Garadh
FOR the poor body that I own
I could weep many a tear:
The days have stolen flesh and bone,
And left a changeling here.
Four feeble bones are left to me,
And the basket of my breast,
And I am mean and ugly now
As the scald flung from the nest.
The briars drag me at the knee,
The brambles go within,
And often do I feel him turn,
The old man in my skin.
The strength is carded from my bones,
The swiftness drained from me,
And all the living thoughts I had
Are like far ships at sea!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Related quotes
The Fury Of Beautiful Bones
Sing me a thrush, bone.
Sing me a nest of cup and pestle.
Sing me a sweetbread fr an old grandfather.
Sing me a foot and a doorknob, for you are my love.
Oh sing, bone bag man, sing.
Your head is what I remember that August
you were in love with another woman but
that didn't matter. I was the guy of your
bones, your fingers long and nubby, your
forehead a beacon, bare as marble and I worried
you like an odor because you had not quite forgotten,
bone bag man, garlic in the North End,
the book you dedicated, naked as a fish,
naked as someone drowning into his own mouth.
I wonder, Mr. Bone man, what you're thinking
of your fury now, gone sour as a sinking whale,
crawling up the alphabet on her own bones.
Am I in your ear still singing songs in the rain,
me of the death rattle, me of the magnolias,
me of the sawdust tavern at the city's edge.
Women have lovely bones, arms, neck, thigh
and I admire them also, but your bones
supersede loveliness. They are the tough
ones that get broken and reset. I just can't
answer for you, only for your bones,
round rulers, round nudgers, round poles,
numb nubkins, the sword of sugar.
I feel the skull, Mr. Skeleton, living its
own life in its own skin.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Skin
Underneath my skin, is another skin
Underneath my bones some other bones
In which you have walked
And still walk
Underneath this tree grows another tree
In which you have grown
In which your roots have sewn
These shoots that rise up
Carry me nearer to you
I walk into your past
Breathe inside of your days
And your heart holds mine
Each beat
A sign that you are still living
Underneath these stones
Are your living stones
That will not die
I walk into your past
And live always in your presence
I carry you under my skin
Shaped by the dust of your bone
Born from the seed of your love
Carried on the wind
I carry you under my skin
Into the skin of another
Into the flesh and the blood of a lover
And you will live on
In the root of the tree
In the fruit of the flower
On and on
Held in the heart on another
I carry you under my skin
And always you are here, with me
poem by Yvette Smith
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A Fair Wage?
The essence
originating
a pay packet
is lean worked
to the bone.
Fat trimmed
to the bone
is not too much
left unprocessed free
for the factory hand.
Both beast and employee
completely boned out
even bones are not
to be given away
sell bones to the dogs.
Bags of bones
made into soup
or ground up
for blood and bone
sweat is not nutritious.
Workers sweat through
orchestrated job losses
necessary efficiency which
provides company executives
bigger greedier slices of pie.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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So Weak, Yet Strong
1. Who says I am weak
Who says I am feeble
Who says my bones are tender
Who says my teeth cannot chew bones
Let the weak say I am strong, yes the strength of the
Lord is made perfect in my weakness, so who says I am weak.
2. Have you not heard?
Have you not seen?
Have you not noticed that the Lord gives strength to the weak,
and makes their feet strong.
Yes, in faith is my strength
In his name I am fortified
In his blood I am shielded, so who says I am weak
3. Have you not heard that I can do
All things through him who gives me strength
Have you not seen that those who wait on him shall always renew their strength.
Are you weak?
Do you feel feeble?
Do you feel tender and fragile?
Then wait on God for strength, wait on him for his counsel
Wait on him for his laughter for the joy of the Lord is always your strength
Keep, Keep and K E E P his joy alive forevermore
poem by Cute Faces International
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This Love Has Drained My Strength
This love has drained my strength
It has left me among the dead
Lying like a corpse in a grave
With no one to care for me.
This love has drained my strength
My heart is full of pain
There is no hope of saving it
And I am fading like a shadow at dusk.
This love has drained my strength
I am surrounded by accusing people
They swarm me like bees
They blaze against me like a crackling fire.
