White Noises
Amidst the drumming noise,
I lambasted to no avail
but there was nothing
but the lifted wind listening
My thoughts danced burning,
vertiginously suspended
upon the gilded coldness
and all these vociferous cries
are quelled by its own farce
The violins played scathingly
attempting to dub an elegy
for all the writhed nights
and all the sharp lights
that does not mean anything
But you still remained
the note, the echo -
the memory of the conscience
upon every pillaged morrow
poem by Norman Santos
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Wall Engulfed By Shy Flowers
There is a rendezvous with flamboyance -
a stillness gilded by the peace of detachment
as tacit as the uncurling of moonflowers
when the night sprawls on her divan
and raises her goblet to the distant stars -
and he alone, in his howling dungeons, can
usurp the esoteric grandiosity in malcontent
Everything is intimate and close
in the sterile skin of your vulnerability -
the drifting autumn wind, the lifted eyelids,
the dancing lips, the glaring waltzing feet
But in your soliloquy - unraveling threads
that strangulates your recuperating breaths,
your swallowed words raving in the dark
fanning the embers of your glassy heart
the spurious tides of the oceans crash
into a lull amidst your redundant tremors
and everything sink into the unfathomable
There is an agog pleasure basking in
the immensity of monastic pendulums, whilst
the world gyrated in blurs and drifting lights
where the perfume of bliss passes above
the stagnant wind sculling our little breaths
the montage reels in the infinitesimal gilts
elsewhere held from the malingerers
There is an effulgent hymn immersed deep
in the cacophony of the world's manifold rhythms
like cathedral bells trembling from the hollows
that echoed through the gold insularity,
like a siren scintillating in the furnace of the sea
a charade, a riddle, born by loquacious maladies
When the pastels are pillaged to a halt,
when the only judge is the frost and fog,
when solace is the thief of the endless night,
he indulges into a dance and a song -
A fire burns underneath his sole and
a lilt titillates from his lifted susurrations
and reticence was eroding with the embers
whilst loneliness burns like red roses
and the web of bridges suspended above
The clockwork salutes fell unbeknownst
into a bottomless ocean of rigmaroles unto
the fusillade of your silence - a salient armada,
a sentry amidst the collapsing of confusion,
a terse bridge that burns with inner caliginosity,
a bulwark adamant wall that makes no echoes,
a flower awakening in the oppression of sleep;
Because your bland insinuation is more colossal
than the petulant beauty of many garden larcenies
The reticence you wore like paper petals are frail
vanguards that hones your puissant indifference -
Play along the farce, come soundless like a thief,
lean on your citadels, dance with the shadows
riveted on your walls and cringe only to intensify
the grandiosity of your gray shabby heavens;
Wallflower, sing. Wallflower, dance,
Wallflower, cringe. Wallflower writhe.
poem by Norman Santos
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Making Love With Memories
You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.
We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.
I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.
And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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When Love Cries
Baby you
turned my world into something new
nights are long when you're far away
hunger for you every night and day
whisper softly to the wind
need you back in my arms again
passion calls from deep inside
it only happens when my love cries
You make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries
you make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries...love cries...love cries
And when I am blue
close my eyes and dream of you
silent echoes scream out your name
you're the keeper of my flame
I'll survive on desire
'til I'm closer to your burning fire
ride a star across the sky
I need you here when my love cries
You make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries
you make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries...love cries
you make my hear sing (x6)
when love cries
Ooh baby
to be near you
just to feel you
Baby
song performed by by Donna Summer from The Donna Summer Anthology
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Memory Shall Flow
Into a melody, a memory shall flow
Guided by an echo, and, ever so slow
O're to the mountains, t'is dancing on a breeze
T'is the echo laughing with the trees.
Into the sky to the path of the unknown
A great many memories, o're the miles have flown
Remember an echo has a memory in tow
T'is yours for the picking, t'is yours to show.
Into an echo conducting its humble chores
When to look upon a memory is completely yours
Building a mountain of memories an echo's test
To pick from a tree, the memories I like best.
poem by M. Rene Riel
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Sleepless in suburbia
Sleepless in suburbia
~
quiet little thoughts
play out in a suburban town
hours pass by unnoticed
day becomes night
and thoughts continue
sounds of strangers passing
beyond the window
beyond the walls
traffic and daily life
a crescendo of noise
fills out the soundtrack
a handful of stories echo
into their own lives
pieced together not entirely
by a restless mind
sleepless and listening
sleepless and imagining
while suburbia is thriving
quiet little thoughts
prevent sleeping
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Take Your Memory With You
I can read the writing on the wall
You pretend that nothings changed at all
Ive got just one thing to ask you if its so
Just take your memory with you when you go
So I wont have to think about
The lonely nights Ill be without
Someone to hold me when the cold wind blows
Take your memory with you when you go
I walk the floor and wonder what went wrong
Ill have to find a way to carry on
Why dont you leave before the heartache starts to show
Take your memory with you when you go
So I wont have to think about
The lonely nights Ill be without
Someone to hold me when the cold wind blows
Take your memory with you
So I wont have to miss you
Take your memory with you when you go
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dark Nights
Dark nights, stars are burning billions of miles away, in the hollows of the black sky. That is how she feels all the time.
