The Silver And Glass Pepper Pot
I was waiting for the final spin of the washing machine
and just happened to glance at the floor
when I thought something dashed behind the bucket,
so I took a look, just to make sure.
At first it looked like a sort of shadow,
something inoffensive and small,
but as soon as I moved the bucket away
it began to grow and grow, so tall.
In seconds its head and shoulders hit the ceiling,
its body almost blocked out the light.
It bent down and placed its face in front of mine,
my entire body shook with fright.
Its teeth filled mouth opened wide like a cavern,
I thought it was going to swallow me whole,
but instead it licked my face from ear to ear
the sweat from my frightened soul.
A loud bang from a back-firing car in the street
brought this creature instantly back to size.
I couldn't believe my luck so I ran into the kitchen
for a container to keep it minimised.
I wanted so much to gloat over its capture
and a pepper pot would be the ideal place.
It was still there in the corner of the utility room
and its fast capture cut down the chase.
The problem was, what was I to do with it,
should I ferry it far out to sea,
or just throw it in the recycling bin.
I decided to consider this carefully.
I was going away for a long weekend
and I would decide when I got back.
Until then it stood on the book case,
next to a silver framed photograph.
Whilst I was visiting friends and relations,
my house was burgled and trashed.
The pepper-pot prison was also stolen,
I fear the thief has burgled his last.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Bucket T
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Found her in a barn in tennessee
I paid five bucks for my bucket t
Took me three years of sweat and blood
To clean off all that tennessee mud
Chorus:
My bucket t (bucket t)
Bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
T t t... bucket bucket bucket...
Cruise down the street in front of school
I wanna rev it up but I gotta be cool
Drivin down the road Ill get my kicks
Apoppin the clutch and aslippin the sticks
[chorus]
I was right, too, shes first in her class
Theres nothing on the freeway she dont pass
All the girls want to take a ride with me
But theres only one seat in my bucket t
[chorus]
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Say Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Close your eyes
And bow your head
To rest your soul
And to praise the dead
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Dry your eyes
And stand upright
Put a smile on your face
He wouldnt want us to cry
The sun will rise
The stars will shine
Turning day to dusk
And night to dawn
Well pass on
But until that time
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Have mercy
Its a wonderful life
Eternal rest for the weary
Mourners party tonight
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Wave your hands
But dont say goodbye
Were all gonna meet you
On the other side
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A little Ghost Story
As I was going to bed
I turned out my light
tucked myself in
on a long winter's night
All of a sudden
I heard a door squeak
I thought someone was in my house
so I decided to take a peak
I heard the wind blow hard
and started to shiver with fear
and heard some noises again
but this time I knew I was near
I went into the living room
and noticed my door was opened wide
squeaking back and forth
I laughed so hard I almost cried
So I decided to go back up to my room
When I heard some terrible cries
I rushed to my room real quick
but a ghost stopped me in surprise
I ran and yelled
and I ran outside my house right then
and decided I would never
go back to that house again
At my new house
I turned out the light
you can probably guess
what went on that night
poem by Shaina Lloyd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lost Head Going Home
drunk young insane youth reckless
rode rolling roaring rocking horse
death throbbed snobbed recklessly
between limbo lost leaden limb legs
death choked feelinglessly firmly
within tight leather gloved throttled hand
never riding wild enough
never riding fast enough
until suddenly had to stop
in fatal death dying seconds
until timeless terror filled seconds
last timeless terror filled seconds
telephone pole planted roadside
blocked pathway
concrete beam bisecting runaway
blocked roadway
around tight murderous corner cannot stray
around overshot sped corner couldn’t swerve
while the pole moved
into line of sight
while the pole moved
into dead reckoning
while the pole instantly moved
half an out of line bloody inch
while the pole immobile moved
half a bloody inch
telephone pole deeply embedded
moved a whole half-inch
then slid directly dead
into dead line of sight
upon the body no mark
upon the shoulders no head
upon body no mark
not a scratch nor mark
upon shoulders no head
nothing from pulp neck up
stiff rod like corpse
found stone cold dead
buried in local communal cemetery
buried in coffin without head
drunk young insane one
could have had a son
could have had some fun
if he’d kept his head
one night excess drinking he’s dead
should have stayed slept gone to bed
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wanderlust
Looks like I pulled a fast one
Looks like I went to town
Looks like the world revolves around me
Looks like it's falling down.
