Bruises
Bruises smack me silly,
Naveed cries some time for pity,
Then the reality mixes with fiction
And he staggers at the task ahead,
To be reported by the people-in-charge.
My heart stings from dresses and others,
Going into the territory of love is golden.
My heat now sings swearing towards the goal,
Swerving in ways called rivers and mud.
A swamp has allied with marsh,
And a fatal prize is fortunate;
My prizes are luckier then most,
For the marsh is honoured and
Then blessed, liking us instead.
These grazes are not any longer bruises,
And stinging issues command me to state
The facts. I do not know the sense and reason
Of this fact. I do not know.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Down At The Marsh
Down at the marsh
weavers rock up and down,
down at the marsh
your lips are soft against mine
when a big dog barks far away
and your right knee has lost some skin
down at the marsh.
poem by Gert Strydom
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La lyra es, telemann, suite
You were wearing a polka dot one piece
Got your pic
From that white sand beach
You look smaller this time
The sadness is not visible
On your face smiling at the
Digital camera
Got your pic
My own pick
Is the sound of the lyre
On polka dot
On a polka dot one piece
Hiding the bruises
In your breasts
There is really no sense
There is really no sense
White sand as hideaway
A smiling face
And a piece of polka dot
Bikini
Can be more accurately revealing
The bruises
On your hips
The bruises
On your breasts
Junk him you pride a kind of your own story
I never believe you, you make no sense to me.
Polka dots, white sand and bruises do not
A true picture make, my dear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Poor Old Heart
I've been a fool for love
Ever since I was a baby
Just a rockin' in a cradle
As a rule I was the kind
That laid his feelings
Up front and on the table.
I gave up my world so many times
Just to see 'em tear it apart
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
--- Instrumental ---
I oughta know by now
After all this debt
And heartache lessons
I could go without
Going through hell
Just to find a little heaven.
Seems to me every woman I meet
Has leavin' down to an art
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Hey, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marshes
The bog and marsh condemn you,
Eternal is this gain of your few
Who wear a costume of colours,
Inward is the feeling of counsellors.
They advise and lecture on weather
That superbly displays youth and feather.
We are experts too bold of the marsh,
In this is knowledge to drain - so harsh!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Love And Other Bruises
Love And Other Bruises
(Graham Russell)
As the time slips through your fingers
Till it's almost time to go
And the morning breaks between us
And the ice melts into snow.
I'm alright loving you
I'm alright loving you
(Chorus)
Love and other bruises didn't have to choose us
But it did and I'm alive and I'm trying to survive
Love and other bruises makes us all good losers
I can't help it talking loud it's because I'm on a cloud.
Won't you please take me home
Won't you please please take me home
I'm so mixed up over you
I don't want to be alone.
I'm alright loving you
I'm alright loving you
(Repeat Chorus
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goblin in the marsh
A Goblin staggers out of the marsh
and he is dirty and full of mud
and stinking he pasts
and walk in the fog
that rises from the water.
There are marsh gasses
that everywhere hangs rotting
and a lightning bolt
hitting to surface
Let’s balls of flame explode
blue, orange and red-blue
behind him
and he laughs half mad
while he walks away
through the mud.
Sniffing he searches
for waterweed, fester, bubonic plague,
arsenic and a snake’s
foaming poison
with the head of a rat
on a green body
and he waddles while he walks
and appears here and there
like a shadow.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Caged
Inside the game of cages hangs a prize
To uplift your heart and mind.
The prize murders the body with violent help,
This will be no prize but a calamity.
If prizes swoon on the player of sport
He or she weans and swears to object
For they are disasters, accidents of the very kind.
A game encases splendid rumours of winning
Like that found in discoveries and contests-
The sick will never conform to cages,
But a prize is enough reward to be called a calamity.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Risk
You put your name in a box with a million others not knowing what the prize will be.
A person mixes them around
And your name gets called.
You go onto the stage and wonder what the prizes will be.
The woman says choose door 1 or door 2.
You chose door 1 hoping it will be a car or a trip to Hawaii.
Door number 1 opens and you realize it is just a bunch of bikes.
You get down at first but then realize it was worth the risk.
For many people would love to get a chance at winning a prize even if they don't win.
For life is about taking risks.
Some go our way and some don't.
But at least we don't wonder forever what will happen if we don't.
For live is too short to wonder about what will happen.
So take the risk and it will be worth while no matter what happens.
poem by Christina J. Williams
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Belief of the Heart
The belief of the heart is extreme,
Inside one finds a mine of gold and silver;
The interior of your organ called the heart
Has a number of rooms to fill;
They are belief and reason,
Belief and reason are always in command
Just as the police ascertain your heart
And learn of the heat that your nature brings.
Hearts do ascertain themselves,
For they speak to yourself alone,
For they speak to the ways of your own,
Intrepid are the slight beats of some,
Intrepid are the mannerisms becoming.
You need a sound knowledge of this mighty organ
To believe in yourself, as much as nature allows.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Remembrance
As a child I saw the sun
hanging over the marsh,
when it caught the first red rays.
In that marsh land
long-tailed widow-birds
glided deeper into the reeds.
Plover’s pretending
to have broken wings,
tried to entice me away
from their nests.
