House of Cards
Spade:
A city of metallic urgency
Come, rape the society
Your blaring highways
Your drifting lightshows
I chocked on a shabby musing
Beneath the miasma of your gaiety
Swooning over codes and keys
Your filthy people don't care
Dispensing prisms into drivels
And you seek bereavement just to unravel
What the politics stymied
Oh, dour gloating can stifle
And turn your people to scornful nihilists.
Clover:
A country overweening of poverty
Preyed by ravenous double-standards
I gorge in neon-signs and hazards
Incorporeal desires and volition
Diverged a quavering hunger
A hunger sated by blind faith
A knot in your stomach; a monopoly of divinity
Pilgrimages sulk into nonchalance
Devotions coiled into an echolalia
In your banquet, dripped blood and tears
Tethered in a girth
Lapsing mortality by birth
Pray tell, what do I have to swallow?
Heart:
A planet of sardonic frowns
Your society left no vacancy
For ideals, dreams, and innuendos
Chauvinism had their sallow eyes too
Hulking upon my vision
I fought to envision, I cried irate
I will ferment you in a jar
Bloating the cold and hungry cellars
With your weak representations and trampling constitutions
Far East is West but parceled with philosophical dialect
Ah, scathing comics; a slapstick
Flimsy faith and obsequious belief
Fall for me, they call me idiocy.
Diamond:
In a looming house of cards;
A spade is for burying
A clover with four leaves
A heart, non-existent, pawned for
A diamond, for diamonds are forever.
On your anteroom, by your elbow
I will exhume a poor gambler
And wage for your liberty, or not
I will find mine in this fringeless sea
Whilst you drown in a waterspout
Maimed by the treason misconstrued
Damn reason! Curse amity!
Civilization shall fumble beautifully like a house of cards.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I am not a poet
They say I am not a poet,
I, too, think so,
I am not a poet,
For I dare not turn the truth,
Into falsehood,
Or vise-versa,
I refrain myself from decorating
my verses with words and phrases,
To create sensation.
I call spade a spade,
In the simplest term
I may not be a poet,
But am aware of,
The mysteries of love,
I may not be a poet, But know how to detect,
Imitations in emotions.
I am aware of,
The cavity the society bears,
The thriving double standards,
The artificial claims of love,
I know I am not a poet,
I prefer to remain a simple person, Without being obsequious,
I can accomplish my task,
I just say what I feel,
So what if they do not send
Their inspiring comments,
So what if they take my request for flattery,
I would go on expressing my feelings,
Whether they like it or not
For I am not a poet at all.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Their Feet
My feet walk on soil where my ancestors blood, sweat and tears where shed.
Blood from the lashes on their backs that was put there by a cold wet whip all because they fought to be free.
Sweat that dripped from their brows from the hard work they did to help build this country we call America.
Tears that was cried so many nights they could fill a river with their sorrow.
But even after all that they did not crawl upon their knees or slide upon their bellies.
Their faith gave them hope for a brighter future for all those who would come after them. People such as Rosa Parks, Dr. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and even me, and because of this faith no matter what they always stood upon their feet.
Spade
The beauty spot was borrowed
Now my sweet knife rusts tomorrow
I'm a confession that is waiting to be heard
Burn your empty rain down on me
Whisper your deathbeat so softly
We bend our knees at the alter of my ego
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
All my lilies' mouths are open, like they're begging for dope and hoping
their bitter petal chant, "we can kick, you wont be back"
Im a diamond that is tired, of all the faces i've aquired, we must secure the shadow ere the substance fades
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
And we said 'til we die
And we said 'til we die
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
And we said 'til we die
And we said 'til we die
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking East
Standing in the ocean with the sun burning low in the west
Like a fire in the cavernous darkness at the heart of the beast
With my beliefs and possessions, stopped at the frontier in my chest
At the edge of my country, my back to the sea, looking east
Where the search for the truth is conducted with a wink and a nod
And where power and position are equated with the grace of god
These times are famine for the soul while for the senses its a feast
From the edge of my country, as far as you see, looking east
Hunger in the midnight, hunger at the stroke of noon
Hunger in the mansion, hunger in the rented room
Hunger on the tv, hunger on the printed page
And theres a god-sized hunger underneath the laughing and the rage
In the absence of light
And the deepening night
Where I wait for the sun
Looking east
How long have I left my mind to the powers that be?
How long will it take to find the higher power moving in me?
