Black clouds of smoke rise
Escaping out of steel pipes;
Seek the blue of sky…
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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My Painting Uses Only Black And Red
black for the shadows
black for the high rise buildings
black for the horizon
black for the heavy smoke
from factory
chimneys and exhaust
pipes
red for the background
red for dried bloodstains
red for anger
red for a revolution
nothing for what is to be done.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Moody sky Sensitive sea
the moods of sky
the quirks of sea
The sky with its emotions
how the sensitive sea reflects?
The sky is all to itself
immersed in loneliness
so clear with thoughts
Blue without the blues
The sea is now blue
the silent waves rubbing the shores
watching the lonely sky
reaching out to it on the horizon
Soldiers of war, the dark black clouds
covering the blue sky
colouring the blue sea black
darkness rules!
The clouds so near, engulfing the sea
loud and stormy
ferocious waves
All in black, All in black!
poem by Sudarkodi Nagarethinam
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Big Black Smoke
She was sick and tired of country life.
A little country home,
A little country folk,
Made her blood run cold.
Now her mother pines her heart away,
Looking for her child in the big black smoke,
In the big black smoke.
Frailest, purest girl the world has seen,
According to her ma, according to her pa,
And everybody said,
That she knew no sin and did no wrong,
Till she walked the streets of the big black smoke,
Of the big black smoke.
Well, she slept in caffs and coffee bars and bowling alleys,
And every penny she had
Was spent on purple hearts and cigarettes.
She took all her pretty coloured clothes,
And ran away from home
And the boy next door,
For a boy named joe.
And he took her money for the rent
And tried to drag her down in the big black smoke,
In the big black smoke.
In the big black smoke.
In the big black smoke.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Me At My Fifth-Floor Window
To me at my fifth-floor window
The chimney-pots in rows
Are sets of pipes pandean
For every wind that blows;
And the smoke that whirls and eddies
In a thousand times and keys
Is really a visible music
Set to my reveries.
O monstrous pipes, melodious
With fitful tune and dream,
The clouds are your only audience,
Her thought is your only theme!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Smoke From Chimneys
Whenever you see
smoke rise up
from chimneys,
you think of her:
Anny Horowitz.
You think of Auschwitz.
1942.
A nine year old Jew.
Whenever you smell
smoke from chimneys
and see it
rise up into blue skies,
you remember her:
Anny with her blue eyes,
at Auschwitz
with her blonde hair
and sad face
dying there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Sky-Minded
Blue sky,
blue sky.
Looking at you, wishing the day by.
Blue sky,
purple sky.
Storm coming in, here it is, there's the eye.
Blue sky,
grey sky.
The earth is wailing, the thunder yells, and the clouds cry.
Blue sky,
grey sky,
black sky.
Tore away at the moon, swallowed stars, listened to the sun die.
Black sky
Green sky
Orange sky
Red sky
Pink and yellow and mean sky.
Come on and roll in; it's only in my mind.
poem by Delilah Miller
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Song Chorus
Life is funny; so are jokes
life's seasons come like clouds of smoke
some clouds are white, and some are black
some folks shoot dope, and some smoke crack
if life's so profound why am i so lost?
like a bottle on the ocean, tossed
and smacked around by big ol' boats
it's a miracle I've stayed afloat
thus far,
writing
on
a
napkin
in
this
bar...
poem by Ray Quesada
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A View Of This Place That I Remember
the back space of this house
used to be a green ricefield
and there was that tall mango tree
where i used to sit underneath
shading me from the scourging sun
i always remember
the view
of the carabaos grazing
with white herons standing on their back
and blue cottony clouds drifting above
the place is now cemented
with a wall as high as three men added-up
high buildings rise from here
reaching the cottony clouds out there
and the river is no longer a hype
but a big silent hard steel pipe.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Skeletons
Between yellow cranes groaning and bended
I saw people small as ants,
I saw people gather at skeletons of steel and concrete,
lost between ovens that cook glowing,
between hell-hot fires of iron and metal
I saw people struggle in the dusk
and this morning I came
past huge, long pipes that hiss like snakes
between yellow cranes groaning and bended.