This love has drained my strength
Tears blur my eyes
My body and soul are withering away
This wound is too deep to heal
This love has drained my strength...
poem by Raquel Rebecca
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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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At The Hospital
one feels like
he is dead in a catacomb
he likes it
slow paced life
and everyone
attends to you
like you're the most
helpless
body, sprawled without
the strength of bones
one feels like he is wasted
useless piece
of flesh all wrapped
with dry skin
sometimes
he wishes he is not cured
and simply be
buried in that
catacomb
forever
in this society
however
no one gives
you
your free meal
no one hands
you
a happy death
they always
feel that you will
be leaving them
all the
possible guilt
afraid
they all ask you
to get well soon
so they
may also start
taking care
of their lives
the soonest
you turn on
the tv to watch
news tonight
you turn off
your honest
morbid thoughts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Tragedy Of The Man
for years he followed the fool
idolized that foolishness even
he lost himself and could not recover
back his real identity
was he able to drink that
witch's potion?
one day his eyes open
to the other possibilities
realized that the witch is eating him piece by piece
until only his bones were left
it was too late
he is only a set of bones
without any cartilages
to link one
to the other
that i think was his tragedy
and so we pray
may the witch die
may our potions expire
may we know how to graft
flesh
may we know how to
wrap with skin
our bones
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Albert's Dry Bones
My ship reached your lush and comforting shore,
But my flesh had no more left than dry bones.
And these bones could remember no more
The warm breezes that now gave unheard moans.
But GOD can make these dry bones live,
As Ezekiel saw in Babylon one airy day.
And my dry bones seek for GOD to give
A body divine in which they desire to stay,
And roam the mountains that cool the air,
Collecting fruit so lavish and so ripe.
With clear eyes to enjoy a view lovely and fair,
I inhabit a world of freshness and beauty of every type.
So dry bones no more, by Omnipotence’s grace,
Nature’s bliss I now see well face to face.
BIBLE REF. – Phil.3: 9-13 and also Psa.34: 20
poem by Albert Price
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The New Ezekiel
What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried
By twenty scorching centuries of wrong?
Is this the House of Israel, whose pride
Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song?
Are these ignoble relics all that live
Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can the breath
Of very heaven bid these bones revive,
Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death?
Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said. Again
Say to the wind, Come forth and breathe afresh,
Even that they may live upon these slain,
And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.
The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word,
Where lay dead bones, a host of armed men stand!
I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord,
And I shall place you living in your land.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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The Grave Was Empty!
we took down the body of God,
and stripped the flesh
from the bones with razor sharp knives.
out of this flesh we made hunger.
we carefully cut the heart out,
and out of this heart we made weapons.
we plucked out the eyeballs,
and out of them we made greed.
from the bones we built houses
in which no one could live.
we scattered the remains
over the sands... and from them
we made oil, the force that drives!
there was nothing left,
not even for the crows...
and they wonder why
the grave was empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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When I Turn Off The Living Room Light
Who cares if youre jewish,
And your breath smells of garlic,
And your nose is a shiny red light.
To me you are gorgeous,
And everythings right,
When I turn off the living room light.
Your clothes are old-fashioned,
Your knuckles are bony,
Your hair looks a terrible sight.
But I dont have to see you,
The way that you are,
When I turn off the living room light.
When I turn off the living room light.
I dont have to see you,
The way that you are,
When I turn off the living room light.
Well its not that you are ugly,
And Im not being cruel,
It helps me to relax, dear,
It helps to keep me cool.
Now I am not intending,
To make you feel ashamed,
Whats wrong in me pretending?
cause you cant help being plain.
Your nose may be bulbous,
Your face may be spotty,
Your skin may be wrinkled and tight.
But I dont want to see you,
The way that you are,
So I turn off the living room light.
We dont feel so ugly,
We dont feel so draggy,
We dont feel so twisted up tight.
And we dont feel as ugly as we really are,
When we turn off the living room light.
When we turn off the living room light.
