Red Blood
It stains my cloth, the blood is coloured red,
More saying heightens that which comes dead.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Dark Night, Dark Blood (couplet)
Dark night, dark blood
Blood that is as dark as mud
Stains the life of many afar
Stains the blackness of the tar
Dark night, dark blood forevermore
Blood in the night and on the shore
poem by D'Anna Abril
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Bleeding Purple Stains
purple stains.
it never leave sight.
always staring, mocking, eating away.
purple blood stays.
in mind but out of sight.
it never stares but you can feel it.
never mocks but copies.
never eats anything but it still feeds off of energy.
so...i ask a question.
would you rather have purple stains or purple blood.
poem by Danie Burd
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Inspection
'You! What d'you mean by this?' I rapped.
'You dare come on parade like this?'
'Please, sir, it's-' ''Old yer mouth,' the sergeant snapped.
'I takes 'is name, sir?'-'Please, and then dismiss.'
Some days 'confined to camp' he got,
For being 'dirty on parade'.
He told me, afterwards, the damnèd spot
Was blood, his own. 'Well, blood is dirt,' I said.
'Blood's dirt,' he laughed, looking away,
Far off to where his wound had bled
And almost merged for ever into clay.
'The world is washing out its stains,' he said.
'It doesn't like our cheeks so red:
Young blood's its great objection.
But when we're duly white-washed, being dead,
The race will bear Field-Marshal God's inspection.'
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Blood on your hands sister
You said you loved him told him you cared
Promised him forever together
Instead you broke his heart into countless pieces
You drew tears of blood from the Prince of hearts
Hurt his pride with your insolent words
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
I saw the pain in his eyes
I felt the bitter tears that he cried
Kicked a man when he was down
You left him a broken man
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
From a loving giving sensitive Prince amongst men
You took your pleasure and stifled his laughter
You took your fill and threw him upon the scrapheap
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
But his precious tears are wasted
Wasted on a dry barren heart like yours
For his heart is alive and flourishing
Whilst yours is dead and lifeless
He is the victor
Whilst you the loser
You may wash your hands of him
But the stains will never fade
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
poem by Lilac Wine
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In the spirit of Rumi - 70 - Grace
Like a fine cloth for the table:
its strength, its appropriateness,
the twist and spring of its fibers,
the love and care of its making,
(and how eagerly it launders!)
all reveal themselves even while
you’re unfolding it, shaking it out;
while you’re laying it with a graceful gesture
like a magician whisking away the magic cloth
to reveal a transformation… like
a bullfighter dramatically spreading before the bull
the blood-coloured illusion of a prey…
like a mother quietly prepares a meal…
like the morning or the evening mist
rolling over the edge of a mountain plateau…
like a gentle rain in Spring falling as mercy itself…
it gives up the air trapped under it as you laid it down,
like the heart's lungs surrendering to peace
with a grateful sigh;
and as you smoothe it out on the table
it murmurs love to your hand;
and as you stand back,
it shines; awaits whatever may come to it,
waits as if it had always been
just where it is now
grace
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Essence of a Stain
Some people are always obsessed
with washing out stains
ashamed of what the stand for
but what do stains truly stand for?
Stains show a part of our character
- what is a tattoo
other than a bodily stain
revealing a small part
of our inner character
to the outside world
even stains can be seen in a positive light
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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The rain is gone
You got wet clothes to dry
A face to wipe some droplets of rain
Some stains
On your breasts
Kissing stains
Some bluish marks
On your thighs
You always say
These things, stains and bluing
Happen
Because of the rain
The rain that refuses to leave at once
And you are caught to his embrace
You always say the rain
Is responsible, one season to blame
Why these things, these stains cling to your body
The thoughts of rain
Leaving
Saddens you now
How you wish the rain comes back
The stains caused by him smells and
The scent of sweat makes you sway, gives
You the feeling of
Stay, I love you, stay, do not go away.
