Morning
The morning was warming
the sky was vein blue
behind the everywhere branches
when from nowhere out, a blackbird
landed on a bough that now
turned yellow,
and began to comb herself
with an orange beak
while traffic purled politely down in the street,
watching the sky, content,
till joined by another
grackle to whom she cackled
'You, there! Off my twig.'
adding something sharp about the neighborhood;
Probably friendly fire-
Then, in a tussle of bills and quills
ire took fire in the chill
gutters froze and rainbows ran away.
Children cried and basketballs shied from hoops-
the affair had the air of a silly domestic dispute
gone hideously public.
Both flew off in the end-
leaving the neighborhood calm as before:
Nature permitting battles
but never wars.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Morning Bright
Morning bright, night chill gone,
the scented wind stroking
high, pliant branches,
and I wait for you
in our summer garden;
lush in leaf and yellow rose
and silky grass
in vernal sunshine,
and it's you I wait for in the ivy shade
watching our lazy cat
stretch her dappled fur
on the bright, sun soaked
concrete step.
Like the tender vine
in the warming soil
I am content
to wait
for you.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Choose Your Color
I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?
(August 16th,2006)
poem by Christopher G. Turner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Josie
Were gonna break out the hats and hooters
When josie comes home
Were gonna rev up the motor scooters
When josie comes home to stay
Were gonna park in the street
Sleep on the beach and make it
Throw down the jam till the girls say when
Lay down the law and break it
When josie comes home
When josie comes home
So good
Shes the pride of the neighborhood
Shes the raw flame
The live wire
She prays like a roman
With her eyes on fire
Jo would you love to scrapple
Shell never say no
Shine up the battle apple
Well shake em all down tonight
Were gonna mix in the street
Strike at the stroke of midnight
Dance on the bones till the girls say when
Pick up whats left by daylight
When josie comes home
When josie comes home
So bad
Shes the best friend we ever had
Shes the raw flame
The live wire
She prays like a roman
With her eyes on fire
When josie comes home
So good
Shes the pride of the neighborhood
Shes the raw flame
The live wire
She prays like a roman
With her eyes on fire
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wildfire
The border of this fire crackled and snapped.
It's undulating movement that moved
All over the earth's body.
It's leaping orange and red intertwined,
This fire in all it's glory made me scream.
It made me heat up, this fire of old and fire of new.
This fire's constant singing made me wonder how it had a voice.
But it did, sometimes lower and sometimes higher, and then
So high.
This fire was nature's mischief maker and he made mischief.
Of all the leaves, branches and trees around him,
And he made mischief on me.
One day I disclosed to all my friends,
This fire was not a true fire.
It didn't burn down anything,
But it so excited me that it did burn my heart.
It excited my whole body and burned through my soul.
This fire just lit up my life.
But this wildfire was no ordinary fire.
This wildfire was my lover.
For this there was no other.
For his mother had named my lover Wildfire.
Watching his antics and speeding around on the playground,
I'll always hold Wildfire tightly in my arms because he's so hot.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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I grew up playing war. We threw dirt and rocks at each other. We'd lead attacks. We'd break up into squads. It became a neighborhood thing for a while, our neighborhood against the other neighborhood. There was always a war breaking out somewhere.
quote by David James Elliott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Kids Aren't Alright
When we were young the future was so bright
the old neighborhood was so alive
and every kid on the whole damn street
was gonna make it bib and not be beat
now the neighborhood is cracked and torn
the kids are grown up but their lifes are worn
how can one little street
swallow so many lifes?
chances thrown
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sappho
The twilight falls; I soften the dusting feathers,
And clean again.
The house has lain and moldered for three days.
The windows smeared with rain, the curtains torn,
The mice come in,
The kitchen blown with cold.
I keep the house, and say no words.
It is true I am as twisted as the cactus
That gnarls and turns beside the milky light,
That cuts the fingers easily and means nothing,
For all the pain that shoots along the hand.
I dust the feathers down the yellow thorns,
I light the stove.
The gas curls round the iron fretwork. the flame
Floats above the lace,
And bounces like a dancer stayed on air.
Fire does not rest on iron, it drifts like a blue blossom
And catches on my breath;
Coiling, spinning, the blue foam of the gas fire
Writhes like a naked girl;
Turns up its face, like her.
She came to me in rain.
I did not know her, I did not know my name
After she left to bed her children down,
To phone her husband they were gone asleep.
And she, lying, a pure fire, in the feathers,
Dancing above the ironwork of her bed,
Roaring, and singeing nothing.
She had not wound her arms about me then,
She had not dared.
