Fof II
Old movie barely breathes, silver & grey.
Crying dew tears, steamy smoke.
Revealing absorbing true shapes
of grey bones
Wet tongue whisper under the lamp light.
Unintelligible figures.
Not much to see of.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Fog
Old movie morning...
The sun barely breathes, silver & grey colours.
Black & white grass heads, crying dew tears.
The land wakes with mugs of stemming smoke.
Revealing absorbing true shapes
Of tree grey morning bones
Wet tongue on my ears.
Whisper shadow from the lamp light.
Blind eyes draw, unintelligible figures.
Not much to see, on the walls' house.
Trapped in mimic cage.
The fog tricks silver and grey hats.
Of smoking breaths.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waxen Figures
Greasy normally solid of form
wax cold wax grey still lifeless.
Grey lifeless dead wax
though strangely sentient.
Waxen figures grouped
on mirror window’s ledge.
Light is dim flickering
in mesmerizing flame
voices husky superimposed
over crackle creaking rain.
Semi-transparent grey ghosts
undulating by light of candle flame.
Wax cold wax grey still lifeless
cold wax warm wax blistering hot
a burning nova in cosmic creation.
Wick like a vein the soul within you.
Waxen figures my hand shaped and fed
devoid of life where is inherent meaning.
Strike a match instantaneous in friction ignite
how can match give, this sharp golden light?
Breathe life into figures
figures move transformed,
to a crisp white frost through
radiant warmth of an inner sun.
My nostrils quiver, a smell
obscure but heavy hangs in air.
Beyond comprehension untouchable
like smoke it spews forth
a continuous gently wavering stream
so faint it is barely there.
Is this the smell of creation?
Creation on a lesser scale
creation none the less.
Glorious in its wonder.
Independent of me from birth
figures walk through dimensions
beyond existence,
still I catch a glimpse
of multiplied universal wonder
figures glide serenely through.
Seen and unseen by me.
So many different worlds
so many different signs
on elastic edge of understanding
play before my plasmatic mind.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grey, Grey Sky
Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.
And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.
And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.
My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.
And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.
But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs.
poem by Grace Hutton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silver
There are clouds that hang
silver-grey in the air,
before the winter sun
gives its first rays
of a drawling day.
Silver-grey the Monday starts
and while the day’s hours
pass much to slowly,
I am summoned to the old chief
with his silver-grey hair.
One of the women clerks
who wants to be boss,
wants to push a silver knife
into a colleges back.
I leave them alone to count their silver pounds
and wash my hands in the bathroom,
with a silver ray of water that squirts out of the tap.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grey
Grey road stretched through grey rain.
Grey rain fell though grey mist.
Grey mist enveloped all,
all the eye could see,
all the land,
all the sky
and me.
Grey covered all,
all the way down to the sea.
Glimpsed through grey the swell of the ocean,
riding the waves a wind surfer surfing,
chopping, fighting the crests with swift motion
skirting the spray, sail unfurling.
Stopping, I stared at that sight in the mist,
oh how he came dancing over the sea,
right through the rain a state of sheer bliss,
the wondrous frolic rippling throughout me
making me tingle right down deep inside.
That misty image ripped all grey apart
a glorious vision of freedom untied,
returning tremendous joy to my heart
filling me up, bringing tears to my eyes,
emerging from grey a great love of life.
