Haunted
Vast open spaces
empty places
haunted souls
erie whispers and moans
rattling bones
screams of horror
living on fear
creecking doors
screeching floors
shutters slamming
howling in the wind
thapped between four walls...
poem by Persian Khushi
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The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Solitude Souls
The blacktop road is shining smooth
Empty trash bins mocking the truth
Grown up trees remain in mute
Golden leaves look so cute
Wind works-out on closed windows
Sky chats with the shut doors
Clouds tease with Concrete groves
Majestic houses on all the floors
Locked inside the concrete walls
Comforts, Cash and zombie hearts?
As far as my eye could see
My street is totally empty!
I search with frenzy
If my shadow is with me..
A distant twilight's mockery
'Solitude Souls live here free
Like those in a cemetry! '
poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Vast Times And Vast Spaces
VAST TIMES AND VAST SPACES
Vast times and vast spaces
Preceded our being here
Vast times and vast spaces
Will be should we disappear-
Yet our hearts tell us
A revelation from God we be-
And wherever the Universe takes us
We’ll go on for Infinity.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Fact Of My Life
I am always rewinding things
To hear what was missed between
The spaces between the spaces...
Words that were not spoken
Wonderful things never said
But were going through my mind
Like a hard rubber ball
Bouncing between the walls
Of the spaces between the walls....
Echoes reverberate
With incessant sound
Of inarticulate voices...
Incomprehensible
Maddening hollow sounds
Crash against walls of hollow sounds...
Which drive me to madness
Trying to coexist
In a world outside me...
In which hollow sounds
Resound against crashed walls
Of rewinding empty spaces....
That is my life
What else can I say....
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Darkness That Dwells Within
The darkness that dwells within,
Crawls deep inside my soul,
Want to take control,
It's silent whispers calling my name,
Asking me to let him out,
All that rage waiting to be free,
Wanting to fight he violently tries to force his way out,
Slamming him self against the walls of his cage,
Putting me in fear,
I try not to let him out,
For if I do he'll tear me apart,
He's what i fear most,
He's like a snake slithering through out my body.
poem by Jaqualen Roberts
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Don't Open Your Eyes
Who sees you when you're sleeping
who knows the thoughts you're keeping
You're reaching out your hand 'cause someone's calling
Don't open your eyes too soon 'cause it might be me
The darkened sidestreets that you've taken
faces all around say you're forsaken
You see yourself and someone else behind you
Don't open your eyes too soon it might not be me
(Chorus)
Haunted by my broken dreams
haunted by my empty screams
Creeping cautions 'round the corner
climbing slowly out the window
Running fast but getting nowhere
Don't know if I'll ever make it back alive
(Chorus)
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace, a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity, and if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it and see it still.
quote by Ronald Reagan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mandate To The Gales
beat with me beat with me til ive told you of
the western skies and how its there that lies
two maidens one with wrath and one with glee
call them day and night if you so please
but beat with me beat with me like the wind in trees
theyll curse you dylan with their fierce tears and
they have no time for blessings not these sisters
spinsters would apt them best for they take the souls
of living men and bite them scratch them til
they are nought but whispers in the wind
whispers in the wind my friends are
whispers in the wind
and the wind is wild, my friends, it's wild
poem by Sean Godley
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She Screams
She screams in pain,
She screams out your name,
Watch her suffer,
Suffer into the darkness,
Tomorrow will bring another day,
A day of freedom,
She once thought,
She screams for help,
No one hears her,
A dead silence,
Watch as her friends turn their back on her,
Watch as she bleeds for them,
She hears the howling of the wind,
Knowing that no one can't hear her crying,
She screams,
Screams in agony,
Does anyone hear her,
Does anyone care,
She screams for you,
She screams one last time hoping that someone would hear her,
What will become of her,
Is this girl me or someone else.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Voices Of The Wind
Wind chimes and tree leaves
Voices of the wind
Bulrushes, birdwings
Rattling roofs of tin
Howling zephyrs, soughing breezes
Atlantic gales, explosive sneezes…
All voices of the wind….