I only took her coat, and smiled to hear
How she had left her purse and her umbrella
In the theater, how she was sopping cold
With the fall rain; and mine was the one light
In the neighborhood. She came to my gas fire
And lay before it, sprawled, her pure bare shoulders
Folded in a doze, a clear, cold curve of stone.
I only leaned above the hair,
Turned back the quilt, arranged the feet, the arms,
And kissed the sleeping shoulder, lightly, like the rain;
And when she woke to wear her weathered clothes,
I sent her home.
She floated, a blue blossom, over the street.
And when she came again,
It was not long before she turned to me,
And let her shawl slide down her neck and shoulder,
Let her hair fall.
And when she came again,
It did not rain.
Her husband came to pluck her like an apple,
As the drunken farmer lurches against the tree,
Grips the green globe not long beyond its bloom,
And tears the skin, brutally, out of the bark,
Leaves the whole bough broken,
The orchard torn with many footprints,
The fence swung wide
On a raw hinge.
And now it is said of me
That my love is nothing because I have borne no children,
Or because I have fathered none;
That I twisted the twig in my hands
And cut the blossom free too soon from the seed;
That I lay across the fire,
And snuffed it dead sooner than draft or rain.
But I have turned away, and drawn myself
Upright to walk along the room alone.
Across the dark the spines of cactus plants
Remind me how I go—aloof, obscure,
Indifferent to the words the children chalk
Against my house and down the garden walls.
They cannot tear the garden out of me,
Nor smear my love with names. Love is a cliff,
A clear, cold curve of stone, mottled by stars,
smirched by the morning, carved by the dark sea
Till stars and dawn and waves can slash no more,
Till the rock’s heart is found and shaped again.
I keep the house and say no words, the evening
Falls like a petal down the shawl of trees.
I light the fire and see the blossom dance
On air alone; I will not douse that flame,
That searing flower; I will burn in it.
I will not banish love to empty rain.
For I know that I am asked to hate myself
For their sweet sake
Who sow the world with child.
I am given to burn on the dark fire they make
With their sly voices.
But I have burned already down to bone.
There is a fire that burns beyond the names
Of sludge and filth of which this world is made.
Agony sears the dark flesh of the body,
And lifts me higher than the smoke, to rise
Above the earth, above the sacrifice;
Until my soul flares outward like a blue
Blossom of gas fire dancing in mid-air:
Free of the body’s work of twisted iron.
poem by James Arlington Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spies
Sick and tired, the way they walk
Sick and tired, the way they talk
Sick and tired, the things they say
Sick and tired, wheres my j?
Sick and tired, same old song
Sick and tired, wheres my bong?
Sick and tired, anarchy!
Spies are all around me, spies in every county
Spies, my heads are bounty
Snipers in the air
The neighborhood watch is after us.
The neighborhood watch dont like richters bus
The neighborhood watch is what they say,
But when I see them walkin towards me, I light another...
Generation x is the title they use
When I skate down mackenzie avenue.
Everybody that I see is lookin at me like a vandal
Maybe cause Im (wheelin? ) in some dickies and some sandals
Man, I know what you mean when you talk about the neighborhood
The old folks always sayin that we aint no good
Talkin to my pops about my music
Sayin we should keep it down and not abuse it
Man, I dont sweat those old ass bastards.
I just sit on the curb and with my herb and get plastered
They work all day long, they seem so bored
I think their ass should reside in the county morgue
Theyre postin up signs, man I think they should chill
Talkin if I dont call the cops then my neighbor will
Cause from city to city its all the same.
The neighborhood watch is a big ass gang
Sick and tired the way they walk,
Sick and tired the way they talk
Sick and tired the things they say, sick and tired. wheres my j?
Sick and tired, same old song, sick and tired wheres my bong?
Sick and tired, anarchy!
Spies are all around me, spies in every county
Spies, my heads are bounty
Snipers in the air
The neighborhood watch is after us.
The neighborhood watch dont like richters bus
The neighborhood watch is what they say,
But when I think theyre walkin towards me, I light another...
Every night when the street lights came on
We used to gather round, take rips from that bong.
Cause john wayne country, republican block
A bunch of overweight housewives that wanna be cops.
Cook and clean, the life of slave
Take kottonmouths advice and call jenny craig
Its not in my control, when we were in school
Wanna see us livin life like the golden rule
Peepin out the window, folks always looking
Minding my business when they should be cooking
Bored is how their life must be,
Wait till theres a real crime on our street
Thats when, yeah theyll all run and hide
Leaving kottonmouth behind to take the neighborhood pride
When the criminals are lying dead in the streets
Kottonmouths returning all the stolen tvs
Yeah but thats all right, its all good
Now you know whos watchin this neighborhood
Cause from city to city its all the same
The neighborhood watch is a bitch ass gang
Sick and tired, the way they walk
Sick and tired, the way they talk
Sick and tired, the things they say
Sick and tired, wheres my j?
