0013 Aftermath: London, July 7,2005
Two days after,
when they'd cleared away the mangled
meaningless twist of metal,
familiar red paint smeared with oily black,
its intended destination still proclaimed,
I passed the place on business
and walked more slowly
avoiding the eyes of others
in case they imagined in my eyes
or I in theirs,
some falsity, some failure of the mind,
some lack of the appropriate emotion,
whatever that might be -
almost a guilt acquired
in some complicity
In the gutter, a glove, brown, damp, like a hand,
lying on its back, its fingers slightly curled
as if in mute request
for a reason
but to whom, now, to return it?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Crash
Lying in bed
Crying your eyes out
Curled in a ball
Nice and tight
Crash today
Seven men died
Seven in a van
One in a car
Bottle of vodka
In the passenger
Seat
Driving unable to maintain
Drifting and veering
Unable to control
Car smash the van
Through the windshield
One goes
Lying on the floor
Others come and
Count dead bodies
One left live in the van
Mind regained and
Awareness received
All is dead
All is dead but you
Later that night
Lying in bed
Crying your eyes out
Curled in a ball
Magnum in hand
Silence has come
Lying in bed
No more crying
Curled in a ball
Lose and feeble
No sound is silent
Eight men died
Today
poem by Tommy D'Attore
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I Got You
I've got you, and that's all I want.
I won't forget, 'cause that's a whole lot.
When something's wrong, I feel uneasy.
You show me, tell me you're not teasin'.
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying.
Look at you, you're a pageant.
You're everything that I've imagined.
I don't go out, now that you're here.
Sometimes we shout, but that's no problem.
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying.
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying.
There's no doubt, but when I'm with you.
When I'm without, I stay in my room.
Where do you go? I get no answer.
You're always out, it gets on my nerves...
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying.
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying.
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying.
I don't know why sometimes I get frightened.
You can see my eyes and tell that I'm not lying
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fade To Black
Sunday matinee
In a one dog town
Youre two seats away
I move two seats down
Wipe the tears from your eyes
The first kiss I stole
I walk you home
The credits roll
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
I hear my voice
On the telephone
But Im just running
The same old business
I feel like Im off
Somewhere so alone
Just watching us both
Running the distance
Watching us both
Slowly pull back
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
I come home
Clothes all over the place
Youre crying in the corner
Makeup running down your face
Your case is packed
The fight starts
I (? ? ? ? ? ) cursin
Baby is this the scene
Which we been rehearsin
Is this the one
Or have I lost track
Waitin for us
To fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
A face wet with shame
Eyes filled with hurt
I scream out your name
You rip my shirt
A small bungalow
A late afternoon
The sunlight falls
Like a bright veil
A camera pans
An empty room
The picture dissolves
Slowly pulls back
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Melted Snow
Dead before you died.
Lying there eyes blank.
You whose eyes spoke volumes,
Struck dumb.
Their light dimmed
Your hard drive wiped,
No more that passionate embrace,
Now there was only passivity
Your passion had dissolved
In the acid that was Aids.
But not my love.
That was not eroded.
You had left many months before.
Blind to the pain you caused.
Heavy the guilt I sometimes felt.
I wished this burden lifted.
To be rid.
I wanted you to return, return
And inhabit that place you had, left.
Find a path back from the twilight.
Grasp Ariadne's thread.
Slowly you faded.
No last rally
Each hour a razor cut to me.
I bargained selfishly with God,
Let him live a vain plea.
The judge has judged, sentence passed,
No reprieve.
No fanfare your last farewell,
Just a gentle sigh.
Safe at last.
Like the snow that had melted in the night
You were gone.
(To Graham)
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Troop Train
It stops the town we come through. Workers raise
Their oily arms in good salute and grin.
Kids scream as at a circus. Business men
Glance hopefully and go their measured way.
And women standing at their dumbstruck door
More slowly wave and seem to warn us back,
As if a tear blinding the course of war
Might once dissolve our iron in their sweet wish.
Fruit of the world, O clustered on ourselves
We hang as from a cornucopia
In total friendliness, with faces bunched
To spray the streets with catcalls and with leers.
A bottle smashes on the moving ties
And eyes fixed on a lady smiling pink
Stretch like a rubber-band and snap and sting
The mouth that wants the drink-of-water kiss.
And on through crummy continents and days,
Deliberate, grimy, slightly drunk we crawl,
The good-bad boys of circumstance and chance,
Whose bucket-helmets bang the empty wall
Where twist the murdered bodies of our packs
Next to the guns that only seem themselves.
