world
Music is the spirit that struggle in me
What is music?
Music is the sound I scream from my mouth to a free humanity
Music is a one two word I yell
Music is the lyric I cry to express my mental mind,
My beating heart
My jumping feet
My shouting soul
My sweating body
What is music?
Music is the rhythm of my voice, what is music? ?
poem by Robert Otim
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A Single Candle/Death Herself
A single flame lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death
Her hands clasped anrond their souls
The souls of the dead
She feeds of their screams
The screams of the dead
Her legs lay bellow her
Bellow death
Her black gown over her body
The body of death
Her chest rises and falls with her breath
The breath of death
Her cloak drawn over her long flowing jet hair
The face of death
Her eyes unmoved unfeeling
Do you see it?
Do you see the soul of death?
Do you feel it?
Her skin as white as snow as it fades into darkness
The snow of tears
Her cloths as dark as night that swallows the light
The dark we all shall see
Her eyes close as she feels their souls flow
Flow from the dead
She leaves them there to lay in darkness
She steals from the dead
A single candle lights their faces filled with her
Filled with death
They fall into the darkness of her eyes, of her heart
The darkness of death
A single candle shall stay to light their way
Their way through the dark
A single candle holds their past
The pain and trials
A single candle lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death herself
A single candle
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Gypsy Bundle
This huddling in my coat, this gypsy bundle
In liverpool, in squalor cast adrift
A dirty ragged mess of desperation
Though devil-touched I took as gods gift
No history, no owner, no rhyme, no reason
Nor explanation of his sorry state
And yet with all the fire of the survivor
I couldnt leave it
I couldnt leave it to its fate
What are we to do with it?
Dirty, ragged, coloured breed
Welcome it with open arms?
Welcome one more mouth to feed?
Could your own blood not provide you
With the gratitude you need?
We will call the boy heathcliff!
And every man on earth conceals a secret
On which he feeds and yet tears him apart
And in this child so great that complication
Will surely destroy the strongest heart
And as you fall into the traps he sets you
And as youre drawn to cross his reckless line
And as I watch you peer into his darkness
I pray youll never search
I pray youll never search for mine
What are we to do with it?
Dirty, ragged, coloured breed
Welcome it with open arms?
Welcome one more mouth to feed?
Could your own blood not provide you
With the gratitude you need?
We will call the boy heathcliff!
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 10
Arise oh God and lift up your hand
For all around the wicked do stand
Like a lion in the den, they secretly wait
Crouched at the door, waiting at the gate
To devour the just and destroy without cause
To oppress the poor and all without pause
And no appeal to the wicked can make them budge
They neither consider their end, nor consider the Judge
Who is the Lord and King forever
And who holds time in His hand
It you Lord, bringing justice to the fatherless
And causing the righteous to stand
And on that day, when the Lord takes His place
The wicked will hide, they will cover their face
And they will cry out ' we were ignorant you see'
Yet forever in darkness they forever shall be
poem by Frank McEleny
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Ping Pong
I killed them one by one
methodically
never looking in their eyes
gun to the head
and bang
pull the trigger
and that sound
would ping and pong around me
a musical death sound.
PAUSE
I'd been quartered near to basra
we'd got rid of most of those
sorry - god damned arabs -
wearing fundamental clothes
the truth is that it got to me
and everything i've done
i thought was for god and country
and i thought that we had won.
But now the truth is testifed
and i have to make a plea
that all those things i done to them
was on orders - don't you see -
i am not a angry man
i have not a grain in me
that would really ever lead my men
into such depravity.
OK - we did things different
in that gaol house near baghdad
OK - we may have overstepped
the orders that we had
but we were never questionning
all the orders that they gave
we had heard our president
say this country we would save.
Those damned iraquis had so much
of evil weaponry
not just guns and planes and tanks
but those WMDs.
So we could never find them
and they may well not be there
but sitting in this courtroom
i am making up a prayer
why if saddam was so evil
did we have to........
PAUSE
Ping pong those bullets raced
clean and tight behind my face.
poem by David Keig
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Prayer For Elizabeth
In the morning
of my memory
you bake
apple pies.
And grow very tired
and sit very still
and sit very silent
as the camera
undresses reality
leaves you
alone
sculpted sunlight
naked as a
lonely as a
photograph.
In the evening
of my memory
the touch of
your hand asks:
'Donall? '
The cradle of my arm
answers:
'Yes, Elizabeth? '
And although nothing is
said:
the fire's glow
nods & knows
the quiet secrets
we share
between us.