Dark nights, how will she navigate her way, find her way, when all she can see in the nothingness all around her.
Dark nights, she screams at the nothingness thats around her. she screams at the numbness inside her, the pains she cannot get away from, and the coldness that drowns her.
Dark nights, no one knows about the fights she fights alones, trapted inside her own self.
She is stuck in the darkness, the nothingness, and the numbness.
the dreadful dark nights she is comsumed by. she doesnt want no one's help. she wants to do this on her own.
dark nights, she is actually comfortable here. she is used to it here. she belongs here
at least for now.
Dark nights, it is her one place she is accepted. no one knows her, no one is there.
Dark nights, it is a place of her own. A place she created. no judgements.
The dark nights ask nothing of her, the dark nights has no expectations of her.
She owns the Dark nights.
poem by Ashley Dowdy
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Far Away
Thine presence yet unfading in my thoughts
Thine voice I merely hear in echo
The comfort mine mere imagination brought
Thine bright illuminating halo
A glimpse to the sky, thy beauty lies
A view in blizzards, thy image formed
A peek in the fireplace, Memory stays
A stare on waters, thy reflection showed
How much of you mine thoughts are bothered
Thy memory was never in serenity
Upon the nights, mine dreams be shattered
To completely fade after eternity.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Saint Bernard in the fields at Clairvaux. For Hilary.
That day as the sun set,
its afterglow flooded the world with light
like the meeting of heaven and earth; then
the great bell of the abbey tolled the vesper;
the workers in the fields lowered their scythes
and bowed their heads or knelt on the sharp stubble;
a grasshopper rested on the rough hem of my robe;
nature held its breath and knew eternity
I listened as the echo of the bell
took all my listening, and then
was heard no more; but listening remained;
the silence became full of all things, and
all things were praise and
all things were love and
all things were understanding:
there I heard no other;
there I saw no other;
there I understood no other;
but was infinity itself
love itself is understanding;
understanding is itself all love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Unheard Elegy of a Widow Pianist
In a quadrille of his flimsy fingers
He lambently imposed tranquility
In between the brunt of his calloused soldiers
That the phalanges strangulated in a knot
And trudged and snapped and broke
With the heart of the widow pianist
Whistling his vapid tune from weaker towers
With the streets teeming of faceless strangers
He played the elude of his phantasmagoria
And groveled with a bleeding sonata
With shambling notes of empty words
That singed brusquely in a queue
Among their empty swollen ears
The schmaltz plea died with the violins
He sedated himself with the picture
Of familiar peoples crammed in a rotogravure
And the melancholy disembogued of verve
When the pictures pranced with deluded scherzos
And the listening thawed unto their toes
As he gnawed upon a drunken smile
The pianist's elegy strode a thousand mile
The widow pianist crooned to bargain
For an audience to the unfurling morsels
Of his slivered mind and its elegy
And ferry the silver euphonic melody
In a place divorced of harsh veracity,
Where triviality would be unwelcomed,
And benediction is in a saccharine orchestra.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Canary Bird
I cannot hear thy voice with other’s ears,
Who make of thy lost liberty a gain;
And in thy tale of blighted hopes and fears
Feel not that every note is born with pain.
Alas! That with thy music’s gentle swell
Past days of joy should through thy memory throng,
And each to thee their words of sorrow tell
While ravished sense forgets thee in thy song.
The heart that on thy past and future feeds,
And pours in human words its thoughts divine,
Though at each birth the spirit inly bleeds,
Its song may charm the listening ear like thine,
And men with gilded cage and praise will try
To make the bard like thee forget his native sky.
poem by Jones Very
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To The Canary Bird
I cannot hear thy voice with others' ears,
Who make of thy lost liberty a gain;
And in thy tale of blighted hopes and fears
Feel not that every note is born with pain.
Alas! that with thy music's gentle swell
Past days of joy should through thy memory throng,
And each to thee their words of sorrow tell,
While ravished sense forgets thee in thy song.
The heart that on the past and future feeds,
And pours in human words its thoughts divine,
Though at each birth the spirit inly bleeds,
Its song may charm the listening ear like thine,
And men with gilded cage and praise will try
To make the bard like thee forget his native sky.
poem by Jones Very
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Dark Nights
Dark nights, stars are burning billions of miles away, in the hollows of the black sky. That is how she feels all the time.
Dark nights, how will she navigate her way, find her way, when all she can see in the nothingness all around her.
