Related quotes: The fugitives remained absent, They...

Fugitives

The fugitives remained absent,
They eagerly committed sins
Too profound and logical,
Too many early flowers.

Then they reached heights
Of murder and theft,
On their pillows they snored
And met the surgeon.

Unheedingly the snow of confinement
Enslaved the reminded ones,
The fugitives leapt into the fires,
With a handful of golden crocuses.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes

Mrs Snorer

Mrs Snorer
Went to School
Fell asleep in the classroom
Her teacher woke her up with a
Broom, broom, broom
As she snored, snored, snored

Mrs Snorer
snores like a
Horse, horse, horse
She took a ride on the
Bus, bus, bus
and missed the last stop
As she snored, snored, snored

Mrs Snorer
Went to bed
Lay down her big head
Turned her body round
And shook the whole house
Down, down, down
As she snored, snored, snored

Mr Snorer
Snored at home
With each snore
They had to shut
All the windows and the doors
As she snored, snored, snored
Mrs Snorer was a
Bore, bore, bore

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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I figured out how to catch fugitives without a gun.

quote by John Walsh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fugitives Of Life

A great many people each year,
become fugitives of life.
It becomes too much for them,
and they run to death in despair.
They fail to recognise,
the precious fragile gift,
all of us have been given.
The gift of life.
They see no hope of a future,
just nothing there.
Instead of turning for help,
they resort to death as an answer.
Had they reached out,
someone would have been there,
to guide them to a new tomorrow somewhere.

poem by David Harris
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We are all in a race for dear life: that is to say, we are fugitives from death.

quote by Theodor Reik
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We're going to see fugitives and felons, eventually, being able to get guns much more easily.

quote by Sarah Brady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knife

Slit and
Slither knife
Penetrate in phallic push
To perforate the pulse of tissues in the flesh
Slice a vein to drain the unsuspecting victim
E’er they bleed and plea
Their scream
Of death

murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Eurydice

So you have swept me back,
I who could have walked with the live souls
above the earth,
I who could have slept among the live flowers
at last;

so for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I am swept back
where dead lichens drip
dead cinders upon moss of ash;

so for your arrogance
I am broken at last,
I who had lived unconscious,
who was almost forgot;

if you had let me wait
I had grown from listlessness
into peace,
if you had let me rest with the dead,
I had forgot you
and the past.

Here only flame upon flame
and black among the red sparks,
streaks of black and light
grown colourless;

why did you turn back,
that hell should be reinhabited
of myself thus
swept into nothingness?

why did you glance back?
why did you hesitate for that moment?
why did you bend your face
caught with the flame of the upper earth,
above my face?

what was it that crossed my face
with the light from yours
and your glance?
what was it you saw in my face?
the light of your own face,
the fire of your own presence?

What had my face to offer
but reflex of the earth,
hyacinth colour
caught from the raw fissure in the rock
where the light struck,
and the colour of azure crocuses
and the bright surface of gold crocuses
and of the wind-flower,
swift in its veins as lightning
and as white.

III

Saffron from the fringe of the earth,
wild saffron that has bent
over the sharp edge of earth,
all the flowers that cut through the earth,
all, all the flowers are lost;

everything is lost,
everything is crossed with black,
black upon black
and worse than black,
this colourless light.

Fringe upon fringe
of blue crocuses,
crocuses, walled against blue of themselves,
blue of that upper earth,
blue of the depth upon depth of flowers,
lost;

flowers,
if I could have taken once my breath of them,
enough of them,
more than earth,
even than of the upper earth,
had passed with me
beneath the earth;

if I could have caught up from the earth,
the whole of the flowers of the earth,
if once I could have breathed into myself
the very golden crocuses
and the red,
and the very golden hearts of the first saffron,
the whole of the golden mass,
the whole of the great fragrance,
I could have dared the loss.

So for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I have lost the earth
and the flowers of the earth,
and the live souls above the earth,
and you who passed across the light
and reached
ruthless;

you who have your own light,
who are to yourself a presence,
who need no presence;

yet for all your arrogance
and your glance,
I tell you this:

such loss is no loss,
such terror, such coils and strands and pitfalls
of blackness,
such terror
is no loss;

hell is no worse than your earth
above the earth,
hell is no worse,
no, nor your flowers
nor your veins of light
nor your presence,
a loss;

my hell is no worse than yours
though you pass among the flowers and speak
with the spirits above earth.