Sick and tired, same old song
Sick and tired, wheres my bong?
Sick and tired, anarchy!
Spies are all around me, spies in every county
Spies, my heads are bounty
Snipers in the air
The neighborhood watch is after us.
The neighborhood watch dont likerichters bus.
The neighborhood watch is what they say,
But when I see them walkin towards me, I light another...
song performed by by Kottonmouth Kings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Peaceful Nature!
Beyond vertical limit on top of world
Peace and calm in so extreme chill are!
But there too endless war goes on....
Due to ideology, religion and race
Between nations on boundary dispute!
All ideas spring from Nature divine,
Fall down as rivers of religion to reach
And become one with ocean of one God!
Wind, water, land, fire and space of Nature
Sans difference approach all in same way!
Why can't all with the same nature see
And move with all in the world forever?
Why does this blood thirsty nature of man
As animals prevail in peaceful Nature too?
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Many Colours
Rainbows on my windowpanes,
Each one a different scene;
Pink, purple, yellow, green sheep;
Red, orange, indigo, clouds;
Can you see?
Rainbows on my windowpanes,
Each one a different scene;
Pink, purple, yellow, green aliens
Atop red, orange, indigo trees;
Can you see?
Rainbows on my windowpanes,
Each one a different scene;
Pink, purple, yellow, green everything,
Red, orange, indigo too;
Oh mommy daddy can't you see?
Why does everything have to be blue?
poem by Dream Land
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Neighborhood Bully
Well, the neighborhood bully, hes just one man,
His enemies say hes on their land.
They got him outnumbered about a million to one,
He got no place to escape to, no place to run.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully just lives to survive,
Hes criticized and condemned for being alive.
Hes not supposed to fight back, hes supposed to have thick skin,
Hes supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully been driven out of every land,
Hes wandered the earth an exiled man.
Seen his family scattered, his people hounded and torn,
Hes always on trial for just being born.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
Well, he knocked out a lynch mob, he was criticized,
Old women condemned him, said he should apologize.
Then he destroyed a bomb factory, nobody was glad.
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
Well, the chances are against it and the odds are slim
That hell live by the rules that the world makes for him,
cause theres a noose at his neck and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out to every maniac.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
He got no allies to really speak of.
What he gets he must pay for, he dont get it out of love.
He buys obsolete weapons and he wont be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood to fight by his side.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
Well, hes surrounded by pacifists who all want peace,
They pray for it nightly that the bloodshed must cease.
Now, they wouldnt hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep.
They lay and they wait for this bully to fall asleep.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
Every empire thats enslaved him is gone,
Egypt and rome, even the great babylon.
Hes made a garden of paradise in the desert sand,
In bed with nobody, under no ones command.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
Now his holiest books have been trampled upon,
No contract he signed was worth what it was written on.
He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth,
Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
Whats anybody indebted to him for?
Nothin, they say.
He just likes to cause war.
Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed,
They wait for this bully like a dog waits to feed.
Hes the neighborhood bully.
What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers?
Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill,
Running out the clock, time standing still,
Neighborhood bully.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Tried To Paint A Fire In The Snow
Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
Paint the sky with fire
And the snow with a barren hue
Can we catch these shadows with our hands
Or will the dusk refuse to play our game
I think the streetlamps want to breathe awhile
Before we fit them with a starry frame
The people pass and nod their vacant eyes
We paint them with a dash of loneliness
The keys for home sit anchored in their pockets
And all the words are written on their breath
The snow is whiter than the stone I found
That summer day in august at the shore
We said it looked just like a tiny moon
You held it till the daylight closed its door
But now the snow is growing cold as dawn
And all its left is pictures we could paint
That show two lovers with a broken brush
You paint a sky that I describe as faint
Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
I’ve painted love with fire
And the snow with a barren hue
poem by Ben Paynter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire/Burning
Burning through the forset,
Flames of orange, red and yellow,
Lick at the trees and plants,
Scorching everything in its path,
Fire.
Burning my skin,
Leaving smoke and heat,
In it's wake,
Torching my hair,
Fire
A thing of beauty,
And warmth,
But feasr it also,
For its scorching heat,
Fire.