I thought I'd kicked the traces
I thought the wheels would spin
I thought I'd jumped the fence and bolted
Looks like I'm back again
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
I had to grab a suitcase
I had to change my clothes
I had to run the shower hot
until the water froze
I brushed against confusion
I wanted time to grow
I want the sticks and stones not to throw me
get back to what I know
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
I'm searching for a greatness
I smear it on my face
I want to bathe in grape must
swim the length of the milky way
I want it to be brilliant
I want it to be sweet
I want to kiss the astronauts
when they salute to me me me me
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Back On The Train
When I jumped off, I had a bucket full of thoughts
When I first jumped off, I held that bucket in my hand
Ideas that would take me all around the world
I stood and watched the smoke behind the mountain curl
It took me a long time to get back on the train
Now I'm gone and I'll never look back again
I'm gone and I'll never look back at all
You know I'll never look back again
I turn my face into the howlin' wind
It took me a long time to get back on the train
See my face in the town that's flashing by
See me standing at the station in the rain
See me standing there beside the car
I left it all behind, again I'll travel far
It took me a long time to get back on the train
When I jumped off, I had a bucket full of thoughts
When I first jumped off, I held that bucket in my hand
Ideas that would take me all around the world
I stood and watched the smoke behind the mountains curl
It took me a long time to get back on the train
It took me a long time to get back on the train
It took me a long time to get back on the train
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Bucket Kicker
What rhymes with bucket?
'That depends.
Is the bucket empty?
And
Is there anyone kicking it? '
Let's say the bucket is full.
And it is being carried?
'In a Porshe?
Or a Mercedes? '
You know
Sometimes I wonder why,
I bother to ask you anything!
'Oh
So 'you're' the kicker?
That should be obvious.'
Why is it obvious now?
'Well,
If a bucket is struck by a kicker out of luck
And that bucket is not picked up,
That bucket struck aint worth
What's being dumped into it from an outhouse.'
What's an outhouse have to do with it?
'That's for you to figure out
That bucket I'm going to carry
Is going to be in the trunk of my limousine.'
Thank you.
But that doesn't rhyme with bucket
'My plucked duckets
In the trunk of a limo
Sitting filled to the brim
In my golden bucket
And your hands aint around
Or near enough to touch it
Uh, I don't know about you
But that sounds very poetic to me
And you can fuss and cuss,
While kicking your bucket all you want
Thank you for your inspiration.'
No problem.
I just know from now on
Not to ask you anything
'I'm cool with that
Bucket kicker.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love Sign (Remix)
If U're sick of evil knocking on your door
Throw up the love sign once and 4evermore
If U'd rather make love and have a little fun
Throw up the love sign everybody and not the gun
In a chariot of red and gold
The cool, fuzzy voice said "Come save your soul"
Be4 the fear of rejection reared its head
He stood be4 the masses and calmly said
If U're sick of evil knocking on your door
Throw up the love sign once and 4evermore
If U'd rather make and have a little fun
Throw up the love sign everybody and not the gun
In the day of where and why we all belong
Don't no body wanna hear a silly love song
And if they did then we would sing it on the news
While U're aiming your gun at me and I'm aiming back at U
Pop, pop, pop go the pistol
Bang, bang, bang go the gun
Pop, pop, pop go the pistol
Bang, bang, bang go the gun
If U only had one year left 2 live
What good is the time U spend if U got no love 2 give?
Let's all get up off the front and find a cause 2 back
Then we could teach the babies replications of the act
If U're sick of evil knocking on your door
Throw up the love sign once and 4evermore
If U'd rather make love and have a little fun
Throw up the love sign everybody and not the gun
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dentist Chair (Fun Poem 99)
Everyone hates the dentist
some much more than me.
Just the thought of the drill
and the light in your eyes
puts the chills up me.
One of my worst encounters
of the dentist chair came in the 1960’s
when a cold in a tooth made my face swell
on one side like a melon
and I could only drink through a straw.
They knocked me out to remove the tooth.
Having no recovery room
they put me back in the waiting room
and sat me in a chair out there.
It was the dawn of the plastic moulded ones
and the one I sat on was so slippery
I kept slipping down.
I mumbled aloud about the dentist being no good.
Some of his patients took one look at me
and decided I was right, then made a hasty exit
from the waiting room.
With the side of my face swollen to the size of a melon
I can understand why.
Another encounter with a dentist
was quite a few years later.
A different dentist with a wholly different approach.
He was having his waiting room decorated
and I was the only one there.