Power in the insect
Power in the sea
Power in the snow falling silently
Power in the blossom
Power in the stone
Power in the song being sung alone
Power in the wheatfield
Power in the rain
Power in the sunlight and the hurricane
Power in the silence
Power in the flame
Power in the sound of the lovers name
The power of the sunrise and the power of a prayer released
On the edge of my country, I pray for the ones with the least
Hunger in the midnight, hunger at the stroke of noon
Hunger in the banquet, hunger in the bride and groom
Hunger on the tv, hunger on the printed page
And theres a god-sized hunger underneath the questions of the age
And an absence of light
In the deepening night
Where I wait for the sun
Looking east
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Iron Eyes
Divulge yourself in my language
Speak of forked tongues that can masticate
Imagery with psychedelic blades
And swallow these swords so you can tell me
That I have eyes of iron
That I am blind but I can pretend to believe
That I can perceive in full colors
From sapphire, to eau-du-nil, to claret
And if you are malleable enough
To sink in my impermeability
And nibble on my waxing vision
Then I will permit you, in my elbow to my anteroom
Suffice enough to fracture my vision
And enrapture my eyes of iron
My eyes that can decipher decoys
My vision that can perforate veils and halos
I would gladly fall in a slumber
And in acquiescence I shall fumble
To bolt my callous eyes
And dwell within the perimeter
Of your coherent liminalities
Seasoned of pseudo-animosity
The facile art blotted of acrimony
May be adequate to coerce valiancy
Whenever, we could go now
To anywhere but the down town
Where everyone knows who we are
How we are damned and surmised to expire
Lead me down the Mediterranean Gulf
A sanctuary in the grazing sea
And I can ponder inside your bountiful fingers
Of callas that would cloy my cellars
And though we cannot swim
We would be buoyed by our belief
That we have feet of street lamps
That blaze aglow so no one would trample
If we pretend like lovers lost in time
Could we hold the sun perched in burning leaves
Of ivories and ebonies, of a tatterdemalion gypsy?
In daylight, I would feign that I can see
The words coming out the mouth
Of angry clocks and compasses
And I would curse like a sphinx
To live with you forever at the fringe
We'll pretend like black suited agents
Sheathing a pistol and a plan
To find fate and kill serendipity
And create something out of dark alleys
I would run whilst you walk
For you walk too fast
Perhaps, to leave all behind
Perhaps, there's something you're trying to find
But in gasping breaths
I would keep with your selfish pace
And I would keep you in askance
With the dark corner of my crumpled eyes
Juxtaposed each other like mutual towers
Are these orbits of hefty balconies
Unswerving eyes of flimsy convictions
I would vie for another vision
Of our galvanized liaison
That had transpired in my phantasms
And absconded through veracity
And left me with pallid assumptions
Of a fatal life line
That I wanted to preserve
As we traverse the phosphorescent shore
And trample in the city streets
In an ethereal living
Where we would never have to go home
For home is in our seams
Wandering with our dreams
But I have iron eyes;
Eyes solely to embellish
And all the things that it can perceive
Are those in a parcel ground
A land of voracious reveries
And all it failed to hold
Are things vagrantly unfolded
Right before these iron shackles
I have gone astray
Too far, too long, I have been away
But no one knows
And no one cares, anyway
Iron eyes, sleep pensively
With your dreams in a hearse
A cavalcade of whimsy notes
Remember what you are: iron eyes.
poem by Norman Santos
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None More Selfish Than I
Some humans are such selfish creatures and none more selfish than I
The World revolves around me and praise of self I do enjoy
Some call it self survival or call it what you may
And meanwhile people dying of hunger every day.
I've never known what it feels like to be hungry or known of hunger pain
Yet of my poor existence I often do complain
So many poor and oppressed people would envy one like me
It surely can be a relative thing when one talks of poverty.
I meet so many selfish people who for themselves only care
Of the sufferings of others they don't even seem to care
As well as self centred they are ignorant and without thinking they say
That poverty is self inflicted in the World of today.
I may be a selfish bugger but in that I'm not alone
And I am one not without sin so I can't cast the stone
I feel that the World revolves around me how selfish can one be
And only the best of people are blessed with the gift of empathy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Card-Dealer
Could you not drink her gaze like wine?
Yet though its splendour swoon
Into the silence languidly
As a tune into a tune,
Those eyes unravel the coiled night
And know the stars at noon.
The gold that's heaped beside her hand,
In truth rich prize it were;
And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows
With magic stillness there;
And he were rich who should unwind
That woven golden hair.
Around her, where she sits, the dance
Now breathes its eager heat;
And not more lightly or more true
Fall there the dancers' feet
Than fall her cards on the bright board
As 'twere a heart that beat.