In the night
time of my memory
now when darkness
sees you
(again a little girl)
hear you tell
how you thought
every woman
dressed in black
on the white ribbons
of distant roads
was your Mammy
walking towards you
though she had gone
and never come back
(the grownups mentioned Heaven)
from the Spring sunlight
and the white white clothes
drying on the currant bushes
(her heart stopped its beating
your heart skipped a beat)
and the rope fell from
your hand
and the game was left
unplayed
and everyone forgot about
the white white clothes
and...they rotted on
the currant bushes.
Now in the night
time of my memory
when I long to touch
your hand
(and my heart
misses you)
and the fire smiles
upon my face
and the shadows
fall upon
the empty chair
then thought
becomes you
and you
become a memory
and your memory
becomes my prayer.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Dancing on the sea
Exotic sounds
Staring as if hypnotized.
The moon savouring enchanted, those movements
almost stationary The sound of the sea,
His light footsteps, move across the floor
as his eyes distracted,
confident, almost cocky
as his drawn by an hand, on his hips and head,
A symmetrical dance, which mingled the waves sound
almost dancing with them.
The quiet beach, sandy was coloured gold,
under the moon watching.
She approached 'him with the harmony,
of the wave's movements
Reflecting him like almost dancing on the sea.
poem by Luca Menin
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Across The Door
THE fiddles were playing and playing,
The couples were out on the floor;
From converse and dancing he drew me,
And across the door.
Ah! strange were the dim, wide meadows,
And strange was the cloud-strewn sky,
And strange in the meadows the corncrakes,
And they making cry!
The hawthorn bloom was by us,
Around us the breath of the south
White hawthorn, strange in the night-time
His kiss on my mouth!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Fellatio
you took my soul
in your mouth and sucked
the colors from the last
leaves of autumn...
the snow from the night sky
before it touched the ground.
the sense of danger
from the little boy's heart,
before he climbed the tree.
the sadness from the body still,
in the casket no one dared touch.
the sound of crackling from the fire,
in the shelter of the cave...
the light from the dawn,
as if night holding on,
clinging to what has been!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Southern Singer
Written In Madison Caweln's 'Lyrics and Idyls.'
Herein are blown from out the South
Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth--
As sweet in voice as, in perfume,
The night-breath of magnolia-bloom.
Such sumptuous languor lures the sense--
Such luxury of indolence--
The eyes blur as a nymph's might blur,
With water-lilies watching her.
You waken, thrilling at the trill
Of some wild bird that seems to spill
The silence full of winey drips
Of song that Fancy sips and sips.
Betimes, in brambled lanes wherethrough
The chipmunk stripes himself from view,
You pause to lop a creamy spray
Of elder-blossoms by the way.
Or where the morning dew is yet
Gray on the topmost rail, you set
A sudden palm and, vaulting, meet
Your vaulting shadow in the wheat.
On lordly swards, of suave incline,
Entessellate with shade and shine,
You shall misdoubt your lowly birth,
Clad on as one of princely worth:
The falcon on your wrist shall ride--
Your milk-white Arab side by side
With one of raven-black.--You fain
Would kiss the hand that holds the rein.
Nay, nay, Romancer! Poet! Seer!
Sing us back home--from there to here;
Grant your high grace and wit, but we
Most honor your simplicity.--
Herein are blown from out the South
Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth--
As sweet in voice as, in perfume,
The night-breath of magnolia-bloom.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Sound of Her Memory
Every day I hear the sound of
your memory ringing loudly
In my ears and the mind of my
heart feeling the beat of your beings.
Absent trace of songs and true
stories: all of a mouth no longer speaks.
Soundless, unreasoning, unjustified
hostess [fear], host [you] and
anxiety and phobia were sidebars.
Number of years ago,
a door opened and reluctantly
she entered and took her seat, with
quivering a heart, crossing
her wrist and becoming
captive of the dark.
Its 3 in every morning,
no sleep still,
because
the sound of
locked doors,
bulging eyes,
howling winds and being
surrounded by human fence.
And she lay paralyzed in bed never
to walk again because laden sound of fear
fixed her legs and tied her tongue, as well as,
muzzling voices of family and friends.
Only when the sound of death loosen its tight grip
on fear, did her face speak in glow
and her mouth said 'I'm afraid.'
After hours, her
regurgitating heart and irregular blood flow ceased to be.
The sound of the doctor was clearly heard: 'we tried to save her'
Silent tears flowed as I looked down into her quiet face, eyes shut,
partially opened mouth being fixed with a white piece
of cloth circling chin and head, forever closing the sound of her speech.