And distance like a strap adjusted shrinks,
Tightens across the shoulder and holds firm.
Here is a deck of cards; out of this hand
Dealer, deal me my luck, a pair of bulls,
The right draw to a flush, the one-eyed jack.
Diamonds and hearts are red but spades are black,
And spades are spades and clubs are clovers—black.
But deal me winners, souvenirs of peace.
This stands to reason and arithmetic,
Luck also travels and not all come back.
Trains lead to ships and ships to death or trains,
And trains to death or trucks, and trucks to death,
Or trucks lead to the march, the march to death,
Or that survival which is all our hope;
And death leads back to trucks and trains and ships,
But life leads to the march, O flag! at last
The place of life found after trains and death—
Nightfall of nations brilliant after war.
poem by Karl Shapiro
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You Asked How (formerly Even Now She Is Turning, Saying Everything I Always Wanted Her to Say)
At the end there were straws
in her glove compartment, I'd split them open
to taste the familiar bitter residue, near the end
I ate all her Percodans, hungry to know
how far they could take me.
A bottle of red wine each night moved her along
as she wrote, I feel too much, again and again.
You asked how and I said, Suicide, and you asked
how and I said, An overdose, and then
she shot herself, and your eyes filled
with wonder, so I added, In the chest, so you
wouldn't think
her face was gone, and it mattered, somehow,
that you knew this. . .
Every year I'm eight years old and the world
is no longer safe. Our phone becomes unlisted, our mail
is kept in a box at the post office,
and my mother tells me always
leave a light on so it seems
someone is home. She finds a cop
for her next boyfriend, his hair
greasy, pushed back with his fingers. He lets me play
with his service revolver while they kiss
on the couch. Cars slowly fill the windows, and I aim,
making the noise with my mouth, in case it's them,
and when his back is hunched over her I aim
between his shoulder blades, silently,
in case it's him.
poem by Nick Flynn
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Eyes of Green Meet Eyes of Blue
Lonely mornings crawling by
Lonely nights where time won't fly
Lonely days with no hand held
A pounding heart that's never quelled
Crawling slowly back to you
Eyes of green meet eyes of blue
Sitting silent in a daze
A life alone, it never pays
All behind and nothing here
Hiding all the pain and fear
Crawling slowly back to you
Eyes of green meet eyes of blue
Troubled words meet nervous ears
Fighting through the hurt and tears
Finding peace back in your arms
Giving in to all your charms
Crawling slowly back to you
Eyes of green meet eyes of blue
Lazy mornings, all time lost
Melting back the cold and frost
Holding hands and holding hearts
Forgotten endings, brand new starts
Lying right here next to you
Eyes of green meet eyes of blue
Under Apple Trees
She lay beside you
under the apple trees
the bees and butterflies overhead
the glimmer of sunlight
through the branches
and she said
I can smell the apples
from here
and if I close my eyes
I feel I'm in a foreign field
lying in some overseas orchard
and happy beneath the sun
and you turned your head
and said
Am I with you
lying in that orchard
beneath a foreign sun?
and you studied her profile
the shadows dancing
across her cheek
a butterfly just above her head
Sure
she said
As if I'd dream of anywhere
without you by my side
and she reached out a hand
and touched your fingers
with hers and it seemed
a pulse danced
between the fingers
as if love momentarily
could be felt
could be sensed
in the space
between fingers
and riding
in the hearts
and heads
and she turned
to face you
her eyes reflecting
a different sun
and your hand sliding
along her thigh
and she shaking
her head slightly
eased out
a soft sigh.
poem by Terry Collett
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Oh! Lisa With These Lovely Eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
So please tell my soul to sympathize,
We shall cry forever in overcast skies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes,
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Heartbroken heart spoken, not taken back
To change a mind so is lifes dream
Lisa with the dark brown eyed
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
That blends your butter scotch face insight
Smiles which brings sparkles to my mind
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Many pre thoughts of your strays hypnotize
French, African, English culture dies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
She dabbles her life in fiction trash
her soul with curious follies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Loneliness, has come far a sad. sad day
Emptiness in your mind and heart pay
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
You walk the world in beauty forgotten
They speak about you something forbidden
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Your body your mind so whole same so
Your gave birth and I wish I could understand, understand
Lisa with the dark dark raven eyes
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes
Curiosity is so special time flies, my sighs
Persuaded a fool to be wise, so wise how wise
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes.