He came in with a Cheshire grin across his face.
“Mr Harris, do you mind if this gentleman
takes out your teeth today? ”
Being I and thinking it was a student,
I said I didn’t mind.
The dentist then said, “He is my interior decorator.”
The smile still implanted on his face.
I nearly ran out of there.
Now the third tale concerns my wife
and she fears the dentist even more than me.
She had an appointment
and when we arrived,
the surgery was closed for lunch.
We went for a little walk
and all the cars we passed had dents in the side.
“See that.” I said.
“Yes.” She replied.
“That’s what the dentist does
when he can’t get his own way.”
As we approached, a corner
there was a church on the other side.
“Why don’t you nip in there for a quick pray
that the dentist doesn’t come back? ”
She thumped me I wonder why.
As we walked back to the surgery I assured her,
that everything was going to be OK.
They calm you as soon as you walk in.
She looked at me suspiciously and asked how?
They have a big mallet just above the door
and bop you on the head as you walk in.
Your teeth fall out in the process
and the job is done.
Now I wonder why she has never asked me
to go to the dentist with her again.
1 April 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Relating To Robinson
Somewhere in Chelsea, early summer;
And, walking in the twilight toward the docks,
I thought I made out Robinson ahead of me.
From an uncurtained second-story room, a radio
Was playing There’s a Small Hotel; a kite
Twisted above dark rooftops and slow drifting birds.
We were alone there, he and I,
Inhabiting the empty street.
Under a sign for Natural Bloom Cigars,
While lights clicked softly in the dusk from red to green,
He stopped and gazed into a window
Where a plaster Venus, modeling a truss,
Looked out at Eastbound traffic. (But Robinson,
I knew, was out of town: he summers at a place in Maine,
Sometimes on Fire Island, sometimes the Cape,
Leaves town in June and comes back after Labor Day.)
And yet, I almost called out, “Robinson!”
There was no chance. Just as I passed,
Turning my head to search his face,
His own head turned with mine
And fixed me with dilated, terrifying eyes
That stopped my blood. His voice
Came at me like an echo in the dark.
“I thought I saw the whirlpool opening.
Kicked all night at a bolted door.
You must have followed me from Astor Place.
An empty paper floats down at the last.
And then a day as huge as yesterday in pairs
Unrolled its horror on my face
Until it blocked—” Running in sweat
To reach the docks, I turned back
For a second glance. I had no certainty,
There in the dark, that it was Robinson
Or someone else.
The block was bare. The Venus,
Bathed in blue fluorescent light,
Stared toward the river. As I hurried West,
The lights across the bay were coming on.
The boats moved silently and the low whistles blew.
poem by Weldon Kees
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Coffee
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy!
Mice versus rats
I'm not for spending money or traveling abroad, but when I opened
the drawer, at the bottom of my desk, it was full of tiny mice, nesting
on my check- book, since I hadn't opened for years; they had eaten
my passport too, and a couple of poems I thought were too racy to be
published.22 mice smaller than a baby's thumb confused in the glare
of light the creatures thought my fingers were other mice when I tried
to retrieve my check book- and out of date my passport.
Closed the drawer to the mice's delight, thought it had been a deviation,
got hold of a tin bucket opened the drawer again and put them all in there,
yes, even the babies- there are times in life when one can show no mercy-
my intention was to drown them, but could not, their struggle to climb up
the bucket must be honored. At night I let them free on the sandy lane.
When I opened the drawer next day a big rat sat there, bit my finger it had
stolen my credit card…. Now, how do you explain that to a bank manager?
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Possibilities of Ice
One day at school
I decided to put a pool
Of ice water over Mrs. Stuart's desk
When she sat down in the chair
The bucket turned in the air
And boy I swear what a mess
She stood up to shout
The person responsible will be out
Of school for a couple of days
It was funny to see
The stunned looks of glee
But not as funny as that teacher's face
Although I got out
Because of that teacher's shout
Mr. Owen said to me
Nice work young one
But the trouble's only begun
Because when you come back there'll be
Mrs. Stuart with a bucket of ice
And a room full of unsanitary mice
So Mrs. Stuart
I'm as sorry as I could possibly be
But you should have sen the look on your face
The day that you yelled at me.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Giant Spider
In the bathroom this evening I saw the largest spider I’d ever seen,
it was the size of a saucer and it must’ve been a king or queen.
Menacingly it stood in front of me and looked me in the eye,
I think it was considering whether I should live or die.