In life’s marsh
there were enemy soldiers
that was stone-dead,
while I had hidden deeper
into the reeds.
Groups of enemy patrols
cut past following the river,
to find my comrades and I.
Every time that the sun
hanged new over the reeds,
the enemy became less
and the chance to catch us diminished
and mosquitoes swarmed around me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Jizzlober
They will sum it all up in a sentence
a veredict made by those who know
Im ready to make a commitment
Im willing to make love to concrete
Smiles
bruises
smiles
bruises
bars in the womb
I hide the dirty minutes under my dirty mattres and they are making me itch
my time is spilt milk
My skin is a layer of soot
Im spendig my days scrubbing
Im trying so hard to act like nothing happened(No one left to blame)
Im trying so hard to find that fresh clean smell(No one left to blame)
Smiles
bruises
smiles
bruises
bars in the womb
I hide the dirty minutyes under my dirty mattres and they are making me itch
my time is spilt milk
I am what Ive done
I am what Ive done
Im sorry
Im sorry
SORRY
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jizzlobber
They will sum it all up in a sentence
A verdict made by those who know
Im ready to make a commitment
Im willing to make love to concrete
Smiles
Bruises
Smiles
Bruises
Bars in the womb
I hide the dirty minutes under my dirty mattress and they are making me itch
My time
Is spilt milk
My skin is a layer of soot
Im spending my days scrubbing
Im trying so hard to act like nothing happened (no one left to blame)
Im trying so hard to find that fresh, clean smell (no one left to blame)
Smiles
Bruises
Smiles
Bruises
Bars in the womb
I hide the dirty minutes under my dirty mattress and they are making me itch
My time
Is spilt milk
Cruel world sleeps above me
Mounting and teasing
I am what Ive done
I am what Ive done
Im sorry
Im sorry
Im sorry
Sorry
Sorry
Sorry
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold Roses
The mirrors in the room go black and blue
On a Sunday morning in her Saturday shoes
We don't choose who we love
We don't choose
The lights over the Midway melt on the street
In a Sunday shoes, with her Saturday feet
She don't love who he choose
She don't need what she use
Daylight comes and exposes
Saturday's bruises and cold roses
Cold roses
Nothing but the sunlight will help you grow
From underneath your bed you can't see the window
We don't choose what we see
We don't choose
Fortunate and angry just like a child
All that money buys you medicine but can't buy you time
We don't choose what we love
And she don't need what she got
Daylight comes and exposes
Saturday's bruises and cold roses
Cold roses
Cold roses
Cold roses
Cold roses
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bruises for bruises
If you want to learn an art
your pride has to get some bruises.
Once you master an art
your pride can avenge the bruises.
20.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
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Gift of Knowledge
Desks of understanding can never replace
The books of amazing nature, the real
Relishing designs that cost a lot of knowledge.
Destroy our men from the goodness of learning,
Good is their prize of joy, the force of days
That reveal a prize, and more prizes.
The medals I deem essential are golden,
Like forming wet puddles in the ground,
Over a reason my puddles are heard, the medals.
Knowledge is perfect, is exact in rests and seizures,
But we are old forms, resting bones from all exercises,
From bandages and wounds contrived by the wounded.
Understanding is the present of the heart
To a wounded man of brilliance.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Have No Heart You Notice It
at the very first glance
i see love
and i believe love
and i am
stable as a
foot on
the solid marble
floor
love is crowded
doubt rains
it is a chaos of
burns and
bruises
pain is like a
drought
love dies
love dries itself
like
a cracking field
it sings
emptiness from its
chasms
then everything
turns
into war
within, without,
limitless
understanding is nil
you sleep
you wake up seeing the
same reality
unchanged
one complains to the
city
i do not understand
the language
of your lights
what do you mean?
the posts ask
love is overcrowded
it is a market of
barbarian vendors
i am not buying
i am going home
without my hands
you notice it
i have no heart.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Flying Fiction
The flying fiction of a goal keeper,
Stronger enough with the spirit of love;
But the beginning of love is from the womb.
The flying fiction of a goal keeper,
Stronger enough to educate your mind;
But there is a great job ahead of you down the hill.
I am still looking and searching,
For i have still not found what i am looking for;
But the acts of your morals are more than a sacrifice.
Of a skinny rabbit,
I desire mercy than sacrifice!
And of love than lust;
And to espouse and to give succour to my muse.
The flying fiction of a goal keeper,
Stronger enough to take you by the feet!
But the blossoming part of his astuteness is all about love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Trees Of Life
The trees command authority when called upon,
Young men or women proclaim facts more than brawn.
Branches of knowledge come from people called trees,
Young trees are like orchards, they are not absurdities.
The abilities we define as pleasant come from corrections,
Young learning has solved our problems and aberrations.
May our problems exert funerals no longer,
The trees of life exert the influence of an actor.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Psychotic
To provoke a river, a river of psychosis,
Is to madden the puberty of religion;
I braise a brick of meat with oil to sew
The rivers of juice into the morsel.
To grip is to be busy with seconds I love,
Rivers of love ask us in displeasure.
A psychopath has realms of imagination,
From the rivers of impurity and hate.
Let me outwit the conversationalist,
Who staggers at my speech of psychotic words.
poem by Naveed Akram
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