Where white smoke are stoked through round chimneys
people were trapped and caged
between hell-hot fires of iron and metal
busy with their work as if dumb,
as if only machines with their humanity missing
I saw people gather at skeletons of steel and concrete,
through walls, doors and roofs that block off
lost in the circles that the city draws,
people were trapped and caged
with crying, screaming, gnashing machines everywhere
without any natural refreshment or relief
between yellow cranes groaning and bended
with tiredness, disconcert, alienation on every feature
they kept building
lost in the circles that the city draws.
Like beings coming from another planet,
ghosts just waiting for a coffin,
I saw people gather at skeletons of steel and concrete,
while some were clinging to black pipes
and children were laughing without concern
they kept building
on terrains with danger signs on the outside
without worrying, with there destiny determined.
Between yellow cranes groaning and bended
I saw people gather at skeletons of steel and concrete,
with their lives tinned, day and night
lost between ovens that cook glowing
and children were laughing without concern,
I saw people struggle in the dusk.
[Reference: Past skeletons of steel and concrete by Gert Strydom.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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When The Smoke Comes Out
when the smoke comes out
they are there to say that there is fire
on the chimney
when the smoke is black
they all say i have decided
when the smoke is white
they keep on praying since
no one is chosen
to lead the lost flock
without their grazing ground
during winter time
what if the smoke comes out
from my eyes and the smoke is black
and there is no fire in my heart?
what if i am lost? shall you care?
please don't. I must tell you i am happier
when left alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The New Cult King
In That Dream I Recall
Pieces Of Prisons
I'm Escaping
In The Next Big Religion
I Do The Cross Thing
The Cross Thing
Which Ever Way The Wind Blows
Your Mind In Time I'm Nine
Our Lives Unwind
We Find The Wine Red Or White
Like The Days Fade Away
A Cloud Of Smoke Blurred Eyes
You're Always Brighter In The Daytime
You Fight It After Midnight
It Just Seems To Me
It's Such A Joke Every
New Walk Thru Life
Just Inherits Christ
You Should Have To Prove Something First
Something First
Prove Something
You're A Godfiend
In That Dream I Recall
Pieces Of Prisons
I'm Escaping
>From A Black Hole I Crawl
song performed by by Mushroomhead from M3
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The weak flesh
Dress of silky black dreams
and marble sphere's layers
Seek nocturnal desire.
Breathe, through her moaning legs.
Like the open wings of a swan,
swing at the blue sun.
Contemplate, the rise over the devil course,
upon the weak flesh.
So good that death, may be sweet in our tongue.
That no Gods temptations, and afterlife,
dead will never rise.
Blandness flash swallows.
Redeemed pleasure of cast lights.
poem by Luca Menin
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109
a view of this place that i remember
the back space of this house
used to be a green ricefield
and there was that tall mango tree
where i used to sit underneath
shading me from the scourging sun
i always remember
the view
of the carabaos grazing
with white herons standing on their back
and blue cottony clouds drifting above
the place is now cemented
with a wall as high as three men added-up
high buildings rise from here
reaching the cottony clouds out there
and the river is no longer a hype
but a big silent hard steel pipe.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Disciple
Tom johnston
Night time, I jumped back in the alley
Saw a shadow closin in
And blue smoke all around the figure
A knife blade is flashing grim
I made my move to get away
Seems like nowhere to run
All of a sudden I was blinded by a flash
Devil of a man with a gun
Lightnin, it crackled all around me
Storm clouds are movin in
The blue smoke cleared so fast around me
The strange hunters gone again
I looked up to see what had happened
There he stood in front of me
He had a silver cape and eyes of red
With a button down limousine
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Quest
I am looking for Love. Has he passed this way,
With eyes as blue as the skies of May,
And a face as fair as the summer dawn?--
You answer back, but I wander on,--
For you say: 'Oh, yes; but his eyes were gray,
And his face as dim as a rainy day.'