poem by Diana Rosser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silver Tear Drop, Crying
Moonlight shatters
The crystals disperse
Flakes of winter
Fright's curse
Grey clouds of nowhere
Silver world awakes
To the silver sun beams
To the silver birds of song
Silver world awakes not to pleasure
Not to rhyme
Silver world awakes to sorrow
To the silver tear drop, crying
And with every tear the color fades
And more silver becomes the day
Spindling more silver
The silver devils play
And in my castle I hear the cry
The sharp shrieks of broken delight
The blinding light
The shivering fright
And in my castle I hear the wind
That humbles the calls
That corrodes my walls
The silver hissing wind
Driving nails into my coffin
The silver hissing wind
A dead heart will never soften
Meaningless are my dreams
Evanescent dreams
Grey clouds
Silver world
Faded clockwork, clicks
The hour passes, the hand ticks
And I awake into my dreams
Decadent reality, bursting seams
The clock now stops and forever so
Till I return but I shall not go
poem by Oves Anwar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Day for you (3)
may the grey arms of the morn'
turn into life for a day
may silver meet you just there
where your chest is hollow bare
feeling like a ladder on a stair
sturdy ladder legs standing stronger
on the grey arms of early morning
silver legs staring seeing
seven doves' innocent love
in grey arms of the dawning
Hauntings
In the grey tumult of these after years
Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part;
And less-than-echoes of remembered tears
Hush all the loud confusion of the heart;
And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying
Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood, -
Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying,
Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude.
So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams,
Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams,
Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men,
Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible,
And light on waving grass, he knows not when,
And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1914)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn To Eros
O Eros, silently smiling one, hear me.
Let the shadow of thy wings
brush me.
Let thy presence
enfold me, as if darkness
were swandown.
Let me see that darkness
lamp in hand,
this country become
the other country
sacred to desire.
Drowsy god,
slow the wheels of my thought
so that I listen only
to the snowfall hush of
thy circling.
Close my beloved with me
in the smoke ring of thy power,
that we way be, each to the other,
figures of flame,
figures of smoke,
figures of flesh
newly seen in the dusk.
poem by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grey Lagoons
(ferry)
Blue suns and grey lagoons
Silver starfish with honeymoons
All these and more to choose
If you
Satin teardrops on velvet lights
Morning sickness on friday nights
Heaven knows what others I might bring
To you
Broken partings making strange goodbyes
Hopeless cases with fake alibis
Even hoping well be there to share
With you
Blue suns and grey lagoons
Grey lagoons
Grey lagoons
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Grey Blue Eyes
I feel for the light
Your glory was lost that night
And no mind can't get me right
And now I'm praying that you'll find me out
Stone, stone has pulled me down
But my faith has got me bound to your grey blue eyes
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Don't forget my broken heart
You remember it from the start
You made it and it's all a part
Of your grey blue eyes
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
You're gone and I know I'm dead
I've lost my way
Can't find me in your grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Last Train
She was waiting for the last train,
under the lamp light.
The rain drizzled
and the lamp made shadows
on a damp grey wall and as it did
ghostly figures loomed,
spookily, highlighting
the loneliness of the night.
Passing the time, she read posters
‘drink this beer, buy that car,
holiday in Spain.
She shivered, wet, tired,
no umbrella, wearing a
thin plastic Mac.
As her train pulled away,
she snuggled up inside a carriage.
Looking out of its window,
there, against the damp wall
was a tramp, dirty, ragged,
silently swigging Meths,
no coat, no train ticket,
drinking his damnation.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grey Grey Morning
GREY GREY MORNING
Grey grey morning
Purim again
Where to begin?
A poem is not just any words-
A poem needs a music of its own-
A beauty-
Lines that are memorable.
A poet cannot just be
What one happens to see and feel
At the moment
A poem must have lines which others will remember.
Grey grey morning
Purim again
Another poem about a poem
Is there one line here worth remembering?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Settling
I was welcomed here—clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow
tinted apricot as she looked west,
Tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun
forever rising and setting.
Now I am given
a taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,
a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,
I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,
into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.
Grey is the price
of neighboring with eagles, of knowing
a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.
poem by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grey Skies
Grey skies
Skies are grey, rain all day, perfect time to sit and pray.
It matters not, if you’re at home or in your car.
Receiving CHRIST is the best thing by far.
Open your heart and pray to him
For all your needs and desires
He will put out that flaming fire.
And when you feel that your problems
Are as grey as the skies, and the tears fall from your eyes
And it seems that life is not worth living
And you are so tired of giving.
Look through the grey rainy day
Inside you a small voice will say
“ I am here to lead the way
For tomorrow is another day
And when you see the sky a beautiful blue
It’s because I created it for you.
So don’t give up, don’t despair
For when you
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!