Old grey eyes
Old grey eyes
~
He sits alone in the bar
Slumped into his chair
Looking down onto the table
Turning the glass in his hand
Occasionally, looking up
He surveys the room quietly
His brow furrowed
Eyes deep cast look tired
The is an air of sadness about him
That no-one seems to know
He is just old grey eyes
The man who sits in a bar alone
Looking down at his drink
Almost mouthing words
In conversation with himself
He is sensibly dressed
With old tatty shoes
He picks through his change
Counting out another drink
He will be there for a while longer
And then when he has gone
Who will say ‘old grey eyes’
‘Do you remember him’
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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The Old Man
He sits quietly murmuring
Talking only to himself
His eyes sunken and dark
A look of tiredness across his face
His head is slightly bowed
Resting upon his hand
He sits alone in almost darkness
Except for a small table lamp
In the far corner of the room
There is little in the way of light
Old books gather dust
In piles around upon the floor
Those stories he once read
The worlds to which he escaped
Now stacked without order
Like memories becoming forgot
A glass of vintage wine
Held in his thin, bone like fingers
Softens his pallet, soothes his throat
While he sits alone each night
In quiet conversation with himself
Another old man growing grey
Wishing on yesterdays
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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
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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
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Dream tryst
The breaths of kissing night and day
Were mingled in the eastern Heaven,
Throbbing with unheard melody,
Shook Lyra all its star-cloud seven.
When dusk shrank cold, and light trod shy,
And dawn's grey eyes were troubled grey;
And souls went palely up to the sky,
And mine to Lucidè,
There was no change in her sweet eyes
Since last I saw those sweet eyes shine;
There was no change in her deep heart
Since last that deep heart knocked at mine.
Her eyes were clear, her eyes were Hope's,
Wherein did ever come and go;
The sparkle of the fountain drops
From her sweet soul below.
The chambers in the house of dream
Are fed with so divine an air,
That Time's hoar wings grow young therein,
And they who walk there are most fair.
I joyed for me, I joyed for her,
Who with the Past meet girt about:
Where her last kiss still warms the air,
Nor can her eyes go out.
poem by Francis Thompson
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Born To Run
The quiet sadness of the people of the north
Echoes silently around the cold grey places
Ecstasies undared tremble upon the edge of the tightly, respectably unfulfilled
Who drink to excess in order to forget what never happened
Brave faces
Well dressed ordered minds on suicides edge
Reflected in the rain skimmed slate grey, battleship grey, hardship grey...
And further south, and homeless,
Here I am. globally-altered and dishevelled
Oh darling, Ive done it all
An antithesis of sorts
And yet bound together and hopelessly in love
With the inevitable loss
And the end
How can we run from ourselves?
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I sweeten myself the tea with honey
I sweeten myself the tea with honey
she sits quietly in the chair looking up at me
surprised to see my hand not trembling
it is so early in the morning that
the sun is slipping into her eyes
time enough to sprawl about a little longer
then it comes out of the sea
she is no longer sitting but looks at me
she has cold hands and the wall
between us was turning out translucent
poem by Călin Hera from I sweeten myself the tea with honey (Îmi pun singur miere în ceai) (2010), translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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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
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my Brother Was The Only One
I remember one late afternoon memory
Through the gate
the sound of my steps after me
Under a warm shade
where all her children had gather
had come and gone
My brother was the only one
I remember the loose wood
from that uncertain gate
Out of character the handle being firm
yet the context of frame
being old and bent
Somebody teach me where he went
I remember under the shadows
by his dreams
Many moments he must have saved
cautiously filling his regrets
a place call home
he can't forget
My brother they say
loves the beauty from eyes
the son of his own
He gathers to capture fragrance
of a little girl he's known
That's my girl! come-on... hon
My brother was the only one
He sits in my thoughts
alone under that dormant grey tree
His eyes captivated as if time stands still
His eyes filled with passive glare
But yet
life no longer his care
My brother was the only one
That time and chance never another
Did words did I cover
that didn't say, dearly brother
I Love You
poem by Joseph Nez
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Lilah, Alice, Hypatia
To Alice and Hypatia Bradlaugh
Who was Lilah? I am sure
She was young and sweet and pure;
With the forehead wise men love,-
Here a lucid dawn above
Broad curved brows, and twilight there,
Under the deep dusk of hair.
And her eyes? I cannot say
Whether brown, or blue, or grey:
I have seen them brown, and blue,
And a soft green grey-the hue
Shakespeare loved (and he was wise):
'Grey as glass' were Silvia's eyes.
So to Lilah's name above
I will add two names I love,
Linking with the bracket curls
Three sweet names of three sweet girls:-
Sunday of Saint Valentine,
Eighteen hundred sixty-nine.
poem by James Thomson
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Grey
Looking at an opal, a half-grey opal,
I remembered two beautiful grey eyes
I had seen it must have been twenty years before . . .
For a month we loved each other
Then he went away, I think to Smyrna,
To work there; we never saw each other again.
The grey eyes ---- if he lives ---- have lost their beauty;
The beautiful face will have been spoiled.