Wonder, how the rain could have removed
The stains, smell, sweat, but you say
The rain causes it, he cannot leave you
He still has the fear of getting rainy wet.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rose Coloured Glasses
(scott mccarl)
Im an ivory tower boy
Never quite put down the toys
I always think the best of them all
I see only sunny skies
With the wool over my eyes
I never seem to find the crack or the fault
I see it all through rose coloured glasses
And I only see what matters to me
I see you all through rose coloured classes, yeah
The road that I chose is coloured rose
Its a funny sort of haze
All full of dreams of yesterdays
And the dreams are so real you could cry
And you know the grass is green
On the side youve never seen
And the thought is what helps you get by
I see it all through rose coloured glasses
And I only see what matters to me
I see you all through rose coloured classes, yeah
The road that I chose is coloured rose
As I grow a little more
Wonder what this all is for
And the brass ring is slipping away
I would keep the glasses near
And would shed a quiet tear
And maybe smile inside as I say
I see it all through rose coloured glasses
And I only see what matters to me
I see you all through rose coloured classes, yeah
The road that I chose is coloured...
song performed by by Eric Carmen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Still Thoughtless Life Of The Eyeglasses
a pair of eyeglasses with brown frame
lays itself bare
on a white cloth
actually a wiper of mist
or tears perhaps
or dirt like oil or stains
a black casing
stares at it like a niche
as though someone that
appears later
shall be buried on the
red mantel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Melting Pot
Take a pinch of white man
Wrap him up in black skin
Add a touch of blue blood
And a little bitty bit of red indian boy
Oh like a curly latin kinkies
Oh lordy, lordy, mixed with yellow chinkees, yeah
You know you lump it all together
And you got a recipe for a get along scene
Oh what a beautiful dream
If it could only come true, you know, you know
What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough enough enough to take
The world and all its got
And keep it stirring for
A hundred years or more
And turn out coffee coloured people by the score
Rabbis and the friars
Vishnus and the gurus
We got the beatles or the sun god
Well it really doesnt matter
What religion you choose
And be thankful little mrs. graceful
You know that livin could be tasteful
We should all get together in a lovin machine
I think Ill call up the queen
It s only fair that she knows, you know, you know
What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough enough enough to take
The world and all its got
And keep it stirring for
A hundred years or more
And turn out coffee coloured people by the score
Coffee coloured people
Coffee coloured people
Coffee coloured people by the score
song performed by by Culture Club
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Hills
Dear Mother-Earth
Of Titan birth,
Yon hills are your large breasts, and often I
Have climbed to their top-nipples, fain and dry
To drink my mother's-milk so near the sky.
O ye hill-stains,
Red, for all rains!
The blood that made you has all bled for us,
The hearts that paid you are all dead for us,
The trees that shade you groan with lead, for us!
And O, hill-sides,
Like giants' brides
Ye sleep in ravine-rumpled draperies,
And weep your springs in tearful memories
Of days that stained your robes with stains like these!
Sleep on, ye hills!
Weep on, ye rills!
The stainers have decreed the stains shall stay.
They chain the hands might wash the stains away.
They wait with cold hearts till we "rue the day".
O Mother-Earth
Of Titan birth,
Thy mother's-milk is curdled with aloe.
-- Like hills, Men, lift calm heads through any woe,
And weep, but bow not an inch, for any foe!
Thou Sorrow-height
We climb by night,
Thou hast no hell-deep chasm save Disgrace.
To stoop, will fling us down its fouled space:
Stand proud! The Dawn will meet us, face to face,
For down steep hills the Dawn loves best to race!
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Ronnie
Stories taught
Quiet town
Small time for big time crowd
Never talks
Never plays
Different path
Lost his way
The streets are red
Red I'm afraid
There's no confetti
No parade
Nothing happens in this boring place
But oh my god how it all did change
And they all pray
Blood stain wash away
He said
"Lost my way
This bloody day
Lost my way"
I heard it
He said
"Lost my way
This bloddy day
Lost my way"
Oh please wash away
But blood stains the sun red today
I always said
Something wrong
Little strange
Ronnie Long
Never laugh
Never smile
Talked alone for miles and miles and miles
Yellow comes
Sun I say
Keep your smile and laugh all day
He falls again in this foreign place
For little boys how they soon chase
And they all pray
Blood stain wash away
He said
"Lost my way
This bloody day
Lost my way"
I heard it
He said
"Lost my way
This bloddy day
Lost my way"
Oh please wash away
But blood stains the sun red today
Yeah
song performed by by Metallica from Load
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace Frog
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood Stained
Atrocities
Made every day
Religiously
Their sins
They hide
Can never disguise
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
They wage their wars
Such profiteers
Will nail us all
Their crimes
Concealed
Despicably reveal
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained lies
They fire at will
Intent to kill
They have no conscience
They have no conscience
Ethnic cleansing nothing more!