poem by Klayne Mario Burton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eyes
Eyes are blue
Eyes are green
Eyes are true
Eyes are mean
Eyes are bright
Give the light
Eyes are black
Like the night
Eyes are cold
Eyes are warm
Eyes are angry
Like a storm
Eyes are kind
Eyes are blind
Eyes are evil
Eyes of devil
Eyes are hungry
Eyes of walls
Eyes are empty
Eyes of dolls
Eyes are loving
Eyes are charming
Eyes are lying
Truth denying
Eyes are haughty
Eyes are naughty
Eyes are naïve
To all they believe
Eyes are strained
A fear remained
Eyes without hope
Ready for the rope
Eyes are vulnerable
Eyes that gamble
Eyes are sensitive
Eyes are attentive
Eyes are stubborn
Eyes are submissive
Eyes of a new born
Eyes are pensive
Loving eyes are true
Black, brown or blue
My eyes are green
A lot they have seen
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
January 11th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Return To Waterloo
Look at all the people around me,
Same old faces joining the queue.
For return to waterloo,
Return to waterloo.
Started off this morning as usual,
Checkin out the mail and all the bills to pay.
Maybe something specials gonna happen,
Maybe this is my lucky day.
The forecast says heavy weather,
So take your umbrella just in case.
Will I get away, will I see it through,
On the return to waterloo.
Return to waterloo.
Return to waterloo.
Somehow you feel that the worlds been passin you by.
Cant help thinkin somehow theyre living a lie.
Now Im asking questions, I never thought Id ask them before,
Like why or how or what am I doing it for?
Will I reach my destination,
Or will I get off along the way?
Will I reach my destination?
Will I reach my destination,
Have I stopped or am I only going slow?
Have we got a couple more stations,
Or is this as far as we all go?
The headlines cry out from the papers,
Inflation, murder, wars, who really wants to know?
If I return to waterloo,
Itll cost me more in 1992.
Will I get away,
Will I see it through?
And come back home to you,
On the return to waterloo.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Return To Waterloo (Demo Recording / Remix)
Look at all the people around me,
Same old faces joining the queue.
For return to waterloo,
Return to waterloo.
Started off this morning as usual,
Checkin out the mail and all the bills to pay.
Maybe something specials gonna happen,
Maybe this is my lucky day.
The forecast says heavy weather,
So take your umbrella just in case.
Will I get away, will I see it through,
On the return to waterloo.
Return to waterloo.
Return to waterloo.
Somehow you feel that the worlds been passin you by.
Cant help thinkin somehow theyre living a lie.
Now Im asking questions, I never thought Id ask them before,
Like "why" or "how" or "what am I doing it for? "
Will I reach my destination,
Or will I get off along the way?
Will I reach my destination?
Will I reach my destination,
Have I stopped or am I only going slow?
Have we got a couple more stations,
Or is this as far as we all go?
The headlines cry out from the papers,
"inflation," "murder," "wars," who really wants to know?
If I return to waterloo,
Itll cost me more in 1992.
Will I get away,
Will I see it through?
And come back home to you,
On the return to waterloo.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mind Dance
I caught my reflection in the mirror
It was my own hand that ran through my hair,
I listened as my favorite artist crooned
Closed my eyes
Imagined your touch
There in the warmth of your lap,
I rest my head
My eyes stay closed
Your hand
The hand of love and warmth
Gently caresses my face,
My mouth
And slowly
Your fingers run through my hair
From the base of my roots
to the tips of the strand
You touch me,
And I am whole.