At the viewing, her left hand humbly rested on her right one
in respect and honor of the Ripper, and leaving
the sound of her memory…
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Warmth
Pull over
Let me do all the work
Chorus
My hands wrapped around
Stroking up and down
But nothing can compare to
The warmth of my mouth
I love every sound you make
When I'm down
Nothing can prepare you for
The Warmth of my
Verse 1
Mouth against your mouth
Getting you aroused
Whisper in your ear
I think I'll take it further south
Kissing on your neck
Rubbing on your leg
Slide a little further up
I feel you get erect
And now we're flesh against flesh
Breathing on your chest
So anxious to touch it
My mouth is getting wet
Just like the water from the shore
Let your rain pour
Baby brace yourself for
Chorus 2
My hands wrapped around
Stroking up and down (let's see how long you can last inside)
But nothing can compare to the warmth of my mouth
I love every sound you make
When I'm down (Just hear the water splash about)
But nothing can prepare you for
The warmth of my mouth
No place warmer than my mouth....
Bridge
Start off slow
Circles
Then deeper and deep it goes
Kisses so sensual
Tasteful
I love giving you a show
The warmth of my...
Do you like that?
Now it's my turn
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Light In The Tigers Eyes
Sometime I cannot imagine the difference
Between you and the blackest night
You know those nights when only tigers stalk
And lie waiting for the sound of your breath
The faintest reflecting backlight is in their eyes
So I can only say one thing in your defence
You have laid with tigers
You have their scent
You know how they stalk and what they sense
I do not
And so I am terrified to lay in the thicket
And wait
---------
Have you seen a tigers foot
Stare at it soft and silent
Able to tread with no sound
On the leaf strewn floor of its jungleI
It can kill quickly without fuss and song
Except of course for its victims
Noises of dying
On a dark night I am scared
Of you in the same way
You with that tigers breath
And stealth that terrifies me so
Please I will beg
Please don't
---------
Growls snarls and ferocity
Are just conversation
To you and the tiger
Your cigar at the end of dinner
Your confidence in terrifying
The bridle you have on me
My fear is the peg
Your look is the rope
Attached to my collar
Staking me out
To wait
In the silenced black night
To wait
For you and the tiger
To pounce
poem by Geoffrey Fafard
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Betrothed
You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,
You have said my name as a prayer.
Here where trees are planted by the water
I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,
And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,
My mother remembers the agony of her womb
And long years that seemed to promise more than this.
She says, "You do not love me,
You do not want me,
You will go away."
In the country whereto I go
I shall not see the face of my friend
Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses;
Together we shall not find
The land on whose hills bends the new moon
In air traversed of birds.
What have I thought of love?
I have said, "It is beauty and sorrow."
I have thought that it would bring me lost delights, and splendor
As a wind out of old time . . .
But there is only the evening here,
And the sound of willows
Now and again dipping their long oval leaves in the water.
poem by Louise Bogan
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A Night of Storm
Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown,
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,
Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone.
Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
More dark and strange thy veiled agony,
City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden
What stormier woes, what lives that groan and beat,
Stern and thin-cheeked, against time's heavier sleet,
Rude fates, hard hearts, and prisoning poverty.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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To Them That Mourn
Lift up your heads: in life, in death,
God knoweth his head was high.
Quit we the coward's broken breath
Who watched a strong man die.
If we must say, 'No more his peer
Cometh; the flag is furled.'
Stand not too near him, lest he hear
That slander on the world.
The good green earth he loved and trod
Is still, with many a scar,
Writ in the chronicles of God,
A giant-bearing star.
He fell: but Britain's banner swings
Above his sunken crown.
Black death shall have his toll of kings
Before that cross goes down.
Once more shall move with mighty things
His house of ancient tale,
Where kings whose hands were kissed of kings
Went in: and came out pale.
O young ones of a darker day,
In art's wan colours clad,
Whose very love and hate are grey -
Whose very sin is sad.
Pass on: one agony long-drawn
Was merrier than your mirth,
When hand-in-hand came death and dawn,
And spring was on the earth.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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At Glan-y-Wern
White-robed against the threefold white
Of shutter, glass and curtains' lace,
She flashed into the evening light
The brilliance of her gipsy face:
I saw the evening in her light.
Clear, from the soft hair to the mouth,
Her ardent face made manifest
The sultry beauty of the South:
Below, a red rose, climbing, pressed
Against the roses of her mouth.
So, in the window's threefold white,
O'ertrailed with foliage like a bower,
She seemed, against the evening light,
Amongst the flowers herself a flower,
A tiger-lily sheathed in white.
poem by Arthur Symons
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