A homeless became a house owner for a while?
[I got myself a sleeping, walking, crying, talking Living doll.]-Cliff Richard, 'Living Doll',1959
A manor by the riverside
Black Swans mate and drift with ripples
in the Moonlit night,
And the dumb ferryman
Who sings a sad song
in his deep voice?
White washed Church stagnant
and the bell tolls to the strong winds
without a bell-ringer?
And he suddenly woke up to the moisture
As his cardboard shack got totally wet
Heavy rains started late in the night
And he sees through his blurred polythene window
Lightening makes sorrowful designs of life
in the dark barren sky?
*I remember while I was in California, one night a homeless smiled with me and he muttered; 'Long time no see? Sorry brother, I have a non-filter cigarette otherwise you could have a small puff into the patchy lungs if you don't mind? '
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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When the bell tolls
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
I know that there
is more to life
than just living.
On a Sunday
the bell tolls almost endlessly,
(like a alarm clock)
before the service begins.
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
it rings for a funeral
and I am glad
that I’m alive.
At a wedding
the bell sings a joyful song
and everyone smiles at each other
and wait for the bride to appear.
In the dead of night
the bell tolls lonely
no one cares about
the time that it keeps,
as sleep creeps deeper
into everybody’s soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Livin' Doll
Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just 'cause she's a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll
Take a look at her hair, it's real
And if you don't believe what I say, just feel
I'm gonna lock her up in a trunk
So no big hunk can steal her away from me
Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just 'cause she's a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll
Well, take a look at her hair, it's real
And if you don't believe what I say, just feel
Gonna lock her up in a trunk
So no big hunk can steal her away from me
Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just 'cause she's a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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[email protected]
And he writes;
'I buy a bottle of red wine
from the lottery scratch
but it's not much?
Just a ten dollar bill.
And I try to eradicate
my bad cholesterol.
I take only a teaspoon
before the supper
but I noticed the level
that goes down faster
to the bottom,
Then only I realized
It's a tablespoon
I have used?
*to that homeless who said; 'If this not a non-filter cigarette we could have shared it brother, believe me I do not have any sexual transmitted diseases and try a puff if you like? '
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Watcher on the Tower
I
The Voice of a Man
WHAT of the Night, O Watcher?
The Voice of a Woman
Yea, what of it?
The Watcher
A star has risen; and a wind blows strong.
Voice of the Man
The Night is dark.
The Watcher
But God is there above it.
Voice of the Woman
The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.
II
Voice of the Man
What of the Night, O Watcher?
Voice of the Woman
Night of sorrow!
The Watcher
Out of the East there comes a sound, like song.
Voice of the Man
The Night is dark.
The Watcher
Have courage! There’s To-morrow!
Voice of the Woman
The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.
III
Voice of the Man
What of the Night, O Watcher?
Voice of the Woman
Is it other?
The Watcher
I see a gleam; a thorn of light; a thong.
Voice of the Man
The Night is dark.
The Watcher
The Morning comes, my Brother.
Voice of the Woman
The Night is dark; the Night is dark and long.
IV
Voice of the Man
What now, what now, O Watcher?
The Watcher
Red as slaughter
The Darkness dies. The Light comes swift and strong.
Voice of the Man
The Night was long.—What sayest thou, my Daughter?
Voice of the Woman
The Night was dark; the Night was dark and long.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Jingle Jingle My Bell
Jingle Jingle my bell
Jingle Jingle my bell
Please reassure me all is well
The sun sets down
The night is young
So I sing a song
Waiting for the night crickets
To sing along
Jingle Jingle my bell
Tell me now what I should sell
My soul to the sea
While the waves fight
In the darkness of the night
Jingle Jingle my bell
I am thirsty
Get me some water from the well
Sitting on the cliff
Watching the rift
Out at sea
White bubbles drowning and rising
I am glad that is not me
Jingle Jingle my bell
I am making some noise
Hear me yell
Jingle Jingle my bell
I am so happy
That you can tell
© Sylvia Chidi- 17 October 2005
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Last Night
She was there at the bar, she heard my guitar
She was long and tall, she was the queen of them all
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
She was dark and discreet, she was light on her feet
We went up to her room and she lowered the boom
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
Down below they danced and sang in the street
While up above the walls were steaming with heat
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
I was feeling no pain, feeling good in my brain
I looked in her eyes, they were full of surprise
Last night, talking about last night
Last night, talking about last night
I asked her to marry me she smiled and pulled out a knife
The partys just beginning she said, its your money or you life
Last night, talking about last night
Last night, talking about last night
Now Im back at the bar, she went a little too far
She done me wrong, all I got is this song
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why are flowers brightly coloured and perfumed?