Her fingers let them softly through,
Smooth polished silent things;
And each one as it falls reflects
In swift light-shadowings,
Blood-red and purple, green and blue,
The great eyes of her rings.
Whom plays she with? With thee, who lov'st
Those gems upon her hand;
With me, who search her secret brows;
With all men, bless'd or bann'd.
We play together, she and we,
Within a vain strange land:
A land without any order,—
Day even as night, (one saith,)—
Where who lieth down ariseth not
Nor the sleeper awakeneth;
A land of darkness as darkness itself
And of the shadow of death.
What be her cards, you ask? Even these:—
The heart, that doth but crave
More, having fed; the diamond,
Skilled to make base seem brave;
The club, for smiting in the dark;
The spade, to dig a grave.
And do you ask what game she plays?
With me 'tis lost or won;
With thee it is playing still; with him
It is not well begun;
But 'tis a game she plays with all
Beneath the sway o' the sun.
Thou seest the card that falls,—she knows
The card that followeth:
Her game in thy tongue is called Life,
As ebbs thy daily breath:
When she shall speak, thou'lt learn her tongue
And know she calls it Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dance A Multi-Coloured Dance Of Rainbow
Words can fail like magnets not sticking to the fridge
and we all complain when the rent is due again.
Pay your bills and meet the obligations of
the world, never mind attending to the
payment of your soul.
The new voice is speaking, the new religion
has been announced. We are to celebrate
everything and tradition we are to renounce.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
We are to ignore the truth of the Gospel
for too many find that it offends. We must
not have complaining and so we must merge
into one blend. Let the fires burn so
brightly as we burn away the words
we do not like. Dance a multi-coloured
dance of rainbow prisms and
inter-faith delusions.
Men should not sleep with women, for
that is not the way the new voices want
it to be. Instead they should seek male
partners and live in illusions of
conformity. We must not call a spade
a spade for in doing so we ignore
the new mindset.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
No need to wave flags for we must
not cause nationalism to exist. Only
one nation is right and that is the
propaganda we must believe. So we
watch our televsions and rejoice
in the latest American war.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
The parade has begun, and the marchers
have lined up like soliders in a drill.
The banners are ready ot wave, the
sound of music will soon flood the
streets. We will march for equality
and conform ourselves to a plastic
sheeted state of being. Dance a
multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
And though the old ways will not die,
we will pretend they do not matter.
We will surrender ourselves to
immoral methods of existing. We
will speak only of politically correct
topics and we shall never disagree.
Dance a multi-coloured dance of rainbow
prisms and inter-faith delusions.
poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Overhearing Two Arguing About Poverty
I over heard two fellows arguing about poverty
Whilst I sat in the cafe drinking coffee
And in truth I could not help but overhear them
As they sat at the next table to me.
The older of the two a silver gray haired fellow
Said to rid the World of want and poverty
We would need to depose every despotic leader
But the younger bloke with him did not agree.
He said in so called wealthy societies there's want and hunger
And where affluence is poverty too abound
From here you don't walk far to see poor people
For poverty is everywhere around.
The older bloke countered but this is a free Country
And those in poverty have themselves only to blame
And if hungry people in our midst are living
Do not expect me to feel any shame
The younger man again with him did differ
Saying want is caused by those who only care
For themselves alone and their own self interest
Many must grow poorer for to make one millionaire.
I left them there in the cafe to argue
And not for me to say who is wrong or right
For both of them looked well dressed and well fed fellows
And they won't go to bed hungry tonight.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boys From Diamond City
Echoes of a million years, lie twisted in my face
In a world without no name, and a stranger human race
In the distance how it shines, sparkles in the light
Like a flower pulls you in, you lose your mind.
And it really doesnt matter if the sky should fall
Your living under ground, theres no sky at all
Nothing much changes
Were the boys of the diamond city
Were tough like diamond
Were the boys of the diamond city
So rough, like diamonds
I remember nightmare days, like packs of dogs wed roam
Through the broken city streets, through the broken citys bone
Its so hard to stand your ground, its so hard to stay alive
cos when you fight for what you keep, you know you fight for your life
And it really doesnt matter if the sky should fall
Your living under ground, theres no sky at all
Nothing much changes
Were the boys of the diamond city
Were tough like diamond
Were the boys of the diamond city
So rough, like diamonds
I remember a time
A giant skyline
And a blue, blue sky
Its almost dreamlike
Were the boys of the diamond city
Were the boys of the diamond city
Were tough like diamond
Were the boys of the diamond city
So rough, like diamonds
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How I Wish All Things Are Simpler Then
when no is a no
and yes is a yes
when a spade is a spade
when a diamond
remains to be a diamond
when you are true
as i was once.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sanctity Of Dreams
Paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa
Ride a Harley through the heart of danger
Pick up a pen and fight a war for the right to dream
I was seventeen
Give up my house, sleep for nights on concrete
Meditate with all the bums on Vine Street
No more running, no more hiding in the house of the dead
I think I'll grow some dreads
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
I dream of loving, of the empty graveyard
I dream of Vegas and the transcendental wildcard
A place where noone waits to die before they go into the light
And just the blind have sight
I follow nothing but the compass of my instinct
No matter where it leads, I know it will take me to the brink
And leave me there by myself and all alone with my dreams
Can you hear my scream?
