The Party I Mentioned
I appeared at the dumpsters
taking my shoes off
as I turned
I walked through the
kitchen
and down the hall.
Heavy melodic
Turkish vibes resonated
throughout the wire thin
incense trails.
I lifted the blinds. White wall.
The lights were a faded green
and flickering.
Ince Ince Bir Kar Yagar-
it never ceased.
The door opened to broken
cities,
flames atop cars,
it was neither day nor night.
I turned back into the room,
Now an acre of grasslands,
people dancing,
same song.
Impulsively
my heart connected. My body
afterwards.
I closed my eyes,
but saw everything as clearly
as if they were open.
Patchouly scents
came in waves like
pain.
The field.
Gold, red, yellow beauty.
Buddha's hand was over the sun,
shunning in golden lust.
poem by Malcolm McGill
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Related quotes
About Last Night.....
i finally went to bed at
1: 30 a.m. and when i undress myself
as i usually do,
when i turned off the light
you turned it on
in a little while you while naked
went up bed
and walked towards the door
opened it and then closed it again
as though darkness
when the lights were turned off again
was a big mouth
eating the whole of your naked body
and then
gone
i wished i were asleep.
but it wasn't
because the following morning
the whole room was as silent as
clothes on the floor
without a body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rapture
Toe to toe, dancing very close.
Body breathing almost comatose.
Wall to wall, people hypnotized.
And they're stepping lightly.
Hang each night, in rapture.
In rapture.
Back to back, sacroiliac.
Spineless movement and a wild attack.
Face to face, sightless solitude.
And it's finger popping.
Twenty four hour shopping in rapture.
Fab five freddy told me everybody's fly.
D.j. spinning, i said, "my, my."
Flash is fast, flash is cool.
Francois, c'est pas flashe non due.
And you don't stop, sure shot.
Go out to the parking lot.
And you get in your car and drive real far.
And you drive all night and then you see a light.
And it comes right down and it lands on the ground.
And out comes the man from mars.
And you try to run but he's got a gun.
And he shoots you dead and he eats your head.
And then you're in the man from mars.
You go out at night eating cars.
You eat cadillacs, lincolns too.
Mercurys and subaru.
And you don't stop.
You keep on eating cars.
Then when there's no more cars you go out at night
And eat up bars where the people meet.
Face to face.
Dance cheek to cheek.
One to one.
Man to man.
Dance toe to toe.
Don't move too slow 'cause the man from mars is through with cars.
He's eating bars.
Yeah, wall to wall.
Door to door.
Hall to hall.
He's gonna eat 'em all.
Rapture.
Be pure.
Man to man, body muscular.
Sismic decibel by the jugular.
Wall to wall tea time technology and a digital ladder.
No sign of bad luck in rapture.
In rapture.
In rapture.
song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Come Home
I left you there, strong and sturdy
Lights turned on and heat cranked up
Closed your door, to take a tour
With the girl I love so much
I traded my home for another that night
And although it was brief
Someone decided that for that night
I should feel grief
I took my leave from my girlfriend
(my home from home)
To travel back to where I left you
With lights turned on and heat cranked up
I desired your physical feeling and glow
And so I walked…
“A mile” I said “It will not be so bad”
But little did I know
Of what I did not have
“MY KEY” I gasped
I forgot it in your depths
While I walked towards you
I did not know if you’d let me rest
I tried to think of your unclosed door
Welcoming on in
And so I chanted in the late night din…
Please let me come home
I pray and ask and plead for home
I need, and desire, and glorify you home
I asked and was given a crack in the door
You let me come home.
poem by Martin Byrne
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Alas my Rose
Alas my rose
Stole my youth years
I love the hands were
Happened to me does not smell roses
Alas Alas rose my rose
I do not know my carpet what happens when
I've been nomadic cranes
I had ants on the road
I remember one dear
Alas Alas rose rose
Did not hurt me cruel...
Weird strange world
I got called in Konya
Shabby wrote my tag
Oh, my dear rose rose
Was not keep my hands, slice..
İnce waist, did not hold
friend not formed into the hands of
I do not get Muradiye
Rose Alas, alas rose
My arm was broken wings..
sabit ince Kayseri 05/10/2012
poem by Sabit Ince
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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Night was coming
Night was coming
with a piercing huge orange sun
breaking through
white and black clouds
in the west.
It found a gap
and the sun was hanging
like a orange ball
above the street
and it was blinding.
Cars passed barely visible
above the orange glare
and some had already
turned their lights on.