poem by Nancy Fischer
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Black Flowing Hair, A Memory Of You
I see you leaning by a wall next door
Against an afternoon sun
And though it is your back that faces me
I know
From the beating of my heart
That it is you, Black-flowing-hair
I can smell you
In mint
And you shall be inside me
As I breathe
So I can live for another time
You are
My tallest tree
On top of the Sleeping-dragon-mountain
And I look up to you
Like my full moon one cold night
Untouched by my fingers
Black-flowing-hair
The world may not have found love in my eyes
As I have none to boost
Since I have given it to you
All of it
I shall find it
But shall not take it back
From you
Your shadow is my god
And it is only that I can touch
Without you knowing
The shadow
Of your
Back
My self-made god
Is enough life
I do not ask much
I cannot
You do not know me
There is no need
I only give myself
I do not have to take any
In return
Now I declare
I have found my place
In you
I have found myself
In you
I have found you
I am Mute-white-dove -sitting
On the breast of Black-flowing-hair
Touching the clouds
Holding the rainbow
Saving all the raindrops of my life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Waiting By The School Gates
Look who's over
by the school gates
Reynard said
and you looked over
and there was Christina
with her school bag
over her shoulder
and her hands tucked
in the pockets
of her green coat
see you tomorrow
Reynard said
and walked on
giving Christina a stare
as he did most girls
finding them an enigma
yet to be solved
when you got
to where Christina was
she took her hands
out of her pockets
and put a hand
on your arm
I wish I was going
on the school bus
with you
then I could sit next to you
and I could tell you
about myself
and not have to cram
everything into a rush
of words as I do
at school
you looked over
to where the school bus
was waiting
you still had
five minutes
or so before
it took off
and you knew
Fred the driver
always did
a head count
before hand
don't you wish
I was there
on the bus too?
she asked
squeezing your arm
with her fingers
you turned
and looked at her
sure I do
you said
but you live here
and I live miles away
I know
she said
and I miss you
once your bus goes off
and I know
I won't see you
until the following day
and the weekend is worse
because then
I don't see you
for two whole days
other kids
passing through
the school gates
stared at you both
and Hill said
come on
or you'll miss
the bus
and he laughed
and moved on
and Christina stared
after him and said
what's his problem?
and you said
oh he hasn't been born yet
he gets this way
and she laughed
and said
maybe I'll come
on the country bus
to your village
and we can meet?
sure that'd be good
you said
and her eyes lit up
and she smiled
and leaned
towards you
and gave your cheek
a peck
and you said
look I got to go
and you took her hand
and gave it
a quick kiss
then turned
and walked quickly
towards the bus
knowing her eyes
were following
your every step
and that maybe
she dreamed
of you at night
and imagined you
beside her
and her dolls
and Teddy Bear
and you in turn
maybe imagined
at night
you too were there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Little Bit Of Emotion
See all the people
With hatred in their eyes
I cant help thinking that
Its only a disguise
Cause underneath that core
Theres got to be more
Than what we realize
Maybe theyre scared
To let the inside out
Maybe theyre afraid to
Show what theyre all about
So they put on a heavy front and hope that no one else
Can work them out
So they put on all the heaviness
But its only an illusion heaviness
Cant you see
Theyre scared to
Show a little bit of emotion
A little bit of real emotion
In case a little bit of emotion
Gives them away
Look at that lady dancing around with no clothes
Shell give you all her body
Thats if youve got the dough
Shell let you see most
Anything but theres one thing
That shell never show
And thats a little bit of real emotion
A little bit of true emotion
In case a little bit of emotion
Gives her away
But its a shame shes acting that way
Somehow shes gotta get through every day
And the only way
Is not to show one little bit of emotion
A little bit of true emotion
In case a little bit of emotion gives her away
People learn their lines
And they act out their part
Then they talk on cue
But its got no heart
Its all on the surface
And its all contrived
Theyre scared to come out
Somehow theyve got to survive
Look at that looney
With a smile on his face
He knows no shame
And feels no disgrace
Hes got a look in his eyes
That makes it seem that hes from outer space
Maybe that looney knows what its all about
Hes got something to say
But he cant spit it out
Hes unco-ordinated so we shut him out
In case he shows a little bit of emotion
A little bit of real emotion
Were afraid to see a bit of emotion
So we walk away
Show a little bit of real emotion
Show a little bit of emotion
Were afraid to see a bit of emotion
So we walk away
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Treatise Traded for Tract
At one time, I so loved your lips
That I could overlook the cruel
Words which issue out of them,
And I so loved your dancing eyes
That I could try to see you as
The rebel who you said you were,
But time has passed and passion's
Ebbed. I freeze in fright (or is it
Hatred? How those two go hand
In hand, as we did once, but never
Mind) beside you at your parents'
Table, beggared, not by lack of
Food, but lack of social integration.
