I'm Explaining a Few Things
You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.
I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.
From there you could look out
over Castille's dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
Everything
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.
And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings --
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to kill children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.
Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!
Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!
Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.
And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?
Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Peace Frog
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Devil's Night
a lust for blood a horrors night
a longing for the taste of innocent
flesh demons come out to play
when the nights hour is none
let the rest less rise and roam
through the streets of the living
let all awake hear the screams
as blood stains the nights streets
reward the wicked with a personal
lick of the tongue down the neck
as the blood filled vains pop in your
mouth feel alive again as your thrist
for blood is lifted
feed my children feed rip the life out of
the living let all your my children feed
allow the living to fear when the nights
none let only the wandering souls of the
dead roam these streets
cause tonight we feed like
kings on to the flesh of the living
let all a sleep awake to the horried streets
an when the nights bright let the
shattered memories of former friends
mothers, children, father be seen in a pool
of there own blood as we rest to return again
when the clock strights 3am and the night
becomes none =] hahaha until tomorrow my pretties
until tomorrow
poem by Robert Roberts
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Good Morning Blood Brother
Good morning blood brother
Are you alright this morning?
How is the war blood brother?
Do you think that you are winning the battles?
Blood brother
We have the same mother and father
And that is why we are called blood brother
Also please remember that we have the same flesh blood brother
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Had a Nightmare
Dr. King had a dream that we all would live in
peace with equality. I had a nightmare and in
this nightmare the streets were paved with the
blood of our young. The sky was lit up with the
sparks from the bullets that our youth fired at
one another. Ones whom came from the heritage of
African Kings and Queens are now crack whores and
dope fiends. Also in the nightmare that I had
there were millions of children who did not know
who were their dads? These same children spent
more time on the street corners breaking rules,
than going an educating their minds in school.
They ended up graduating from the streets to jail
or the grave. Yes, it is their blood that now
stains our streets. I wish I was like Dr. King
and had a dream. Instead of this nightmare that
is reality.
Fresh Blood
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
He gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
And I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh blood (Lyrics)
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
he gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris,
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
and I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dublin
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Och aye, the blarney blunderbuss,
He's corked, and who's to blame?
'Tain't that his wee son with a pint,
Too soon to walk the same?
Across Ha'penny Bridge his Molly
Bends to scratch for coal,
And one last fire to celebrate:
Today she quits the dole.
But what of Barry? What of Shane?
Who'll give the tykes their bread,
With Pap in one dyke stone-cold drunk,
In the other Mam stone-cold dead?
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
There is blood between us
I
There’s blood between us
that flows very strong
and that red
bind us to each other
with genes and ancestors
and you will forever be my brother.
II
There’s blood between us
and our hands
are full of it
and it’s blood of enemies
that had to flow
for us to stay alive
and that blood ties
you and me
in a own companionship
and you are my best comrade.
III
There’s blood between us
that binds you to me
and maybe a child
will appear out of us both
as sign of how sincere
our love is
and that blood
ties you my love
to me
as the one that I adore.
IV
There’s blood between us
that flows on a cross
where the Son of God
suffered for me
and that blood
wash all my sins away
and tie me
to become a child
of the Almighty Father.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood Brothers
Maurice white, jon lind, nicky brown & brock walsh
So my friend
Voices from the past reunite at last
Back when we grew up on the streets
The world was at our feet
Do you recall the two of us
How we used th sing when everything
Was new to us
From the time that we were old
Enough to stand
It was you and I together to the end
Oh, what our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers till the end
Through these years
Time has not been kind to others left behind
These streets where you and I once played
Nothings left today
What happened to the dreams we shared
Do we just go on like it was
Never there
Do I tell you that theres hope beyond
These walls
That to help you Id do anything at all
What our souls believe we will
Always be
Blood brothers time cant divide
What our hearts have said with a
Drop of red
Blood brothers, the bond we made never
Will break
Blood brothers to the end
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where The Streets Have No Name/cant Take My Eyes Off You
(hewson/evan/mullen/clayton/gaudio/crewe)
-----------------------------------------
(burning down love)
(burning down love)
I want to run, I want to hide
I want to break down the walls that hold me inside
I want to reach out, and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
Ah-ha-ah
I want to feel the sun on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear without a trace
I want to take shelter from poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Ah-ha-ah
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Were still building, then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
Where the streets have no name
Cant take my eyes off of you
I love you, baby, and if its quite alright
I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night
So let me love you, baby
Let me love you
The citys aflood, our love turns to rust
Were beaten and blown by the wind, trampled in dust
Ill show you a place, high on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name
Ah-ha-ah
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Were still building, then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
Its all I can do
Where the streets have no name
I cant take my eyes off of you
(ooh aah)
Love you, baby, let me love you
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homeless Childrens Covenant
So much bad news- about children being abused.