The sun dipped down
below some trees
and for a time
it glowed behind them
and soon it would be dark
and the first stars
were already appearing
and a full yellow moon
was rising,
but below bright lights
was already burning
right across the city
in colours of amber
streetlights
green, yellow and red
traffic lights,
blue lights flashing
on police cars
and almost every bright colour
caught on neon signs
while people came and went
to different destinations
some smiling and relaxed,
others in a hurry
and some others
locked in a world of their own.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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It's a shame the Manchester United situation turned sour.
Anniversary (November 24)
The treasure of trees
golden mounds
on the green ground.
Urged by the morning sun
yellow leaves
coruscate in chilled air
radiant
with the afterglow of a summer
well lived.
But thirty-two years ago
the light died
when dark death’s hand
seized your struggling heart.
We buried you,
bright treasure,
under still
green grass.
The mud from your grave
clung to our shoes
as we wept our grief
in bright puffs of white breath
ascending like incense
into the good sky.
And thirty-two years later
I still choke on bitter sorrow.
Tears
still sting my eyes.
But looking through the bright window,
I see in November’s gold,
a faint reflection
of the enduring glory
that lights your
endless day.
poem by Steven Federle
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Thats The Way Love Turned Out To Be
(quinton claunch, dave hall & ry cooder)
Brand new day, brave new man
Its a miracle what love can do
All the joys romance can bring
Come smiling down on a heart thats true
When love is real, you cant turn it around
Its like a river running down to the sea
This old world turns around for lovers like you
Its not the way love turned out for me
People in love build a house they can share
Takes a long time to get it just right
But a fire can start in the kitchen somewhere
And burn that little house down over night
That flame burning bright in your heart, I believed that
You turned it on just for me
Another man held that fire, burned our house to the ground
Thats the way love turned out for me
People turn out for the big show
Pretty flowers turn out in the spring
And the light turns out in the kitchen
When somebody pulls on the string
But theres no light burning in my kitchen
And no doors open up with my key
And I aint got no one to turn to
Thats the way love turned out for me
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Honey to Hussein
Honey-to-Hussein
Honey-to-Hussein
You've been a cloud in the sky,
Hussein did to my heart network.
Why me, did you get,
Did my heart Hussein oil.
I know now, are you there,
In secret, are you in secret,
Do you compete with the Yaren,
Hussein did to my heart mountains.
Do not release news from there,
I Do not Get Hi emission,
Carter Do not stay in my house,
Hussein did fit in my heart...
'Last spring I returned to Winter'
Demetevler I search,
I believe that the decision did not stay,
Did Hussein ties to my heart.
Çoş tu do fine spring,
He ran to the wedding of friends,
I was pretty choked voice,
Did my heart Hussein era.
Gözpı narları m does not stop,
Disease does not clamp down,
Thin wedding ring does not
Hussein Hu'ğ dun my heart.
City 24/02/2007 16: 18 Hour
sabit ince
poem by Sabit Ince
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No Difference
i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old man standing
by his son's casket
draped by a flag...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw an old man
standing on the corner begging
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy
playing ball in the street
laughing and dodging cars
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a crack head shivering
by an electric heater in a bare apartment
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young a/g student
helping some kid with his math
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a desperate girl
walking the streets
looking for a john
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young girl's room
stuffed animals on the bed
pictures of her and her daddy on the wall
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a young man
wild-eyed with fear
in a prison cell
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy gone hunting
with his grandpa on thanksgiving morn
with his dog by his side
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i pulled back the veil of time...
knowing, there is no difference!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Bologna: A Poem About Gold
Give me this time, my first and severe
Italian, a poem about gold,
The left corners of eyes, and the heavy
Night of the locomotives that brought me here,
And the heavy wine in the old green body,
The glass that so many have drunk from.
I have brought my bottle back home every day
To the cool cave, and come forth
Golden on the left corner
of a cathedral's wing:
White wine of Bologna,
And the knowing golden shadows
At the left corners of Mary Magdalene's eyes,
While St. Cecilia stands
Smirking in the center of a blank wall,
The saint letting her silly pipes wilt down,
Adoring
Herself, while the lowly and richest of all women eyes
Me the beholder, with a knowing sympathy, her love
For the golden body of the earth, she knows me,
Her halo faintly askew,
And no despair in her gold
That drags thrones down
And then makes them pay for it.
Oh,
She may look sorry to Cecilia
And
The right-hand saint on the tree,
But
She didn't look sorry to Raphael,
And
I bet she didn't look sorry to Jesus,
And
She doesn't look sorry to me.
(Who would?)
She doesn't look sorry to me.
She looks like only the heavy deep gold
That drags thrones down
All day long on the vine.