It began tapping one of its front feet against the tiled floor,
I didn’t know what to do, I became anxious and unsure.
The spider licked its lips, as though it had decided what to do,
so I took one step backwards and then quickly another two.
I’m sure I felt the floor vibrate, as it tapped its foot once more,
it then stood in the doorway so I couldn’t get out the door
I considered jumping over it, but remembered that they also leap,
but then my brother walked in, and crushed it beneath his feet.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Darkness
For sometime I’ve been living by myself
and as usual I close the windows at night.
I was sitting on the bed reading a letter
when something darkened the light.
My immediate thought was a power surge
and the house was on a reduced supply,
but when I looked up at the ceiling light
I just couldn’t believe my eyes.
So much so, I rubbed them,
and hoped that it wasn’t there,
but it was, hovering above me
like a mist hanging in the air.
I’d never seen anything like it,
from nowhere it came into sight.
An expanding layer of darkness
that was squeezing out the light.
It had now covered the ceiling
and was edging down the walls.
My breathing wasn’t helping,
as my inhaler began to stall.
I could feel and hear my heart beating;
fear drove me towards the open door.
As my fingers touched the doors handle
its sudden slamming shook the floor.
If it touched me what would happen?
Would I be blanked out like the light?
I stumbled flicking off the light switch,
and with it went the cause of my fright.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad Of Annie Goodbody
Well I took annie out
To see a show
But the music that played
Was too slow
And I knew
If I was going to make any ground
Id have to get some place
Where the music was loud
I said okay babe what do you wanna do
We can cut on out
If you want to
She looked at me and said
just what this place needs
Is some good ol rock and roll
Right from the seeds
Stand in front
Cause she climbed on the stage
And when she opened her mouth
She could really rave
She sang like a bird
And moved like a snake
Suddenly the hall began to shake
Well her body started rocking
On the dance floor
Moving and a shaking
And wanting more
She nearly brought the roof down
With all the rock and roll
Her body started shaking
With the songs that she sang
Even big lucy and her female gang
Her music was loud
Things were getting hot
Whatever it is
Annies sure got
Oooh every body started shakin
With the songs that she sang
Even big lucy and her female gang
The music was loud
Things were getting hot
Whatever it was
Annies sure got
Yeah yeah annie goodbody
I love you
Yes I do
You know I love you
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Waiting For The Day
It was only for a fight
That I asked you to come in
But you brought me tumbling down
And the walls came caving in
Wont you help me dry my tears
Help me roll away the years
Then perhaps I will forgive you
And the hurt will disappear
But in a fit of blind arrogance
You stood up and walked away
If youd given me half a chance
Ill be waiting for the day
For the day that you come back to me
Come on back to me
You come back to me
So forget the long goodbye
You never really tried
Threw the keys down on the table
Youve got your sense of pride
Then you had to tell the world
Your story must be heard
Slammed the door behind you
Without a single word
But in a fit of blind arrogance
You stood up and walked away
The day that you come back to me
Come on back to me
You come back to me
Come back to me
You come back to me
No I never had a single thought in my head
No I never had a single thought
Oh for the day that you come back to me
Come on back to me
You come back to me
Come on back to me
You could be my life long friend
You could be the light of dawn
You could keep me close at hand
You could keep me safe and warm
I will be your fantasy
If you come and stay with me
I will try to give you all
Waiting for the night to fall
You could be the light of day
You could be my life long friend
You could keep me close at hand
Waiting for the day to end
I will be your fantasy
If you come and stay with me
I will try to give my all
Waiting for the night to fall
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Real Motorcycle
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the
poem, that the head
tries to excise.
At 6 a.m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face
on the porch rail in the rain.
Heavy rains later, & maybe a thunderstorm.
12 or 13 degrees.
Inside: an iris, candle, poster of the
many-breasted Artemis in a stone hat
from Anatolia
A little pedal steel guitar
A photograph of her at a table by the sea,
her shoulder blocked by the red geranium.
The sea tho invisible can be smelled by the casual watcher
Incredible salt air
in my throat when I see her.
'Suddenly you discover that you'll spend your entire life
in disorder; it's all that you have; you must learn to live
with it.'
2
Four tanks, & the human white-shirted body
stopped on June 5 in Place Tian an Men.
Or 'a red pullover K-Way.' There is not much time left
to say these things. The urgency of that,
desire that dogged the body all winter
& has scarcely left,
now awaits the lilacs, their small white bunches.