Good friends, I query, I search for Love;
His eyes are as blue as the skies above,
And his smile as bright as the midst of May
When the truce-bird pipes: Has he passed this way?
And one says: 'Ay; but his face, alack!
Frowned as he passed, and his eyes were black.'
O who will tell me of Love? I cry!
His eyes are as blue as the mid-May sky,
And his face as bright as the morning sun;
And you answer and mock me, every one,
That his eyes were dark, and his face was wan,
And he passed you frowning and wandered on.
But stout of heart will I onward fare,
Knowing _my_ Love is beyond--somewhere,--
The Love I seek, with the eyes of blue,
And the bright, sweet smile unknown of you;
And on from the hour his trail is found
I shall sing sonnets the whole year round.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Reality...one
in a field of grass
underneath the morning clouds
a man with a black hat
white polo and marine blue pants
rides on a red motorbike
followed by a brown dog
and a black horse
one upon the other they tread
upon the road that you are talking
blue birds fly the skies
above the poplars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Out Into The Blue
Blue.
Sky blue,
Eyes of blue.
Blue eyes,
Soul deep pools.
Talking silent words,
Soul words,
Words of the soul.
A deep well.
Well of souls,
A welling up.
Soul free.
Free souls.
Souls escaping,
Escaping the body
To soar.
Soaring souls.
Free.
Free souls,
Into the sky.
Sky blue.
Blue souls.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Information Clouds
Information clouds in my thoughts like smoke.
The more I seem to learn, the less I see.
Does all knowledge lie in obscurity
With purpose to augment doubt—to provoke?
Is there understanding that facts revoke,
A pollution spread by zealous study?
The more I seem to learn, the less I see.
Information clouds in my thoughts like smoke.
What does this heaviest of fogs evoke
Beyond its acherontic density?
Past these overcast skies, is space empty,
A void beneath this aerosol cloak?
Information clouds in my thoughts like smoke.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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What Are We?
1) Two legs sat upon three legs,
With one leg in his lap;
In comes four legs
And runs away with one leg;
Up jumps two legs,
Catches up three legs,
Throws it after four legs,
And makes him dropp one leg.
What are we?
2) Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye,
And a long tail which she let fly;
And every time she went over a gap,
She left a bit of her tail in a trap.
3) Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.
What are we?
We have nothing to say today
We are being asked
What are we
And we think we are bullied
Because
Because we think we know what we are
Because we think we are the obvious
Plain like blue clouds, blue seas, blue kingfishers
Blue, blues, blue bruises, blue flag,
Blue crayon, blue surplus cars
Electric blue, shades of blue
We are black and blue
We feel blue
We think blue
We are blue.
And the obvious is like the biggest mountain ahead of us
And they ask: what is that?
And they see us
And ask us what are we?
Aren’t they all crazy?
We respect them and tell them nothing.
we have nothing to say forevermore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Met Death
I was waiting, watching one day
When Death came along, looking
As if there was something he wanted to say
His hair was as black as the sky at night
And in the wind it blew like smoke
He had come a long way in his worn black cloak
So I invited him in and I did say
If you’d like to you can stay
But Death said:
“I’m only passing through
For the clock’s hands they say
They are ticking the seconds of my life away”
And I answered,
Thinking I’d misunderstood
As Death’s dark black eye gleamed under his dark black hood
“If your Death, how can you die? ”
You see, Death didn’t seem the kind to lie.
And Death wasn’t phased at all,
“No longer Death I may become,
Or so says He if I don’t complete
The most horrible, horrible, feat.
“The most horrible feat? ”
I had to say
Could it be so horrible,
That Death couldn’t say?
“Death, ” said Death, “is the horrible feat.”
And then he faded away, like smoke into the blue, blue sky
But I think, before he left, I might have seen him cry.
I had never in my life, seen Death again
Until the night I stood outside in the rain
When he said, “I’m sorry miss, but this is good bye.”
And I found out what it’s like to die.
So we went, and parted, to each our own way,
But one more time I want to heard Death say, “I’m sorry miss, -“
Marking the end of the day
poem by Jinny Tikanus
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