Mary in Bologna, sunlight I gathered all morning
And pressed in my hands all afternoon
And drank all day with my golden-breasted
Love in my arms.
poem by James Arlington Wright
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New Light New Colour
An old man
welcomes
his four day old
grandson
white stillness pure gold purple wonder gold strength pink joy
pink infinity navy blue now strong indigo blue light blue fountain
the green first reason endless yellow compassionate orange
royal red
single red free orange free yellow
green depth as clear as crystal all attractive light blue
strong indigo blue strong navy blue pink wishes gold compassion
compassionate purple gold of golds of creativity
who is quiet
and naturally very small and delicate
red inspirer orange giver yellow help dazzling green
light blue of the delicate with indigo blue eyes navy blue good
with pink kind eyes golden hair
golden complexion purple complexion
gold warmth of white space
white of whites
gold truth purple mentor funny gold pink friend of children
navy blue of nature indigo blue knowledge light blue song of nature
green creation yellow in senses orange guide red way
white and gold love
of all purple knowledge gold presence pink in thunder and storms
navy blue pleasure indigo blue beauty light blue lines
all attractive green of yellow stirring music of orange red refuge
clear red orange orange yellow yellow with green giving hands
of green light blue truth indigo blue essence navy blue sparkle
pink with gold purple guide gold here here white
His feet are curled
His fingers as small as tiny magic wands
His eyes large
Some skin is peeling off his small face
Everything is perfectly formed
white
is the sun with penetrating vision purple and golden constant winner
gold reach of all pink infinite navy blue indigo blue knowledge
light blue care
deep green in greens dedicated to yellow
orange truth
red peace
This perfect body was in his mother only a week ago
thinks the old man
He places his hand on the boys stomach
red glory orange beauty yellow
of green and light blue evenings handsome indigo blue
intelligent navy blue pink of pinks of gold golds purple purple
gold friend openness formless
white and gold
prevailing purple efficient purple purple origin purple form
gold and permanent pink navy blue belief indigo blue blue
dense green yellow orange red friend red
The boy almost gasps at this touch
He yawns
His eyes remain anxiously focused on the window
eager to understand the Australian light
poem by Bhupen Thakker
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The Love Has Gone
(rick astley/d. spatsley)
The love has gone
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
Wake up beside you, and hear you breathing
And I can feel you in my arms
No one can know just how Im feeling
Knowing that our love can come to no harm
But as I open my eyes
Then I start to realise
That youre gone and I cant go on
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
The love is gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
What have I done girl, to make you leave me
Didnt I love you for all those years
If you open your eyes
Baby, then youll realise
That youre wrong, and I cant go on
You know I cant go on
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
The love is gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
Nothing will ever come between us
If you will just take me back once more
Ill show you just how much I love you
If youll just come walking through that door
The love has gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
The love is gone, will we ever be the same
The feelings wrong, the joy has turned to pain
(chorus to fade)
song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 08: The Box With Silver Handles
Well,—it was two days after my husband died—
Two days! And the earth still raw above him.
And I was sweeping the carpet in their hall.
In number four—the room with the red wall-paper—
Some chorus girls and men were singing that song
'They'll soon be lighting candles
Round a box with silver handles'—and hearing them sing it
I started to cry. Just then he came along
And stopped on the stairs and turned and looked at me,
And took the cigar from his mouth and sort of smiled
And said, 'Say, what's the matter?' and then came down
Where I was leaning against the wall,
And touched my shoulder, and put his arm around me . . .
And I was so sad, thinking about it,—
Thinking that it was raining, and a cold night,
With Jim so unaccustomed to being dead,—
That I was happy to have him sympathize,
To feel his arm, and leaned against him and cried.
And before I knew it, he got me into a room
Where a table was set, and no one there,
And sat me down on a sofa, and held me close,
And talked to me, telling me not to cry,
That it was all right, he'd look after me,—
But not to cry, my eyes were getting red,
Which didn't make me pretty. And he was so nice,
That when he turned my face between his hands,
And looked at me, with those blue eyes of his,
And smiled, and leaned, and kissed me—
Somehow I couldn't tell him not to do it,
Somehow I didn't mind, I let him kiss me,
And closed my eyes! . . . Well, that was how it started.
For when my heart was eased with crying, and grief
Had passed and left me quiet, somehow it seemed
As if it wasn't honest to change my mind,
To send him away, or say I hadn't meant it—
And, anyway, it seemed so hard to explain!