Rattle of windows, Bang of shutters,
Whisper of curtains, puff of summer gusts
Snapping of canvas from towering mastheads
Squeal of windmills as they adjust
Whispered messages from pinions of birds
Flapping of laundered linens
Soft velvety sighs of lover’s words
All voices in languages… of the winds
Childs’ anticipation, breath held deep within
Each inhalation, every exhalation….
Are all voices of the wind
poem by David Whalen
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Last Living Souls
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Take a gun
Or how you say
That's no way you behave
Just a law, a new begin
Sing a song that doesn't sin
And it grows
Hey, you know
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last to get away to some another day?
Do we know
Well, we know
Doesn't seem to be complete
Are we, are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Get up, get up, get up, get up...
What you say?
Cause all I was on
I got it down wrong
I see myself to get
And the Lord, seeing all now
Can you take us in
The part that comin' on
The coldest man doesn't see it's all
We go to the car
I see you walk to the far
And when you get there do you see
You fit the last you need on me
Cause we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
Yeah, we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Howling
the pregnant lion, the burning bush,
the hammered flute, well gone dry.
without a prayer, the eagle falls
in blackened cinders to the earth.
the food stamp mom, her head down,
children stare with blank milky eyes.
there's another man down in the project,
news at five, news at five.
deserted smokestacks stare at an angry sky,
buildings filled with rats and ghosts.
abandoned cars, abandoned lives,
old gas pumps rusting in the wind....
and the wind blows and howls,
ripping shingles from empty houses, ...
breaking limbs from trees long dead;
drowning out the sound of children's voices....
slamming doors and breaking windows,
carryng the fated owl to the eaves.
blowing at my back like the fires of hell,
blowing in my face with the freedom of loss.
the pregnant lion, the burning bush,
the hammered flute, well gone dry.
without a prayer, the eagle falls
in blackened cinders to the earth....
and no one hears....no one feels...
the lone wolf howling....
the spirits of death howling...
the eyes of God, ... howling!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Invitation Of The Earth To Hear Its Songs....
the earth
if you listen enough
ears on those walls
buried
to each fiber of wood
has composed a lot of songs
for the goodness
of our
souls: the songs of the sea waves
against the sands, such a shushing sound
the thin air that kisses those daffodils
the soft feet of rain tiptoeing on the grass
the whispers of the flowing waters
from your fingers to the
skins on your belly
the lips that kiss
the bodies that meet in desire
rubbing against each
other on
lonelier nights
the flights of bird wings
above the treetops
the fluttering butterflies landing on the petals of a rose
sad is the man who does not hear all these
and love life
sadder is the man who hears all these
but shuts his heart
like slamming doors
locked
without keys
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Could It Be The Wind? (For Dave)
is it then the wind,
that rattles the pane?
causing the candle to flicker,
the curtains to walk?
could it be the wind,
making shapes of shadow?
and that long shaking moan
you feel in your bones?
the wind that whispers
in voices almost remembered.
that tugs at the door
to your forbidden room?
that taste of blackness
from an empty cup?
could it be the wind,
or something more?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living In A Haunted Heart
I stumbled in and I fell straight asleep in the chair
Swear I did
Woke with a start and I thought I saw you floating by
Swear I did
The fixtures and furnitures the same
As the second you walked out the door
But here in my head you put a ghost train
And I cant go round any more
And I hear the passengers scream
Im living in a haunted heart
And I tell myself its all a bad dream
Im living in a haunted heart
Too proud to beg you to come back
One more drink, the fairground fades to black
Every night
Days last for years til the dark, like a bear,
Puts his claws around my brain
Smack! bang on time, with your laugh, you walk in
Through the walls around my brain
The curtains and carpets are the same
As the day you dissolved in thin air
Now here I go queueing for the horror ride
Knowing I dont have the fare
And I hear the passengers scream
Im living in a haunted heart
And I tell myself its all a bad dream
Im living in a haunted heart
Too proud to beg you to come back
As the ghost train rattles round its track,
Every night
I cant exorcise you or cause you to reappear
But if you want to know what nothing looks like
Well just peel back my chest and take a look inside here
The fixtures and furnitures the same
As the second you walked out the door
But here in my head you put a ghost train
And I cant go round any more
And I hear the passengers scream
Im living in a haunted heart
And youre shaking me apart at the seams
Im living in a haunted heart
My reality is pushed past extremes
Im living in a haunted heart
And I tell myself its just a bad dream
Im living in a haunted heart
Too proud to beg you to come back
One more drink, the fairground fades to black.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Port Stanley
Lines composed on an excursion to port Stanley, 1883.