We dont feel as ugly as we really are,
When we turn off the living room light.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bonescraper
There is no future for us to suture
Your life ill-fated, beat down and hated
Shot in the head, walking undead
Numb to the world, around your head
Rip my skin from my bone, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Hide in the shadows, deep black, and hollow
Empty void of light cuts clean, like a knife
Damaged and torn, punctured by thorns
I've felt nothing since I was born
Rip my skins from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
My flesh <-> Your flesh
Your eyes <-> My sight
My pain <-> Your shame
We are the same ...
Rip my skin from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Rip my skin ...
song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Friend
Two days ago with dancing glancing hair,
With living lips and eyes:
Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies;
So pale, yet still so fair.
We have not left her yet, not yet alone;
But soon must leave her where
She will not miss our care,
Bone of our bone.
Weep not; O friends, we should not weep:
Our friend of friends lies full of rest;
No sorrow rankles in her breast,
Fallen fast asleep.
She sleeps below,
She wakes and laughs above:
To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love;
To-morrow follow so.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Break My Body
Im the hard looser
Youll find me crashing through my mothers door
I am the ugly lover
Youll find us rolling on the dirty floor
Break my body, hold my bones, hold my bones (3x)
Im a belly dancer
Ill shake forever and Ill never care
Im a building jumper
Roof to roof you see me flying in the air
Break my body, hold my bones, hold my bones (3x)
Somebody got hurt
Somebody get hurt
Somebody got her
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Some Moment...
you feel like all wrapped up
you dream of a very cold running river
you undress,
remove everything
underwear
whatever
somehow you go beyond it
you shed off
skin and
flesh
and you arrive at this last feeling
that you finally
want to show them
bones
your bones
and veins
wanting to find out
what ugliness
brings
will those spectators
continue
dissecting you?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Arriving At The Island... Alone
the boat takes you to the island
the only person there
is you,
the coconut trees rise to the sky
and the white sand spreads
there is a bed
and blanket
and pillow and the glass of wind
and you embrace the body of the sea
and they
who think that you better be left alone
as you like it
have long left everything there
and you put your body down
clothes on the white sands
skin on the tree
and bones under the rocky shorelines
you close your eyes
and begin to fly away
into the abyss of
solitude.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Did The Echo Of Laughter Go
My mind, and thoughts float
all in darkness these days.
I do not have any ambition
left in me.
My mind slumbers the days
away.
I've been disconsolate
for so long.
God give me the will
to drag these old
bones from this bed.
I want to unlock and open
that window,
to life, and laughter.
once again.
I want and need to feel
alive again.
People use to say
I was funny.
Where did the echo
of my laughter go?
I use to think laughter
was part of life.I use
to laugh at a funny
joke.
lugubrious is not
what I want now
in life.
My window is only
open to laughter
and blue sky.
now.
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Beneath the Blue.
You both walked along
the narrow country lane
to the small church
and lay in the overgrown grass
in the churchyard
looking up
at the summer sky
and Jane said
It's so peaceful here
I feel as if part of me
were mixed
with the whole
of nature
you listened to her
looking at her
sideways on
seeing her profile
laying amidst
the green grass
her head facing
the blueness of sky
her hands resting
upon her breasts
with one leg straight
the other lifted upwards
with the knee bent
Do you feel that?
she asked
looking at you side wards
her eyes leaving the sky
and resting on you
Yes
you replied
but not thinking
of what she had
but of the beauty of her
and you being there
and taking note
of her eyes and hair
and moving lips
and hands at rest
and her soft youthful breast
and that glimpse
of thigh capturing
your eye
Yes
you repeated
I feel a part of that
feel almost drowned
in its beauty
and she turned
and you saw her smile
and heard birdsong
and felt the sun on skin
and the saw the expanse
of sky and clouds
white chariots moving
across the blue
and wanted that moment
for always and forever
and you reached out a hand
and touched her shoulder
and would had touched
and felt her more
had you been bolder
and she said
We lay here with the dead
but our bones and flesh
are filled with life and love
unlike theirs
wasted away
Yes
you whispered
feeling her bones
beneath the flesh
Just like us some day.
poem by Terry Collett
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Rape if Free
The
basin
is empty
Congo famine
leaves the bones parched with dry skin and burnt flesh.
The distance to a camp is left open
for molesters
rape is free
on this
road.
poem by Leonard Dabydeen
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