A Still Thoughtless Life Of The Eyeglasses
a pair of eyeglasses with brown frame
lays itself bare
on a white cloth
actually a wiper of mist
or tears perhaps
or dirt like oil or stains
a black casing
stares at it like a niche
as though someone that
appears later
shall be buried on the
red mantel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Black man be human
Black man takes out his wallet and lays it bare for all to see
Marauding notes casing his dignity
Black man be human
Question, how can I be?
Equal to the white man, silk hair smooth skin
Black man be human
Status restored but dignity ignored
Simply shaped by his disfigured identity
Causing all to scream
Black man be human
Black man takes out his wallet and lays it bare for all to see
A face achieved yet sadly he realises
Now the world screams
Black man you are human
Shaped in a western perception
Of what it means to be
Black man you are human
Black man: ‘I am human'
As they told me to be
No uniqueness
Or vision
Shaped
Character
Just like them
Black man: ‘I am human'
poem by Lindsay Maasdorp
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Frame/white Light
Red frame white light
Telephone box
Red on grey
Six three two three double o three
Red frame white light
You have a gray book
On a metal shelf
Red frame white light
Numbered calls
Selected places
Red frame white light
Telephone calls
Black and white
Red frame white light
You have a yellow book
With averts
Red frame white light
There is a black lead to a dial and phone
Red frame white light
Six three two three double o three
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Certain Doubt
it has been here
do you see it? she points to a
black spot
on the white mantel
it's been there i said
never shall it be removed
it is part of the landscape on the table
and without which,
mind you
this table would be incomplete
she feels uneasy about it
there is this certain doubt if she really knows
about me
it is enough that she sits by my side
lays her head on my shoulder and then we enjoy
most the silence
between our concerns
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Requiem For The Year 2011
at the last hour
we march toward a common grave
bringing the flowers
and some stones
they year is kept inside
a niche laced with white silk
slowly the men with strong arms
lowered the niche
to the the newly dug hole
seven feet under
the women with long black hair
wept beside their innocent children
the year is buried
as we then throw the final stones
then it is covered
with its soil returned
until it is full
and then we put the flowers
it is over
now
and then we go back to our houses
it is nighttime
we close the doors
and open the windows to see
those beautiful stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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His Small World
a blue pen
a pair of eyeglasses
a cellphone
a remote control of the TV
a book
a writing notebook
a lap tap
and a white poodle sleeping
beside all these things
it is his small world
yet everything and everywhere are inside it
his body and soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laptap (misspelled)
a blue pen
a pair of eyeglasses
a cellphone
a remote control of the TV
a book
a writing notebook
a lap top
and a white poodle sleeping
beside all these things
it is his small world
yet everything and everywhere are inside it
his body and soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Racism man wearing white
No stop pushing me becos
of the colour of my cloth
if nothing is done my cloth
will torn
i cann't put on white to please
you
my cloth is n't white
so leave me with my
own colour
if you do n't leave me alone
i will be force to shout
for help and if nobody help
i will be force to fight
and if i fight i will fight
to the last
so stop this racism of white
and black cloth.
poem by Senator alufalism
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Black Curtain
They walk with the black curtain over their faces
They gather others with the pain it leaves behind
The people live in darkness nothing in their minds
Their faces are blank no expresion no feeling
Those who have seen know what it does
Those who know weep in solitude and sorrow
They don't look forward to today or tomorrow
They know everything yet they know nothing
The peoples skin all white and sickened
Their voices a raspy mist
All they look for all they long for is peace and bliss
Their cloths worn and tattered
They know there is no cure
They know there is no hope, no place for them to rest
For they know they will soon be one less
They know there is no cure they know they will rot away
They walk through this aweful place
With dread and dispare
Everyone knows, and try not to stare
Yet it is so hard to sheild your eyes, to hold back the tears
The black curtain lays over their eyes
The cloth that shall never be lifted
For it is too far they have drifted
The curtain falls over their faces
The darkness sets in
They know the time has come for them to leave this place
There is no expresion on their faces
As the curtian and sickness leaves
They will suffer no more
They will go home
And will never be alone
For the curtain is lifted and they are in the light once more
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black and White
My world is black and white,
The colors I see is black and white,
Hold me tight,
Don’t let me go,
See the tears I have cried,
Listen to my cry,
Look into my eyes,
My world is black and white,
Cut my wrist,
Black my eyes,
Blacken these thoughts I think of,
Black and white is all I can see,
The tears is all I can feel,
Feel me fading away,
Watching myself falling apart,
Look deep into my eyes,
Can you see me,
Can you feel the pain I feel,
I don’t understand why I am feeling this sad,
All the moments that once we shared has faded away like others have,
I never did tried to see the beyond the black and white clouds,
I need to face what I have become,
I need to find my way back,
The black and white is all I can see and feel,
My world has been black and white.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bleeding Rose
red streaks run along the
edges of the white petals
like the ones that run down her arms
trickling slowly down the stem
and to the floor
like the tears she sheds every
second of the day
the red stains upon the
leaves unwashed
the red stains upon her fingers
untouched
red stained carpet and
red stained cloths
a jacket worn at all times
a black jacket covering the scars
red puddles left behind
and a Bleeding Rose
poem by Chessney Ferguson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daybreak in Alabama
When I get to be a composer
I'm gonna write me some music about
Daybreak in Alabama
And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it
Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in it
And the scent of pine needles
And the smell of red clay after rain
And long red necks
And poppy colored faces
And big brown arms
And the field daisy eyes
Of black and white black white black people
And I'm gonna put white hands
And black hands and brown and yellow hands
And red clay earth hands in it
Touching everybody with kind fingers
And touching each other natural as dew
In that dawn of music when I
Get to be a composer
And write about daybreak
In Alabama.
poem by Langston Hughes
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Latter day South Africa
The face of the old black woman
is plastered with mud,
a red cloth is wrapped around her head
and her feet treads burdensome
where she walks bare foot
on rocky roads
and every now and then
steps into a thorn
and almost fall over
while she removes it clumsily.