I don't own a polo shirt, and my
Car doesn't peel and purr. I haven't
Made it yet into a comfy cube, from
Which I place my bets on teams
I've never seen, and I believe, as
You asserted, that the beaten
Folks, who haunt the rooms
Around my own, should be here
Now, to take their portions. You,
I know, have changed your mind,
And gelded, amid gilt, have gone
From rebel back to daddy's darling,
Echoing his cruel words with
Such once-lovely lips.
poem by Lawrence Beck
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A strange glimpse of remembered moments
Dozing this morning – was I awake,
or was I asleep? for many minutes,
I entered a bright and shining world,
but of my own remembered moments;
yet more than visual memories:
that state of mind, that happiness
which knows no other..
all was brightest colour:
the first Mickey Mouse Weekly
to come out in full, rich colour; (I'll swear
it smelled different, too..)
the new craft room at school,
the intoxicating smell of open tins
of bright coloured enamel paint,
the smell of fresh-cut wood…
sunlight on ancient grey-gold stone;
oh, a whole repertoire of memories
on which there was no need to dwell,
for they declared their shared totality…
but one brief, vivid glimpse I’ll share
for your amusement and what else:
slightly curled, from being rolled in the post,
a copy of ‘American Home’ from the late forties:
against a blue blue sky, white clapboard and
white picket fence; inside, a gingham apron,
a sweet-smelling pipe, proudly ruffled hair..
a gingham table-cloth, hand-stencilled furniture,
blue and white plates against a butter-yellow wall..
all radiated promise, satisfaction, happiness;
as if winter sings of Spring;
all things were possible, and live on now;
but, above all, in myself,
a glorious sense – of ordinariness…
as if I was in place; had always been;
would always be; no other place to be,
no other self to seek, no world seen alien;
our holiest, most precious,
self-sacred moments, when experienced,
have this glorious matter-of-factness;
saying, how could this be other?
The glorious, here, is ordinary…
and back in your familiar world,
the ordinary must be glorious; deserved;
and to be savoured as its truth…
I opened my eyes, eventually;
saw no reason to deny that world;
to cover it with yes but, or, maybe;
later thought, only a poem,
to share this, give this back.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sunsets With A Crimson Colour
We paint our sunsets with crimson colours
a sign of a brighter day tomorrow.
We paint our earth with blues and green,
the oceans, lakes and land.
However, we paint ourselves invisible
with the use of slight of hand.
How long will we paint with colours
if we carry on the way we do.
The crimson will become a dusty brown
for the dust cloud we created.
The green will become black,
chard and empty of everything.
The waters that were blue
will run red with the dead,
polluted beyond repair,
unless we open our eyes now
and our world we start to take care.
Hopefully, then once again we can paint
our sunsets with a crimson colour.
3 September 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Artist's Dilemma
The wind blew in and the wind blew out
And it surged around the eaves,
The door out to the patio slammed
And the yard filled up with leaves,
Then Susan sighed, ‘There's goes my ride,
I was going to take the mare,
Now what can we do on a Sunday when
The wind's so wild out there? '
Her aunt lay back on the couch and stared
At me, with her doe-black eyes,
Not much older than Susan, she
Was Venus, in disguise,
Her fingers ran through her coal-black hair
And her hand smoothed down her thigh,
‘Why don't you ask the artist, dear,
Before his paints run dry.'
I'd finished painting the background in
Of the leaves that swirled in the air,
But put my palette aside and turned
To look for her meaning there,
Then Susan laughed, as she always did:
‘Do you mean that you'd be game?
I've only modelled alone before
But two? It would be insane! '
Imelda slowly uncurled herself
Rose steadily to her feet,
‘I'll be the older matron, while
You shall be young, and sweet.'
I shrugged, effecting a nonchalance
That I didn't really care,
But said, ‘Okay, I can paint you,
Put your clothes on the old armchair.'
I played about with my palette, mixed
The tones in a kind of blush,
Squeezed the Titanium White, and mixed
It in with the tip of my brush,
And when I finally turned around
They were stood, stark naked there,
I said, ‘Clasp hands, then back to back,
And Sue, let down your hair.'
I'd painted my wife a thousand times
So I knew each curve and line,
But Imelda, this was the first I'd seen
And I caught my breath in time,
Her black hair over her shoulders and
Her breasts, so firm and white,
Her hips the marvel of womanhood
And her thighs - a man's delight!
I turned on back to the easel, tried
To steady my shaking hand,
I thought of myself as an artist,
Underneath it, I was a man!
And Imelda caught a glimpse of that
As her lips curled in a smile,
She knew that my heart was pounding,
But my lust would wait for a while.
That painting hangs on the passage wall
And visitors stare in awe,
At the vision of womanly beauty
That the eyes of the artist saw,
And Imelda bridles at compliments
Then gives me the evil eye,
She's often said, there's a place in bed,
But I shake my head, with a sigh!
1 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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