What kind of thoughts can go thru a molesters mind
Don’t they know they’ll be caught with time.
Do you know how many children have run away
Because in their house they could not stay.
At the time they think that the streets are their escape
But they don’t know that predators sit and wait.
They offer you food, a roof, and a bed to sleep
Once they get you - you’re in trouble deep.
They will tell you that you have no value, no worth
You’ve never been loved since your birth.
They’ll tell you that the only thing that you can do
Is give a sexual favor or two.
You have no money- no food
Just the clothes on your back
Against you the cards have been stacked.
No education and no place to live
What can you offer- what do you have to give.
They’ll say anything to get control
They want to own you body and soul.
Go to your local churches, or the YMCA
If they can’t help you, they’ll recommend a way.
There are places that you can go
Where they can help you- more than you know.
One of these is called “COVENANT HOUSE”
Helping boys and girls of all ages
Knowing each child has gone thru different stages.
A roof, a bed, food to eat
You can finally get off the streets.
They can help you turn your life around
And no more being put to the ground.
Giving you self respect, and it gets better yet.
A place where there is love abound
This is the place that many have found.
Many had to get out of an abusive family situation
But the streets is not your salvation.
There are kids younger than you
What do you think they’ve gone through.
Use the strength and knowledge
that you have gained
To help others of the same.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazarus Heart
He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand
Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Ive no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Captive of the White City, The
Flower of the foam of the waves
Of the beautiful inland sea, -
White as the foam that laves
The ships of the Sea-Kings past, -
Marvel of human hands,
Wonderful, mystical, vast,
The great White City stands;
And the banners of all the lands
Are free on the western breeze,
Free as the West is free.
And the throngs go up and down
In the streets of the wonderful town
In brotherly love and grace, -
Children of every zone
The light of the sun has known:
And there in the Midway Place,
In the House of the Unhewn Trees,
There in the surging crowd,
Silent, and stern, and proud,
Sits Rain-in-the-Face!
Why is the captive here?
Is the hour of the Lord so near
When slayer and slain shall meet
In the place of the Judgment seat
For the word of the last decree?
Ah, what is the word to be?
For the beautiful City stands
On the Red Man’s wrested lands, **
The home of the fated race;
And the ghostly shadow falls
Over the trophied walls ***
Of the House of the Unhewn Tree,
In the pleasant Midway Place.
There is blood on the broken door,
Ther is blood on the broken floor,
Blood on your bronzed hands,
O Rain-in-the-Face.
Shut from the sunlit air,
Like a sun-god overthrown,
The soldier, Custer, lies.
Dust is the sun-kissed hair,
Dust are the dauntless eyes,
Dust and name alone; -
While the wife holds watch with grief
For the never-returning chief.
What if she walked to-day
In the City’s pleasant way,
The beautiful Midway Place,
And there to her sudden gaze,
Dimmed with her widow’s tears,
After the terrible years,
Stood Rain-in-the-Face!
Quench with a dropp of dew
From the morning’s cloudless blue
The prairies’ burning plains-
The seas of seething flame;
Turn from its awful path
The tempest, in its wrath;
Lure from his jungle-lair
The tiger, crouching there
For the leap on his sighted prey:
Then seek as well to tame
The hate in the Red Man’s veins,
His tiger-thirst to cool,
In the hour of the evil day
When his foe before him stands!
From the wrongs of the White Man’s rule
Blood only may wash the trace.
Alas, for the death-heaped slain!
Alas for your blood-stained hands,
O Rain-in-the-Face!
And the throngs go up, go down,
In the streets of the wonderful town;
And jests of the merry tongue,
And the dance, and the glad songs sung,
Ring through the sunlit space.
And there, in the wild, free breeze,
In the House of the Unhewn Trees,
In the beautiful Midway Place,
The captive sits apart,
Silent, and makes no sign.
But what is the word in your heart,
O man of a dying race?
What tale on your lips for mine,
O Rain-in-the-Face?