Against the black
I have more fervour
than you in all the splendour of that place,
against the blackness
and the stark grey
I have more light;

and the flowers,
if I should tell you,
you would turn from your own fit paths
toward hell,
turn again and glance back
and I would sink into a place
even more terrible than this.

VII

At least I have the flowers of myself,
and my thoughts, no god
can take that;
I have the fervour of myself for a presence
and my own spirit for light;

and my spirit with its loss
knows this;
though small against the black,
small against the formless rocks,
hell must break before I am lost;

before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass.

poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Snow Dance For The Dead

Dance, little children ... it is holy twilight . . .
Have you hung paper flowers about the necks of the ikons?
Dance soft . . . but very gaily ... on tip-toes like the snow.

Spread your little pinafores
And courtesy as the snow does . . .
The snow that bends this way and that
In silent salutation.
Do not wait to warm your hands about the fires.
Do not mind the rough licking of the wind.
Dance forth into the shaggy night that shakes itself upon you.

Dance beneath the Kremlin towers—golden
In the royal
Purple of the sky—
But not there where the light is strongest . . .
Bright hair is dazzling in the light.
Dance in the dim violet places
Where the snow throws out a faint lustre
Like the lustre of dead faces . . .
Snow downier than wild-geese feathers . . .
Enough filling for five hundred pillows ...
By the long deep trench of the dead.

Bend, little children,
To the rhythm of the snow
That undulates this way and that
In silver spirals.
Cup your hands like tiny chalices . . .
Let the flakes fill up the rosy
Hollows of your palms
And alight upon your hair,
Like kisses that cling softly
A moment and let go ...
Like many kisses falling altogether . . .
Quick . . . cool kisses.

poem by Lola Ridge
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Mamalam

Let the bulls go down to the slaughter and let me look for my lover,
For Mamalam left home unnoticed last night!
And like the voices of the fugitives and the refugees around;
But i am now trapped in this love and,
I will try hard to find a way to pile up the heap of the ruins.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fugitive

A fugitive is someone,
who runs away from things.
There are many fugitives,
which live in our society.
Some you would never recognise,
because they look a lot like us.
In fact, they could be us.
As all of us runaway from something,
at sometime or other in our lives.
We are afraid to face reality,
but most of the time,
we just runaway from ourselves.

3 October 2007

poem by David Harris
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The Smile, In The Sun

The temperature begins to rise and burn off the morning dew;
The Sun seems to wear a smile of jollity, into
Which I am drawn-reminded of that quality, in you;
I transpose a mental image of a smile adorning you,
Over the brilliant, early morning Sun,
And begin to smile inwardly at your visage-
Call it an amorously-inspired mirage,
But this is how my day was begun.

The remainder of the day brought smiles,
As I pondered that moment, in the early morning,
Where I bridged the gap, which spans the miles,
Through the solar spectacle, with your visage adorning;
I wonder in what way I will be reminded of thee, tomorrow! ?
Alas, that I must be at all, is the source of most profound sorrow!

poem by Maurice Harris
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Is it hard for the reader to believe that suicides are sometimes committed to forestall the committing of murder? There is no doubt of it. Nor is there any doubt that murder is sometimes committed to avert suicide.

quote by Karl A. Menninger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Responsibility Accepted Before Judgement Seat Of God

I accept full complete total responsibility
for all my sins both great or small committed
sins deliberate or sins by error committed
responsibility for all I fully accept before God
responsibility for all I bear as judgement of God
blood sacrifice of Jesus my reparation paid before God
before God I give thanks worship for all eternity.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Gingerbread Men

Four sons baking made
Gingerbread men…
The two youngest prayed
That when they woke-up
They wouldn't all be gone!
For what they'd made…
For what they'd made...
They'd had—none!
They were right to pray…
For all the chocolate coated
Ones had gone!
And just two remained out of'
The eagerly, awaited, twenty one!
The eagerly, awaited, twenty one!
And just two remained out of'
The eagerly, awaited, twenty one!
The two left where without
There chocolate coats
So they weren't eaten because their coats
Were none!
You lucky two… You lucky two…
You lucky two…
Gingerbread men…

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Premeditation

Oh blade you'll warm tonight!
Awash in crimson-purple flows,
Your sheen will dull with aching flesh:
Palpating anatomic mounds
Caressing, dancing, writhing round
Your metal form-
Whetted ‘gainst a lonely bone,
Then to probe the pounding, begging heart.