O Memory, preserve them as they were.
And, Memory, all you can of this love of mine
Whatever you can bring back to me tonight.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Grey Train
This Sunday she'll come
To see me again.
And we will kiss
Then talk about
That and this.
And laugh into each others eyes.
Embrace in lovers sighs.
I'll make her lunch.
I have a hunch
She will be the one.
As I hold her hand in the sun.
And on Monday
She takes the grey train.
And cries as she leaves me again.
Next Sunday she'll come to see me once more.
I'll carry her bags to my door.
And dance her across my floor.
But
My heart now trembles
In cold light of day.
The past now resembles
A romantic play.
It's been a while
Since a smile
When she came to stay.
I'm talking to an empty chair.
She'll grace my rhyme.
And toss her sunshine hair.
But
On Monday
I will watch the grey train.
And cry as she leaves me again.
I kiss her eyes
As I stand in the rain.
So searing
The endless pain.
Disappearing
My love
On grey train.
poem by Kevin East
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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
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The Chair
We sat at the table talking
when we noticed from the corner of our eyes
the door seemed to open and close again.
No one took much notice of it;
each thinking it was a draft that had caught it.
Then we watched amazed
as the chair at the far end of the room
began to move on its own.
Each time it caught our attention the chair stopped.
Turning back to our conversation
from the corner of our eyes,
we watched the chair move again.
Each time it inched closer
towards the table where we sat.
Our guests and we were hypnotised
by the spectacular of the moving chair.
We had lived here for many years
and nothing like this had ever happened before.
We all watched intently the chair
with not a word being spoken.
Whatever was moving it
could clearly not be seen.
Someone smiled and said,
“That is a neat trick you must tell us all
just how you’ve done it.”
I shook my head and replied,
“It is not us doing this.”
Faces paled at the thought
of the chair moving on its own.
The chair then stopped
and the outline of a figure appeared,
its eyes were flaming red
and it stared intently at us all.
“Who are you? ” Someone asked.
“Who do you wish I be? ” The reply came
from a voice that seemed to surround us.
You could see the fear begin to inherit everyone’s eyes
as the eyes of whatever looked around at everyone.
A crackling laughter then arose.
“Who are you? ” I asked,
“You are frightening everyone.
I tell you now you were not invited;
your presence is not welcome here.
Be gone I say, be gone and leave us in peace.”
The flaming eyes stared at me
as if to devour my soul.
Outside a lightning bolt struck,
its explosion made us jump.
When we looked back,
the chair was where it should be
and the flaming red eyes were gone.
Was this an hallucination
or did we really see a ghost.
Whatever, when we returned to talking,
we abandoned the conversation
of strange phenomena we were discussing
before our encounter.
15 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Innocent Child
In the eyes of an innocent child, you see all, you know all.
In the eyes of an innocent child, you know why the sky is blue and the
leaves fall.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is no peace and there is no
war.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only peaceful co-existance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only here and now and
nothing in the distance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, there are the colours of the rainbow,
black and white.
In the eyes of an innocent child, Grey areas are not right.
We look at things in grey, black and white, but not like a rainbow.
Some say we even look through rose coloured glasses.
It would be nice if we could look at the world through the eyes of an
innocent child.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Open Eyes
May the memories not be forgot
May we never lose our mind
May no one tamper with our thoughts
For the sake of open eyes
For open eyes my dear
For open eyes
We will not drink to blindness dear
Well drink to open eyes!
The mindless cretin on parade
They may fill our lives with fear
Should we forgive and look away
Well perhaps, but not this year!
For open eyes my dear
For open eyes
We will not drink to blindness deat
Well drink to open eyes
Our enemies may come on strong
They may try to break our will
Should we forgive and look away
Just before we spring to kill!
For open eyes my dear
For open eyes
We will not drink to blindness dear
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Colour Of Your Eyes
(mckernan / tanega)
Who am i
To say you didnt love me?
When I cant remember
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
I dont know
How I missed loving you
Still I cant remember
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
Why didnt you see me
Standing there
Standing there with dreams of love?
To fill the empty shades of grey
I can see
Now that youre leaving me
All the shades of autumn
In the colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Know Somethin (Bout You)
Turn around you say
'Scuse the 'tude but I haven't eaten today
And my eyes are turning grey
What's your name?
I can't remember... I can't remember
Bring me down you try
Feel the pain and keep it all in till you die
Without eyes you cannot cry
Who's to blame?
I can't remember... I can't...
Remember identity, the visions in my mind from
Screamin' at me
And mama, mama, ooh...my angry brains of infancy
Knocked down but I have enough hate to breathe
down your throat and steal your energy
You took everything but my will to be
Now the loss of your god won't make me bleed
I am alive
song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Almost Alone On Planet London
-where the windows on the train cry
just as i
did they witness the same?
abandoned cranes and merciless rain?
my eyes won't dry that easy
you need to hold me
please
i'm nothing but a baby
grey, grey, grey
it's not even cold
and i like the rain
no weeping this time
it's darker then my soul
almost alone on planet london
almost alone
poem by Dali Luptak
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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
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