On a Sunday at dusk
fireflies gather under a flamboyant tree
and I met him with that familiar smile
near the dim light pub!
He introduced himself as 'Charles de Gaulle.'
'I am Nimal.Priyasiri.Dunuhinga from another planet? '
He ordered Scotch on the rocks
for me a Mrtini Rosso Vermouth
with a thin lemon slice.
Both of us lit the French cigarette 'Gitanes'
and I pulled a long puff into my patchy lungs?
We discussed current politics and lot of things.
Why are floweres brightly coloured and perfumed
While the humanity fades and stinks?
'It's Master's choice! '
And he reads my mind it seems?
Time has come you to quit poetry
and start painting.
No restrictions on painting at all
of the brush strokes?
When in poetry you collect kind friends
As same as few worst enemies too?
Don't waist your precious time in vain Comrade
If you come to France I could have arranged you a Working Visa
At least you can paint the Eiffel Tower there in your Life time!
*Humbly I dedicate this scribble to www.FeedTheChildren.org
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
poem by Billy Collins
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The Church-Bell
As I was lying in my bed
I heard the church-bell ring;
Before one solemn word was said
A bird began to sing.
I heard a dog begin to bark
And a bold crowing cock;
The bell, between the cold and dark,
Tolled. It was five o'clock.
The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang,
A clear true voice he had;
The cock crew, and the church-bell rang,
I knew it had gone mad.
A hand reached down from the dark skies,
It took the bell-rope thong,
The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!"
The clapper shook to song.
The iron clapper laughed aloud,
Like clashing wind and wave;
The bell cried out "Be strong and proud!"
Then, with a shout, "Be brave!"
The rumbling of the market-carts,
The pounding of men's feet
Were drowned in song; "Lift up your hearts!"
The song was loud and sweet.
Slow and slow the great bell swung,
It hung in the steeple mute;
And people tore its living tongue
Out by the very root.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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A Long Time Ago
Seems like such a long time ago,
I was walking on a lonely road.
Getting tired of dreaming alone,
like all the lonely people I had known.
Seems like such a long time ago,
there was no one who would share my song.
I was just a boy far from home,
but I became a man when you came along.
We spent the whole night talking.
You said you'd like to see the sun rise.
But in the gold of morning,
was nothing that I had not seen in your eyes.
I was so afraid to touch you,
thought you were too young, you know.
So I just watched you sleeping.
Then you woke and said to me,
The night is cold, it frightens me.
I could sleep so easy next to you.
Wasn't very long ago,
you said that you would like to share my role.
Then you started singing my song.
Spent so many nights a-waiting,
Lets not spend a moments wasting time,
because we have very far to go.
I will go if you will take me,
I have never had a lover.
I am young but I am so alone.
We spent the whole night talking.
But in the gold of morning....
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Three Maidens
There were three maidens met on the highway;
The sun was down, the night was late:
And two sang loud with the birds of May,
O the nightingale is merry with its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still?
The land is dark, the night is late:
O, but the heart in my side is ill,
And the nightingale will languish for its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store;
The moon mounts up, the night is late:
O, I shall look on man no more,
And the nightingale is dumb without its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing;
The moon mounts high, the night is late:
O my dear lover can hear no thing,
And the nightingale sings only to its mate.
They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure;
The moon is pale, the night is late:
His grave is shallow on the moor;
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair;
The moon is chill, the night is late:
But I will lie beside him there:
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
poem by George Meredith
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Why you so inquisitive of my whereabouts?
My night school's still dark
and the road I walk
Tar always black!
On the way,
I see rare night flowers,
They too have pearly white teeth
when they smile?
O the white Goddess
as passing clouds.
The white board in the gloomy class
Colored teacher writes on
with a piece of black chalk
A poem to recite;
'When forget-me-not
covers the old pauper's graveyard
Everybody thinks
It's the garden of Eden?
But in cruel Autumn
When the flowers withered
It's still the pauper's graveyard? '
[ From Father have I my stature,
my zest for earnest living;
From little Mother
my gay nature,
My love of story-telling.]-Goethe
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Farewell Bell
The peals of the funeral bell echo to the calm sky
For someone today 'tis a final goodbye
And on some future date whenever that be
A similar bell will be ringing for me.
Free of the cares of life and of worry and fear
The farewell bell for him or for her the deceased one doesn't hear
By it's slow drawn out tolls it's not hard for to tell
That for someone the ringer rings the farewell bell.