And all the while the prey will howl
Before they crumple; greet the mud-
A taut and unbelieving jowl
Will open out for giving blood-
A vent from down below,
Once a brutal show
Of metal in the man.

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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In Marriage (3)

and then you become one
like glued wood to iron

it will be shaky sometimes
she does what you do not want to be done by her
and you too takes revenge

precisely, you also do things to get even with her
you will know what is hell

but both of you get fed up sometime about these
disagreements

you try to agree on some rules
a meeting of the minds so to speak

you bring her flowers and chocolates
and she cooks the best lasagna for you

you come home early and she meets you
on a very soft bed and scented pillows

you make love
you whisper her again what you once felt

you tell her
and she will tell you too about the mysteries of love
that must be shared

you kiss her she hugs you
you are gentle and she is sweet

till then, you begin to find each other
anew, refreshed, and committed

in marriage.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Frosted Pane

One night came Winter noiselessly, and leaned
Against my window-pane.
In the deep stillness of his heart convened
The ghosts of all his slain.
Leaves, and ephemera, and stars of earth,
And fugitives of grass, --
White spirits loosed from bonds of mortal birth,
He drew them on the glass.

poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Murder On Music Row

Nobody saw him running from sixteenth avenue.
They never found the fingerprint or the weapon that was used.
But someone killed country music, cut out its heart and soul.
They got away with murder down on music row.
The almighty dollar and the lust for worldwide fame
Slowly killed tradition and for that someone should hang (oh, you tell them alan).
They all say not guilty, but the evidence will show
That murder was committed down on music row.
Chorus:
For the steel guitars no longer cry and fiddles barely play,
But drums and rock n roll guitars are mixed up in your face.
Old hank wouldnt have a chance on todays radio
Since they committed murder down on music row.
They thought no one would miss it, once it was dead and gone
They said no one would buy them old drinking and cheating songs (Ill still buy em)
Well there aint no justice in it and the hard facts are cold
Murders been committed down on music row.
Chorus:
Oh, the steel guitars no longer cry and you cant hear fiddles play
With drums and rock n roll guitars mixed right up in your face
Why, the hag, he wouldnt have a chance on todays radio
Since they committed murder down on music row
Why, they even tell the possum to pack up and go back home
Theres been an awful murder down on music row.

song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like A Surgeon

I finally made it through med school
Somehow I made it through
Im just an intern
I still make a mistake or two
I was last in my class
Barely passsed at the institute
Now Im trying to avoid, yah Im trying to avoid
A malpractise suit
Hey, like a surgeon
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Organ transplants are my line
Better give me all your gause nurse
This patients fading fast
Complications have set in
Dont know how long hell last
Let me see, that i.v.
Here we go - time to operate
Ill pull his indsides out, pull his insides out
And see what he ate
Like a surgeon, hey
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Heres a waiver for you to sign
Woe, woe, woe
Its a fact - Im a quack
The disgrace of the a.m.a.
cause my patients die, yah my patients die
Before they can pay
Like a surgeon, hey
Cuttin for the very first time
Like a surgeon
Got your kidneys on my mind
Like a surgeon, ooh like a surgeon
When I reach inside
With my scalpel, and my forceps, and retractors
Oh oh, oh oh, woe, oh
Ooh baby, yah
I can hear your heartbeat
For the very last time

song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heaven Is Hell

As I walk down a golden paved highway,
The sound of angels song fills my ears,
I dance amidst the couds that surround me,
A vision of paradise stretches out before me,
I breathe in life from all of my surroundings,
I have died and become an immortal,
Golden haloed angels have become my company,
Blooms of lush flowers and birdsong surround,
And in this paradise I search for you my love,
I call out your name, yet you do not answer,
My past lifes lived must have been sinful indeed,
Where my crimes against humanity so unspeakable?
What sins must I have committed to deserve this?
For I have searched this never ending paradise,
And now I know heaven is hell... For you are not here...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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