Blood of nations blood of war
Turn blind eyes
From all your crimes
You bare our souls
Show no remorse
You cannot wash
The bloodstains off
They turn their backs
While others
Commit grisly acts
Were scared
For life
By politicians greedy
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained crimes
Blood stained lands
Blood stained minds
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
And while such predators
Stalk this earth
Disguised as saints
They kill our faith
Obsessed by greed
Lying through their teeth
They cannot wash
The blood stains off
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cloth of Time
The concept of time is
Like a cloth
Waving in the wind.
The wind collides
And bounces,
Causing the cloth to sway.
We are the specks
Of dust
Nestled within
The fibers of time.
This cloth is where
We sleep and wake.
This wind is the result
Of our existence.
When the wind is still
The cloth of time
Hangs
Like a man
Whose time has run out.
poem by by unknown author
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Latter day South Africa
The face of the old black woman
is plastered with mud,
a red cloth is wrapped around her head
and her feet treads burdensome
where she walks bare foot
on rocky roads
and every now and then
steps into a thorn
and almost fall over
while she removes it clumsily.
The child that she carries piggy-back
isn’t black,
nor white,
or yellow,
or eastern coloured,
he’s something of everyone
and is belted to her back
with a ragged cloth
and it’s difficult
since he’s restless
and the child is thirsty
and the hunger
burns from his stomach
to his throat.
In the distance
she hears people
gathering around a bon fire
drinking beer and dancing,
but she’s locked out
and the road is long
and she hobbles on
while the twilight is falling.
poem by Gert Strydom
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It is all mixed up
A blue minifan
Turned on
Blowing miniwinds
To a
Red tulip
Made of
Chinese cloth
Let me turn it off
It is not good
To see
Life putting
Breath to
Something
Dead
Life to
Something
Fake, artificial
A tulip flower cloth
A plastic tulip
Too dusty, inanimate.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unraveling My Poem Unraveling My Life
you think you know me
every inch every color
since you have read
every poem i have written
you equate what i am
with what i have written
and your equation goes
through and through the lines
of logic like a telephone
pole connecting two islands
every sigh is learned
from every syllable of my lines
every yawn is discerned
from every sleepy letter that you
meet and see
are there no strangers there
that you meet? did you not
care to ask for his name?
are there no oceans there?
if there are, there must
be some oceanfloors
some sinks sinking
some whales occupying
so much space for your
kind understanding and
you may find yourself
hard of breathing, like a
diver whose oxygen tank
is leaking. You don't die
with me. You don't like my
sickness. You don't like to
get this infection beyond
my own solitude.
you unravel a poem you
discover that i have become
more covered. A voice tells
me, i am not my poems, i am
more than them. I am not just
a syllable, a word, a line.
I am more than what you have
tried to swallow inside your mouth.
i am blood and i am flowing.
you dip your finger once and
taste a dropp of my blood and
then in a second, i am no longer
there. I am a flowing blood and
what you have are stains, yes,
only stains turning into scars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tabula Rasa
this is a blank wall
or as you wish it, this could be a blank page,
or you may consider this
a blank mind of a child and
you will be teaching him
some things for the first time,
go, scroll, and find something,
do you remember now, why the child is still in pain?
why the walls are stronger? why the blank page still have stains
of blood in there?
some sad memories that refuse to leave?
don't lose hope, there are still more blank spaces of the mind
imagine it to be some kind of a sky
now, put the stars and the moon, and try wishing
someth ing nice and beautiful
like a boat filled with flowers and some light and then silently it sails
on a very peaceful sea like a fine silky cloth covering the dining table
to the place that you always dream to live
forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This balde
This blade was,
Once silver but,
Is now blood red.
What have I done,
I have to hide again,
The tears have fallen,
For another night.
My arm is now covered,
In blood red stains,
I wish i could erase,
All my pain.
The blade was sarrated,
The worst type of all,
Smooth ends are dated,
Just like blades that are small.
This blade was,
Once silver but,
Is now blood red.
What have I done,
I'm falling asleep,
Again
written 19th may 2010
poem by Jess Jayne
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