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
Never dream like me
Society will never dream like me
Never dream like me
Ooh ooh ooh
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
Oh-oh
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
Never dream like me
Society
Society will never dream like me
Society
Society
Society will never dream like me
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sanctity Of Dreams
Paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa
Ride a Harley through the heart of danger
Pick up a pen and fight a war for the right to dream
I was seventeen
Give up my house, sleep for nights on concrete
Meditate with all the bums on Vine Street
No more running, no more hiding in the house of the dead
I think I'll grow some dreads
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
I dream of loving, of the empty graveyard
I dream of Vegas and the transcendental wildcard
A place where noone waits to die before they go into the light
And just the blind have sight
I follow nothing but the compass of my instinct
No matter where it leads, I know it will take me to the brink
And leave me there by myself and all alone with my dreams
Can you hear my scream?
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
Never dream like me
Society will never dream like me
Never dream like me
Ooh ooh ooh
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
Oh-oh
I believe in the sanctity of dreams
No more running from these masqueraders
I believe that society will never dream like me
Never dream like me
Society
Society will never dream like me
Society
Society
Society will never dream like me
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem
Pen poems enthusiastically;
Write the Eternal Truth gaily.
Poem is the internal mental feelings of Poet;
Penning verses derive delight.
Poem tranquilises the wearied brain, provides peace;
Pen a good poem with Divine Bliss.
Through poems advise the society;
People of all religions would live with gaiety.
Poem is heart’s Ganga flows peacefully;
Poets derive peace delightfully.
Poem takes people on right path;
It is ‘ Gyana Ganda’ a brook of mirth.
Poet tries to rectify society’s monsterous activities;
Through truth, peace, non-violence provides delight.
Through delightful verses attracts the society;
In God’s lap lives with gaiety.
Poet depicts good and evil deeds of society;
Desires a peaceful society with gaiety.
Is a reformer of society;
Penetrates rays of gaiety.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of Brother Walfrid
My name is Andrew Kerins,
born and bred in Ballymote
I left my home at an early age
and traveled to Scotland in a trawler boat
Would I ever again see Ireland,
as the famine had stolen her strength
Would Scotland welcome the Diaspora,
of Irish men & women
My calling of becoming a Marist Priest
led me to the Glasgow parish of St.Mary's
Where the immigrant Irish, poor and starved,
made home in the east end of the city
My heart cried out when I saw theses lost souls,
living in poverty and in squalor
As Protestant Scotland would not accept,
their accent, dress or culture.
I prayed day and night to Our Lord,
for the welfare of St.Patrick's flock,
As jobs were few and far between
as they were ridiculed, harassed and mocked,
From all over Ireland, they came to Glasgow,
to escape the potatoe blight
Some had wished they had went to America,
to live in the comfort of the stars and stripes
I saw the hunger on the faces of children
when they sat for Sunday Mass,
My dream was to feed them once a day,
that became my spiritual task.
Along with the St Vincent de Paul Society,
we would reach out to these starving souls,
The Poor Children's 'Penny Dinner' Table was formed,
for the undernourished children of Glasgow.
The Donegal dialect and the Kerry brogue,
I heard within my confessional,
As Ireland’s lonely sons and daughters
spoke of broken hearts and promises,
I sought to feed their hunger
and bring hope to their shattered dreams
I fought to bring them comfort,
to silence their children’s screams.
At St.Mary’s hall in the Calton,
in February of 1887
I joined the victory celebrations
for a football team called Hibernian,
They were the pride of every Irishman
from Scotland’s east and west coast,
Were we sang songs of dear old Ireland,
to Hibernian, some gave a toast.
Like a vision of God before me,
inspiration came to me I a dream
Were the old east end of Glasgow,
would like Edinburgh, have an Irish team,
No more would Irish families live in poverty
or see their children sick,
For a football team would play for charity
and that team I would call Celtic.