* “The White City” was the name given to the Columbian Exposition in Chicago,1893. The man who killed General Custer on the Little Bighorn was displayed in the Midway Plaisance of the fair. He sat, under guard, in a log cabin brought from Montana and reportedly owned by Sitting Bull, the same cabin in which that chief and his son had been killed.
** The Indians claim that the Land upon which Chicago is built was never fully paid for.
*** ”The walls were hung with relics of the fight” (Coolbrith’s note)
poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red With Native Blood
Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
We have soiled it so, with our hands,
red with native blood.
The earth was stained, when we first came,
red with native blood.
We stole their domain, with a barbaric claim:
that we were civilised and they were not,
that they were the savages and we were not,
when we ravaged the land that began to clot,
red with native blood.
Not content with genocide
we interned them in reserves.
To break their culture
and tribal ways;
in stealing children
the state was brave,
to turn their women
into household slaves,
and hope their men would die,
unmourned, in lonely graves;
a problem to us no more.
Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
Acknowledge their just demands,
wash the stains from our hands,
give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
poem by David SmithWhite
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What has happened
What has happened?
People were all brains
They were inclined to peace
About one step far
Then suddenly
People went mad
Fire everywhere
Blood will have blood*
Children like broken winged birds
Covered with blood
Blood will have blood*
This is madness
Blind madness
And nobody knows
What has happened!
* from Macbeth by Shakespeare
poem by Eman Elbadawi
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Streets Of Philadelphia
I was bruised and battered and I couldnt tell
What I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself
I saw my reflection in a window I didnt know
My own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me
Wastinaway
On the streets of philadelphia
I walked the avenue till my legs felt like stone
I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone
At night I could hear the blood in my veins
Black and whispering as the rain
On the streets of philadelphia
Aint no angel gonna greet me
Its just you and I my friend
My clothes dont fit me no more
I walked a thousand miles
Just to slip the skin
The night has fallen, Im lyinawake
I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss
Or will we leave each other alone like this
On the streets of philadelphia
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moon
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
She shines on thieves on the garden wall,
On streets and fields and harbour quays,
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
The howling dog by the door of the house,
The bat that lies in bed at noon,
All love to be out by the light of the moon.
But all of the things that belong to the day
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
And flowers and children close their eyes
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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I'll Let You Know
The real owners of that house
Wherever they are they're still running
There's a man in that house now
By day he sleeps soundly you'll
Swear he's the harmless unarmed angel
The young girls in the neighborhood
Are pretty they like to experiment...
At dusk he sharpens his butterfly knives
Towards evening the wild partying starts
I'll let you know how it all operates
At night falls the interlude of the creepy
Interlude and at midnight comes the eerie
Blood curdling yells oh no no
In the morning he arranges the flowers with
The broad friendly smile on his priestly face
You would be swayed into confessing that he
Is kind hearted uncle Joe next door
I'll let you know Matamati
In the night begins the blood curdling yells
Your own daughter was reported missing
In action after the binge drinking some time ago
Who will go with you to check on what's been
Happening in that creepy eerie house?
God bless you on your never to be seen alive
Journey wolf's lair of the house of death
I pray for your orphans and your widow
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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America.... Revolution, Or The Fall!
America, America,
your pale skinned death testifies!
the cross of your democracy laid down,
the blood on your hands names your guilt.
your bodies laid in soldiers' graves,
strewn across your planted fields.
while wild fires rage,
and your tenements boil,
as your children march to death.
the poverty of indifference,
strikes the bell that cannot ring.
while the wealthy drink the blood
of your disembodied men.
and your hallowed god turns his face,
disgusted by what he's seen.
blood sacrifices on your borders,
blood sacrifices in your mills.
your families driven from their homes,
while your prisons turn the wheel.
and the hungry walk your streets
wearing familiar shoes.
the haunting cry of liberty,
rattles against your walls.
while justice is bought and sold
in your sacred halls!
and the colors of eguality,
bleed into your angry streets.
your schools struck numb
by propaganda's thumb,
your daughters sold like meat.
America, America,
revolution, or the fall!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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God's Gunna Work it Out
As the bombs shattered people’s entrails
The screams of horror did not assail
Organized violence against humanity
Blood ran thru streets like frightened children
But the children are smeared all over
Freedom is not as free as War-Spilled Blood
But have no fear
God’s gunna work it out here
Women and children being brutally raped
By aids infested soldiers
Decapitation elation
War-cry copulation
Victorious assassination
But have no fear
God’s gunna work it out here
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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