In winter time 'tis sad and dreary
For to gaze on stormy Erie,
But here in summer time this port
It is fashionable resort,
For then it is always cheery
For to gaze upon lake Erie.
Or on the steamer you can sail,
All independent of the gale.
Or here the youth can ply the oar
And view the fast receding shore,
And be happy with his dearie
On the bosom of lake Erie.
No one here need ever weary
On the borders of lake Erie,
With quadrille parties at Stanley
And games and sports all so manly,
Or bathe in waves with friends near thee,
You fear not storms of lake Erie.
poem by James McIntyre
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Where White Walls Meet On Painted Cracks
Where white walls meet on painted cracks,
and tears still streak the face of dawn.
Where trouble lies and hopes abound
in places lost long ago.
Wounded souls meet, and sit, and stare
and condolences are bitter words to speak.
An empty house stands,
empty, save for the prisoners within its weary walls.
Walls of words and hopes and lies,
of stone they weigh still more.
Doors You Can't See
The strangest things about these doors.
When they're shut.
You can't say one thing more.
They're always carried around by those ones
That have seen lots of abuse?
For which... there really was no excuse.
Yet, when you love or care or are married
To one of those... that were forced to live there!
It's hard to prove.. that you really care....
Because when they perceive... or think something is not just right.
They back up,
Slamming those doors(bang) in your face, tight!
Or when you see that blank face.
Here comes the door's.
And all you can do is stand there.. stare...
At the crying... helplessly... and more...
Waching... unable to do anything
As tears fall on the floor...
I know it's perceived... the doors that you cannot see....
The doors shutting and slamming... in your face....
But... so is the battle with time...
With you winning that race...
Or that old statement....
How they had egg on their face....
You can't actually see it....
Yet...just like that door
It's.....really.. there..................
poem by Clyde Bryson
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Whispers & Moans
Dull, dull grey
The colour of our times
Cool, cool space
That I still hope to find
Far beyond the veil
The sound of whispers and moans
Slow, time bomb
The clamour of the street
I hear this town
It never goes to sleep
And I will catch the taxi driver
Weeping like a wounded beast
Then I wake up in your room
To share one piece of your life
When tomorrow comes we may not be here at all
Without your whispers and moans
cos here you come to carry me home
Here you come to carry me home
Love that sound
Time erase
Tension wheels
Cool heels
Wont ya come on open the bid fore too long
Then I wake up in your room
To share one piece of your life
Id give anything to be a fly upon the wall
And hear your whispers and moans
Id like to hear your whispers and moans
Here you come to carry me
We are the mirrors
Are the mirrors of each other in a lifetime of suspicion
Cleansed in a moment of recognition
You gave your life for it
Worth its weight in gold
And growing empires and art collectors
And alans sound investments
Will one day be forgotten
One day be forgotten, yeah
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whispers And Moans
N. Finn)
Dull dull grey, the colour of our times
Cool cool space that I still hope to find
Far beyond the veil
The sound of whispers and moans
Slow time bomb, the clamour of the street
I hear this town it never goes to sleep
And I will catch the taxi driver
Weeping like a wounded beast
Then I wake up in your room
Share one piece of your life
When tomorrow comes
We may not be here at all
Without your whispers and moans
Here you come to carry me home
Love that sound, time erase
Tension wheels, cool heels
Won't ya come on open the bid before too long
I wake up in your room
Share one piece of your life
I'd give anything to be a fly upon the wall
And hear your whispers and moans
I like to hear your whispers and moans
Here you come to carry me home
We are the mirrors of each other
In a lifetime of suspicion
Cleansed in a moment, a flash of recognition
You gave your life for it
Worth its weight in gold and growing empires
Art collectors and Alans sound investments
Will one day be forgotten, one day be forgotten
YEAH!
---
Copyright 1991 by Roundhead Music (BMI
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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