And so we sat and talked, not talking much,
But meaning as much in silence as in words,
There in that empty room with palms about us,
That private dining-room . . . And as we sat there
I felt my future changing, day by day,
With unknown streets opening left and right,
New streets with farther lights, new taller houses,
Doors swinging into hallways filled with light,
Half-opened luminous windows, with white curtains
Streaming out in the night, and sudden music,—
And thinking of this, and through it half remembering
A quick and horrible death, my husband's eyes,
The broken-plastered walls, my boy asleep,—
It seemed as if my brain would break in two.
My voice began to tremble . . . and when I stood,
And told him I must go, and said good-night—
I couldn't see the end. How would it end?
Would he return to-morrow? Or would he not?
And did I want him to—or would I rather
Look for another job?—He took my shoulders
Between his hands, and looked down into my eyes,
And smiled, and said good-night. If he had kissed me,
That would have—well, I don't know; but he didn't . .
And so I went downstairs, then, half elated,
Hoping to close the door before that party
In number four should sing that song again—
'They'll soon be lighting candles round a box with silver handles'—
And sure enough, I did. I faced the darkness.
And my eyes were filled with tears. And I was happy.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Witch
Eyes, rivulets of red that run beneath a canopy
Of green-tinged lashes –
Tear blood playing on the grey-white skin,
Stretched across the twin peaks of cheekbone.
That slender pillar of a neck –
Magnet of eroticism, blinds to
Veins gorging on the flesh,
Dancing under pulse of blood –
Or whatever pumps inside.
Coal-black lips word intentions –
Castigations – variations of the horror
She was born to be.
O the hair! – a flame-orange avalanche
Thundering down to Hell
Where seething mounds of torn bodies lost their souls
To viler wants and fouler holes of
Scatological minds.
And the plunge of lavish breast –
E’er the siren’s weapon! –
Baits the mortal man –
Were he to chance his hand across
The certainty of doom.
But still we go, our weakness on display –
Hers will not a challenge be to see to our decay.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Under lust rain
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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In Mr Atkinson's Room
You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson's room
carrying towels in her arms
I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked
you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson's room
(he was either
in the lounge
or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand
book shop looking
for boy's annuals
of yesteryear
which he read
from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them
in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?
he won't
he's out
you said
but what if he does?
she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don't think he'd mind
you said
pressing her 5'5'' body
against the door
and looking into her
grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said
what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I'm in love with you
you said
she sighed
that's the umpteen time
you've told me that
she said
she dropped the towels
on Bob's bed
and put her arms
around your waist
and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand
on her buttocks
and said
that's because it's
umpteen times worse
or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed
her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming
a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob's
old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part
of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away
and said
it's nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we're not there
and put one
and one together
ok
you said
removing your hand
from her butt
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured
in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I've put it on
my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go
she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage
you looked around
Bob's room
at the ticking clock
and the blue
candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some
old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy's lips
and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth
and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Light at Killintringan (song)
The mouth of the harbour here quietly kissed
blue waves that waltzed from Kilkeel home to us
The springtime sun faded to "love's old sweet song"
And the light at Killintringan shone on
But your fingertips on my lips couldn't still
The secret fears of a working class kid
That you were too good was my very first thought
As the light at Killintringan came on
(chorus)
The beams from the lighthouse turned through the night
Lighting the perils hidden from sight
And we were the summer that never would fade
Our love like the doeskin bound for the blade
You turned seventeen and I turned from your heart
With Killintringan light lost in the dark
The autumn was passing, and snow would soon fall
Time didn't fix us, and it just kept on
Then, tears on your letter, we fell once again
As Killintringan light shone through the rain
The beams from the lighthouse turned through the night
Lighting the perils hidden from sight
And now looking back love, it all seems so plain
But I couldn't find a way to explain
The simplest of words wouldn't ever fly free
As Killintringan light searched o'er the sea
And down on his knees in the Queen Marg'ret Hall
underneath your photograph on the wall
A guy who still saw what he saw in your eyes
when Killintringan light scanned the night skies
The beams from the lighthouse turned through the night
Lighting the pearls there in plain sight
05 10 07
Santa Fe In Winter
The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim
infrequent streetlight bending at the neck
like a weighted stem. Years have built
the city in layers: balustrades filled in
with brick, adobe reinforced with steel,
and the rounded arches smoothed
with white cement. Neighborhoods
have changed the burro trails
to streets, bare at night—
no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs.
With daylight, the houses turned galleries
and stores turned restaurants open—
the Navajos wrapped in wool
crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza
to sell their handmade blankets,
silver rings, and necklaces
to travelers who will buy jewelry
as they buy everything—
another charming history for themselves.
poem by Deborah Ager
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