The same fate for you and for me and for all
To the scythe of the Reaper we eventually must fall
Yet on a sunlit wattle the magpie does sing
And he care not if for one the farewell bell ring.
A beautiful morning the magpie in song
With the farewell bell he is singing along
And white butterflies dancing a beautiful sight
Around the blossoming trees in the warm sunlight
poem by Francis Duggan
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I saw what you did?
Oh! My harmless
Black Ants!
Granules,
One by one
You have taken
From my opened
Tiny brown sugar bottle
Within the whole night
And it's empty now.
I peeped into your little World
And it's a big sugar mountain
But I cannot climb
As I am a diabetic!
*It's approximately forty years ago, myself and brother Lalith we watched together a detective movie 'I saw what you did' a matinee show, Oh! That beautiful childhood never comes? Remember a filter cigarette 'Four Aces' we pulled together the smoke up to the Heaven!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Quiescence here like his deep poems!
'Here you come to New South Wales'
The board by the roadside glitters!
And I got down from the bus
A limousine for the first time in my life?
O it's an unusual quietness in this burial grounds
Situated in a small town perhaps his birth place?
At last after roaming around
I found his humble tomb!
I touched and it's cold
Like frozen death,
Suddenly I woke up!
But I was not certain
Whether it's morning
Or still it's night and where I have been
With my teary eyes?
*[He sent me his two poetry books 'Poems that bloom in my garden & The ancient poet', few weeks before he dies and this was written on the back with his mischievous hand writing and the friendly signature! .................To Nimal, my brother & friend thank you for being who you are.-Paddy Martin]
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sacred to the Memory of “Unknown”
Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory—
And away o’er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long—
It is safe in the Big Scrub’s keeping—
’Tis the butcher-birds’ and the bell-birds’ song
In the gum where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping—
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping).
Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here—
But the Bushmen knew by the dead man’s hand
That his past life lay not near.
The law of the land might have watched for him,
Or a sweetheart, wife, or mother;
But they bared their heads, and their eyes were dim,
For he might have been a brother!
(Ah! the death he died brought him near to them,
For he might have been a brother.)
Oh, the wild black swans to the westward fade,
And the sunset burns to ashes,
And three times bright on an eastern range
The light of a big star flashes,
Like a signal sent to a distant strand
Where a dead man’s love sits weeping.
And the night comes grand to the Great Lone Land
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
And the big white stars in their clusters blaze
O’er the Bush where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Long Black Veil
Ten years ago on a cold dark night
Someone was killed beneath the townhall light
There were few at the scene, but they all agreed
That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me
The judge said son, what is your aliby?
If you were somewhere else, then you wont have to die.
I said not a word, though it meant my life,
For Id been in the arms of my best friends wife.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, now the scaffold is high, eternity is near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
And sometimes at night when the cold winds blow
In a long black veil she cries over my bones.
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows. nobody knows, but me.
Nobody knows but me.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming soon
The stretched bare land
Reaches the infinity
And there's a small security billet
At the entrance of the barbed wire fence.
And the board says; 'A special Hospital complex,
The proposed skyscraper is the tallest building in the World.'
I walk nearly ten miles from my shack everyday to this place
Along the road back to normality.
The guard from the new generation
Though he's like my son I call him brother!
We used to chat a long and whenever I go there I am broke.
This polite brother offer me a pull out of his non-filter cigarette
And we smoke fifty fifty to our defeated lungs.
Days, months and years passed
And the boy is already a middle aged now
And I am in my final list?
In my tattered Resume for the post of Carpenter
Some letters were already disappeared.
The project won't be a success as some restrictions from the Top
Because the top floor of the building is very close to the Heaven it seems!
*Still I remember the first salary [my first job is a power-loom weaver] which I gave to my poor Mom, then she said; ' One day my son goes to the Heaven! '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Bell Tolls
The bell tolls not to alarm us
about a break of war
The bell tolls not to announce
the funeral of a great magician
The bell tolls not for classes
to start the school-year calendar.
But it is ringing for you and me
to bend our knees,
To intercede for our land
and for ourselves
The bell tolls to say a prayer
that opens up
avenues to God's love and mercy.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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A Mill in ruins beside the river
A beautiful widow with a wooden bucket
Walks towards the Farmstead for milking
And the deaf Cuurch bell ringer's handsome eldest son
with a pile of books idles for the ferry.
Life is so cruel and he joins the ferryman
A teardropp falls from her luscious eye
At the ruined mill premises!
*[Is the burden so very great?
Take time to rest.
I still shall wait
Here as I promised, under the moon.]
'Peer Gynt'-Henrik Ibsen
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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