The child that she carries piggy-back
isn’t black,
nor white,
or yellow,
or eastern coloured,
he’s something of everyone
and is belted to her back
with a ragged cloth
and it’s difficult
since he’s restless
and the child is thirsty
and the hunger
burns from his stomach
to his throat.
In the distance
she hears people
gathering around a bon fire
drinking beer and dancing,
but she’s locked out
and the road is long
and she hobbles on
while the twilight is falling.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Widowed Justice...
i,
demand justice
says the widow to the people
who mourn for her
the flowers wilted and
the niche is buried deep
down six feet
under, like a movie of sorts,
the people left her, alone,
headless, veils black and
hairs spangled, like worms
like she is the rotten body
now bare bones
inside her room, sleepless
till dawn
there is no justice, time
is narrow like a door that admits
no one, like a window closed
against any air of
possibilities
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Late autumn
The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines
while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown
and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home
stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The War Game
I am buried by time,
I am buried by love;
Like life from Herat in Afghanistan.
I am buried by the heat,
I am buried by the cold,
I am buried by the wings of nature!
Like life from Herat in Afghanistan.
Keep talking it,
Keep saying it,
Keep doing it,
Keep walking it,
Keep dancing it,
Keep swinging it,
Keep climbing it,
Keep trying it,
Keep asking it,
Keep working it,
Keep moving it,
Keep flying it,
Keep acting it,
All in the time frame to be buried;
Like the War Game in Afghanistan.
Buried under the nature of things,
With bombs exploding from left and right;
Like a message from Herat in Afghanistan.
The War Game,
All in a time frame to be buried;
Keep rolling it,
Keep changing it,
Keep trading it,
Keep building it,
Keep covering it,
Keep painting it,
Keep writing it,
Keep blocking it,
Keep cookin it,
Keep posting it,
Keep accepting it,
Keep driving it,
Keep bombing it,
Keep squeezing it,
Like the war game in Afghanistan.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is Poverty?
What does poverty really entail?
How bad does it have to get?
For some a bad economy
Is poverty from where they sit
But if you look back to hard times
During the early years
It’s not having a home to live in
The hopelessness can bring tears
The Great Depression had it all
No jobs and no place to dwell
Barely enough to eat or nothing at all
These folks went through hell
Thread bare was the term for clothing
Dirt poor was a phrase as well
Looking at black and white pictures
Oh yes, you can surely tell
It’s a time when we hope God
Is able to see
That folks need His help because
They have slipped into poverty!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Turning White Into Black
Deep inside their strong stubborn skulls,
and ev’n in their glitt’ring eyeballs,
they really know that black is black,
no way white will be black –
ev’n when they attempt to burn it to black,
its ashes cannot be black but grey.
But for the thirty silv’rs they want to receive,
they, from their basket mouths that can nev’r
hold on a dropp of wat’r,
say that white is not white but dark black.
Lies are now their Messiah here,
and their odour are their John, the forerunner;
Justice but their Israelites in Egypt!
Their hands are cloth’d with mess,
making all their body smell shit, shit of lies:
in the scept’r, it is there;
in the cross, it is there,
not ev’n our homes are spar’d of this mess.
They know that white is white,
for their eyes are not blind;
neith’r are they, themselves, confus’d,
but their greedy mouths have made it so,
turning justice to injustice!
poem by Eche Ononukwe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Figure-Head
The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sped,
(Named from the carven pair at prow,)
He so smart, and a curly head,
She tricked forth as a bride knows how:
Pretty stem for the port, I trow!
But iron-rust and alum-spray
And chafing gear, and sun and dew
Vexed this lad and lassie gay,
Tears in their eyes, salt tears nor few;
And the hug relaxed with the failing glue.
But came in end a dismal night,
With creaking beams and ribs that groan,
A black lee-shore and waters white:
Dropped on the reef, the pair lie prone:
O, the breakers dance, but the winds they
moan!
poem by Herman Melville
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There Is A Kingdom
Just like a bird that sings up the sun
In a dawn so very dark
Such is my faith for you
Such is my faith
And all the world's darkness can't swallow up
A single spark
Such is my love for you
Such is my love
There is a kingdom
There is a king
And he lives without
And he lives within
There is a kingdom
There is a king
And he lives without
And he lives within
The starry heavens above me
The moral law within
So the world appears
So the world appears
This day so sweet
It will never come again
So the world appears
Through this mist of tears
There is a kingdom
There is a king
And he lives without
And he lives within
There is a kingdom
There is a king
And he lives without
And he lives within
The starry heavens above me
The moral law within
So the world appears
Through this mist of tears
There is a kingdom
There is a king
And he lives without
And he lives within
There is a kingdom
There is a king
There is a king
And he is everything
song performed by by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds from The Boatman's Call
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Beside Us....
time has always been beside us
and we know that it does not talk
it does all its tasks
and having been with us since birth
or even before that
with them
we had all taken it for granted until it
is consumed
until it lays us on a niche filled with white roses
until what we hear are the cries of those who love us
then time closes the lid
and takes us to another destination
on that imaginary boat
without the paddles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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