Dark nights, she screams at the nothingness the around her. She screams at the numbness inside her, the pains she cannot get away from, and the coldness that drowns her.
Dark nights, no one knows about the fights she fights alones, trapped inside her own self.
She is stuck in the darkness, the nothingness, and the numbness.
The dreadful dark nights she is consumed by. She doesn’t want no one's help. she wants to do this on her own.
Dark nights, she is actually comfortable here. She is used to it here. she belongs here
at least for now.
Dark nights, it is her one place she is accepted. No one knows her, no one is there.
Dark nights, it is a place of her own. A place she created. No judgments.
The dark nights ask nothing of her, the dark night does not have any expectations of her.
She owns the Dark nights.
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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The Festival Of Lights
Rows of lamps lit up the place.
My home was also covered with lights.
You feared the darkness leaving a trace...
Few candles at the gate would make it right!
Set out for lamps to meet the need of your eyes,
I walked through a world of darker night;
Where amidst noise, the plea of silence had to die
And starved faces with trembling hands stood upright.
While lighting up the facade, we remained unaware
About the darkness within, we didn't care.
poem by Kingshuk Chakraborty
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The Wind Cries Mary
After all the jacks are in their boxes
and the clowns have all gone to bed
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
footprints dressed in red
and the wind wispers mary
A broom is drearily sweeping
up the broken pieces of yesterdays life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind wispers Mary
The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
and shine their emptiness down, down on my bed
The tiny island sags downstream
'cause the life that lived is, is dead
And the wind screams Mary
And the wind cries Mary
Will the wind ever remember
the names it has blown in the past
with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom
it whispers "no, this won't be the last"
And the wind cries Mary
And the wind cries Mary
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Upright Piano
For as long as I remember, when friday night came round
The family would gather out at grandpas house.
With supper over and the dishes done
It was then the best time came
At an old upright piano that only grandma played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
Grandpa was a stubborn man, they said it was his style.
Grandma called him ornery, but she said it with a smile.
Even he could not disguise the love he felt so strong;
We all could see it in his eyes when she played his favorite song.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
I was almost 17 when my grandma died;
I stayed all night with grandpa; the old man never cried.
He sat at her piano, there was nothing we could say
It was the first time in my life I ever heard my grandpa play.
It wasnt beautiful dreamer or my wild irish rose
It was a song he played from memory & he never missed a note
I sat right there beside him until the morning came
What a friend we have in jesus was the only song he played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Auspicious of Nights
Auspicious of Nights
By: Adam M. Snow
On this auspicious of nights,
the children comes with fear delights,
awaken the infant, the newborn kin,
and open the world of pain within,
followed by all sins and sorrow,
as they wait to die this final morrow.
The wolves now vent, cry and howl,
as all children now gone on a prowl.
The moon once full now is shattered,
and all dreams are lost and scattered.
On this auspicious of nights,
they lose all their sights.
Now awakened yet asleep,
to the empty skies, they weep.
Cold and alone they stand vivified and afraid,
to their chambers they return to where they laid.
Confused and lost, they remain,
with nothing left for them to explain.
On this auspicious of nights,
darkness surrounds all lights.
The infant now cries,
as the children dies,
the wolves now vent silence,
as the world erupts in violence.
Now hatred ignites,
on this auspicious of nights.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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I am sleepless
I have sleepless nights
I think a lot but nothing seems right
Dark clouds appear in the sky
I wonder why I feel shy
I am terrified by clouds
That creates sound which I find loud
Loneliness adds to my woes
I always feel jittery and on my toes
When rain drops come drumming on my roof
I rush towards the window to see this living proof
Tears just role down my cheeks due to our separation
many thoughts surface raising questions
Sleep has disappeared or gone miles away
as you have chosen a different way
I hear the rain drops as if thunderous noise
I miss you dearly and the numerous promises
This compels my heat to fill with sadness
Tears rush down my gloomy face
They role down my face in total defiance
I loose faith in my controlling reliance
I wish you have some memory
That will cause you some worry
You may have few words to say like sorry
But in no way is sad feeling nice to carry
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Everywhere I go
There's something I really need
Everyone I know
Is someone I want to be
Even though
I don't really know me
I better pick it up
Before I let it slip away
I better stick it out
Before I take another day
Into mouth
Everything I say fades out
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Can I open up your eyes?
Only when the clouds break?
Can I feel the light?
Even though the world shakes
Every night,
You're my quiet satellite
Can I hold you close?
Do her out of focus
And everything I know
I don't even know this
It all falls through
I'm here and I hear you
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Do you hear me?
Do you hear me?
Cause I need to, just to reach you
Do you hear me?
Coming clearly?
Am I hollow?
Just an echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Comedy is a farce that is played in the dark, as you know, with the lights full on. It's the Chinese convention of reversing light and dark, and exactly where anybody is at any given moment is the play.
quote by Peter Shaffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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