Gaily.
As if their posies will light up
the curious old intentional bruise.
Adjective, adjective, adjective, noun!
3
Or just, lilac moon.
What we must, & cannot, excise from the head.
Her hand holding, oh, The New Path to the Waterfall?
Or the time I walked in too quickly, looked up
at her shirtless, grinning.
Pulling her down into the front of me, silly!
Sitting down sudden to make a lap for her...
Kissing the back of her leg.
4
Actually the leg kiss was a dream, later enacted
we laughed at it,
why didn't you do it
she said
when you thought of it.
The excisable thought, later
desired or
necessary.
Or shuddered at, in memory.
Later, it is repeated for the cameras
with such unease.
& now, stuck in the head.
Like running the motorcycle full-tilt into the hay bales.
What is the motorcycle doing in the poem
A. said.
It's an image, E. said back.
It's a crash in the head, she said.
It's a real motorcycle.
Afterthought 1
0 excise this: her back turned,
she concentrates on something
in a kitchen sink,
& I sit behind her,
running my fingers on
the table edge.
0 excise this.
Afterthought 2
& after, excise, excise.
If the source of the pain could be located
using geological survey equipment.
Into the sedimentary layers, the slippage,
the surge of the igneous intrusion.
Or the flat bottom of the former sea
I grew up on,
Running the motorcycle into the round
bay bales.
Hay grass poking the skin.
The back wet.
Hey, I shouted,
Her back turned to me, its location
now visible only in the head.
When I can't stand it,
I invent anything, even memories.
She gets up, hair stuck with hay.
I invented this. Yeow.
poem by Erin Mouré
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Reoccurring Dream
I am running.
Faster and faster,
from what or
who, I don't know.
The adrenaline pulsing
through my veins,
pushing me to
keep going forward
even though my body
wants to collapse.
I am screaming.
Screaming his name.
I don't know where
he has gone!
I have lost him!
But still I move
forward with hope
that I can
find him!
I see a clearing.
And I see something
in the distance.
Someone hovering over
a shadow on the ground.
Before I do
anything, the person
disappears in the
darkness beyond.
Leaving the shadow.
My heart starts pounding
as I slowly move
toward the shadow
to take a look.
One thought keeps
raising in my head,
but I push it back.
I get closer and closer,
but I still can't see.
When I finally do
my heart stops
and everything spins
all around me.
I fall forward
on my knees.
The tears come
in a rush,
making me loose
my breath.
This has to
be a dream.
This can't be real!
He can't die!
I love him too much!
I pick up
his head gently
and place it on
my lap and
just rock back
and forth
trying to keep calm!
My tears falling
onto his face,
but he doesn't move!
He doesn't even
make a sound.
My love has
been taken from me!
It has been
destroyed forever!
How can I
possibly love now?
How can I do anything
without him?
Why would the
world take him
away from me?
What did I
do to them?
All I did was
love him with
all of my heart and soul!
The tears are
coming so fast,
I can hardly breathe.
It comes out
in gasps making
me very light-headed.
My vision is
blurred by my
constantly falling tears!
But I can
clearly see his
pale, dead face.
So I close my
eyes to try to
make the image
of it go away,
but I still
can see it!
Just like it
was right in
front of me!
I open my eyes
and he is not there!
Like he has
never been there,
Just like he had
walked away.
Leaving me alone
in this cruel world!
But he wanted
to be with me.
He loved me
and does love me still!
I wake up,
drenched in sweat.
Realizing that it
was just a dream.
That is wasn't real.
It wont happen.
Or will it? ...
poem by Jaana Coon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Give Back My Soul
Give back my soul,
You took it away one day,
Or I had given you,
On rent some day,
Give back my soul.
Life had happened before,
Life had happened since,
Life will happen henceforth,
But give back my soul.
The soul was my property sole;
The loss I would not bear
I have nobody to console,
Please give back my soul.
I want those happy days back,
I want those serene times back,
I want those joyous memories back,
Give back my Soul.
I know you won't come back,
For you have a life wonderful;
I know you won't look back,
For you have a companion cheerful;
Give back my soul.
Now people too say,
You were soulful once,
What happened?
You look soulless now,
Give back my soul.
My soul was mine.
I trusted you mine.
I gave you my soul.
Give back my Soul.
The body is dying.
The soul is flying.
The eternity shall happen;
For the sake of,
You and Mine.
poem by Sanjeev Kumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!