Burning my heart,
Blood fueling the flames,
Love as its oxygen,
The Burning desire,
Fire.
poem by McKenzie Mickey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Six o’clock on a Friday morning
It’s six o’clock on a Friday morning
and I wait for my bus
and across the street,
the lights are burning cheerful and yellow
in the square and dome shaped windows
of the state library
and I wonder what documents are kept there
Street hawkers sell newspapers and sweets
in front of the Pretoria News,
while passengers are already
catching busses in rows.
There’s an icy chill
that hangs in the morning dawn light
and there’s a skew pointed obelisk
that is in front of the high court chambers
and a newspaper heading
talks about the recession
that is blowing hot and cold,
but it’s freezing
and the cold even eats
right through my leader jacket.
On the east side of Vermeulen Street
the sky becomes a light yellow,
while the blue of the heaven
folds open all over the rest
and streetlights stand in a long row
up the street past traffic lights.
Schoolgirls dressed in blue
are watching school boys with red jerseys
and young women
stand and shake
from the cold and I wonder,
how the old red delivery bicycle
behind the pillar
are not getting stolen
where it stands every morning on its place.
There’s a street sign that points to the Pierneef museum
into the L te Groen Eureka factory building,
but it’s still too early
to go and look at paintings
and I wonder how
the Pierneef paintings inside looks.
On the side of a building
I am amazed at the Tswane sign,
but this big city
will always stay Pretoria for me
and I wonder how people
can build buildings so pressed into each other
and look at old and new buildings
standing rowed in onto each other
and the bus stays away,
while others come and go
and I wait
a while longer in the cold.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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History Of Nature
When earth was just an infant,
There came an instant,
When God gave all creatures a call,
To bestow pure nature on them all.
He said, my children,
Now this earth is your home,
And my special creation which is nature,
I appoint it as your caretaker,
You will be safe in its hands,
For that I am sure,
In return you will protect it
That you have to ensure.
They all promised to do so,
And were very happy,
God too always saved them
When nature got angry.
But soon a new creature joined them,
Who could walk on two legs,
It was known as human
And he turned nature into a mess.
It gave birth to fire,
And rapidly grew
It killed beautiful creations
Dinosaurs too
Soon earth was his prisoner,
And destruction was everywhere
All other God’s creations
Prayed, he leaves nature spare.
The deserts are expanding
Arctic ice is melting
Global warming is the truth
We fear man will have to pay by his tooth
God listened to this call
And responded to them all
Do not fear not all is lost
Start mending sincerely and you will rise above this fall
poem by Aprajita Rana
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What Fire Burns As Hot And Scalds
What fire burns as hot and scalds
As Love’s fire?
Ah! Love ah! fire - how
Love scalds every piece of skin
Warming it to burning with touch invisible
And yet
The fire of Love does good to me
And abates not
When chill and frost do come
And rains on the casement come
And from on high hang white icicles.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River Street Urchins
River street urchins,
The gutters are swelling.
[Waiting…] for the sky—you and I
To reach—the storm drains of joy.
Before we go…
Before we let, go.
We too will rain…
River street urchins,
Before we go…
Before we let, go.
We too will rain…
River street urchins…
Paupers oh so giving, don't you know.
We'll queue in the streets
And pray to be free!
Till we go…
Before we let, go.
We too will rain…
On every official bank holiday parade:
Till we're free, till were free
Till were free, till were free
Till were free, to go…
We'll never clear-out:
Absorbing as every stain might be.
I'll fabricate a new colour?
A rainbows pot of gold…
One for just you and me!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Rainy day...
Rainy day
Cool evening
Porch sitting
Unusual for mid August.
Where is the usual summer evening traffic?
My thoughts drift
into my childhood past.
They come up blank
and I simply do not recall
what I did on summer evenings like this.
I just remember –
the smell of freshly cut grass
the catching of lightening bugs
devouring Good Humor ice cream
friends trying to invite themselves
into my backyard pool
playing a game called “Murder In The Dark”
in the backyard of the house across the street
when the sun went down.
I wonder
what summer evening games
the kids in my old neighborhood play now.
I wonder where
the kids I played with are now.
Should I visit the old neighborhood,
will I find our childhood spirits
still running around the streets?
I hit on a Lamp post in the day light!
'Hey! Are you drunk? ' he asked me in a friendly manner.
'No chum, haven't seen a dropp long time as I am out of a billet now.' I too replied him politely.
'Why don't you come with a heavy book in the night
And you can read a lot, I'll give you light free of charge.'
'You are so kind like a night flower.'
'Be on alert while reading because anytime the Paradise requests for street Lamps as the curfew there it seems? ,
We can go together but must sign a contract they too have a policy of hire & fire.'
* It's really amazing when human beings keep their mouths shut the lamp posts talk very politely like the stone age?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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