For months, we toiled the barren land
that sat upon Janefield Street
And built a stadium for football
were the Irish would gather and meet,
I saw smiles appear on the faces of children,
who carried Ireland in their heart,
For they could not wait to welcome the Bhoys,
Who would one day grace Celtic Park.
Daniel McDonagh – Apr’27th 2006
poem by Daniel McDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Falling Out
When my house of cards for falls.
when i think I've lost it all.
she comes dancing so pretty down the street.
And i think that's a girl i would like to meet.
so full of energy.
But do i got it, as she does pure confidence.
knowing when and where your going.
rising above it all.
Save me, oh baby just save me.
when my house of cards falls and i think i lost it all.
i see her fighting off two men.
protecting her children. oh how i want that,
anything to know true love.
I'm just so numb, i think i forgot to have fun.
i just melt beneath the sun.
Just save me, oh baby just save me.
when my house of cards falls and
i think i lost it all.
i see her running out of a house on fire with her children.
and then i know what loss truly is.
So i must keep my faith.
Even with all thats wrong something got to go right.
Save me, oh baby just save me.
when my house of cards falls and
i think i've lost it all. i look back and
remember what i once had. and
its nothing compared to some so dumb.
A moment that should just be cherished.
A sequel to the prequel. with a kiss goodbye
i say save me oh baby just save me.
mmmhmmm. yeah save me, oh baby just save me.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Mute Hunger
An ache perforates veins deep
Blood cold as moods of night
tears fall on food I eat
tears fall on food withered
Filled platters, piled up trash bins
Plastic flash cards' redeemed poise
Classy high end festive foyers
Dim lit reckless long end revelry
Minds relaxed on refined comforts
jaded dried leaves spread apart
life shriveled, cry for food
hear my heart from unknown souls
bracing measures count on scales
reversed ravage Friday flings
cried my mind on third world famine
poor souls' handcuffed hunger
Mute, deaf, dumb hunger
Strange unknown silent anguish....
Genuine thud on unarmed door steps
Benign heart you listen please....
Don’t, don’t waste fuel of life
Dear reader friends,
All over the world humans throw food to trash boxes, listen the cries of hunger, please don’t waste food, it is precious... Millions are dying in the third world of hunger.
A fresh estimate from the ministry of food processing says a whopping Rs 58,000 crore (Rs 580 billion) worth of agriculture food items get wasted in India every year resulting artificial demand, price hike and food shortage. People below poverty line are the sufferers.
Private consulting firm Rabo India Finance has prepared the food wastage report and presented it to the ministry.Quoting from the report, Minister of State for Food Processing told the Parliament that the fact that such a huge quantity of food items goes as waste in the country is an eye-opener.
poem by Rema Prasanaa
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Well, Say It As You See It
it is nice
yes, always the feeling is nice
when you call a spade a spade
lets your heart out
nothing tightens
or chokes
nothing to vomit
at the end
nothing hidden
well, they laid the principle
of candid honesty
say it as it pleases you
not as it pleases them
always, yes, always
call a spade a spade
that is rule # one
honesty, that lonely word
well, i learned it by heart
learning to say
what is in my mind
but what do i get?
nothing
everyone is displeased
with my honesty
that i am one tactless
form of shit
this monstrous mammal
this elephant with a tusk
this snake with a venom
this mischievous child
laughing at the
naked emperor
without clothes
well, yes, i still say what i see
calling a spade always a spade
and what do i get?
yes, this one,
nothing but this one
this poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tom Beatty
I was a lawyer like Harmon Whitney
Or Kinsey Keene or Garrison Standard,
For I tried the rights of property,
Although by lamp-light, for thirty years,
In that poker room in the opera house.
And I say to you that Life's a gambler
Head and shoulders above us all.
No mayor alive can close the house.
And if you lose, you can squeal as you will;
You'll not get back your money.
He makes the percentage hard to conquer;
He stacks the cards to catch your weakness
And not to meet your strength.
And he gives you seventy years to play:
For if you cannot win in seventy
You cannot win at all.
So, if you lose, get out of the room --
Get out of the room when your time is up.
It's mean to sit and fumble the cards,
And curse your losses, leaden-eyed,
Whining to try and try.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somebody's game
the way
they play cards
flipping back
forward
our existence
a pack of cards
a queen,
a blackjack,
a spade,
between
the cards
a million
million years
we are tossed
up, down,
down, up
somebody's plan
anxiety to be winners
we live out
in a sea
tossed, thrown,
flipped,
nilly willyly
someone's
gamble
in blood and tears
in between
a bagful of suspense
puzzled
the beginning
the end
is there one?
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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