Images Of The Past
Image 1
A big white horse
Galloping
All four feet hanging in mid-air
On the ground below it
A yellow butterfly
A broken wing.
Image ii
A dirty boy chases a dirty pig
His dirty father chases both
While mother hides her face
Behind a black umbrella.
Image iii
I see on the ceiling a little spider, a lizard
And a white moth
The faded yellow fluorescent bulb blinks
I blink too
The little spider is gone and the moth flew away.
Image iv
A girl on a swing swinging high on air
Her left slipper left in space
Rightly so
Captured still in the middle of air
The two of us look we did not move
Like a Flemish painting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dirty White Boy
Hey, baby, if youre feelin down
I know whats good for you all day
Are you worried what your friends see
Will it ruin your reputation lovin me
cause Im a dirty white boy
Yeah a dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Dont drive no big black car
Dont like no hollywood movie star
You want me to be true to you
You dont give a damn what I do to you
Im just a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Well, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Ive been in trouble since I dont know when
Im in trouble now and I now somehow Ill find trouble again
Im a loner, but Im never alone
Every night I get one step closer to the danger zone
cause Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Cmon, cmon boy
Dirty white boy, white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Hey, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy, yeah
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images
I have an image in my head,
It's of my mother
in an old pinny,
her hard, broad hands
that were soft and plump on the palm,
with cigarette yellow
at the fingertips.
I have this image in my head
It's of her with a washing board,
sighing, tired
and me, small and tubby,
taking mini steps
towards the wringer,
'can I do it mummy, can I do it'
I have this image in my head
of her face, all lit up,
her excitement
at her first ‘twin tub'
and my heart aches for her.
I see her poor, over worked body,
her anguished face and I cry for her.
I have this image in my head
and it never fades.
I wish she'd had a better life,
taken more care of herself.
She had this matter of fact attitude,
resololute, never to give in
and at the end, when all was done
there was nothing left but pain.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dirty As It Hangs
Dirty is the teacher's picture.
Dirty is the frame that hangs...
On a wall that supports crack heads dozing.
Dirty are the thoughts of children
Having babies
When they themselves need breast feeding.
Limited by illegitimate lack of mind and sense!
Dirty is this point of view,
That feeds on decadence.
Dirty is a way of life,
That spotlights corruption and defames.
Dirty are those of friends and/or family.
The ones who gossip all the time...
About who's doing who in bed,
Or who is dead
OR 'who' is doing prison,
For selling crap...
Slapped by which crime!
Dirty is the atmosphere,
Tainting unsuspecting minds.
Dirty is the teacher's picture...
But the image being framed,
Could be yours or either mine!
This picture dirty as it hangs...
Collects dust that strangles!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Design
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In White
A dented spider like a snow drop white
On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth -
Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight? -
Portent in little, assorted death and blight
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth? -
The beady spider, the flower like a froth,
And the moth carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The blue prunella every child's delight.
What brought the kindred spider to that height?
(Make we no thesis of the miller's plight.)
What but design of darkness and of night?
Design, design! Do I use the word aright?
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salut, Je M’appele Sarah / Hello, My Name Is Sarah
Ce sont mes mains pour les oiseaux
Ce sont les fenetres por les yeux
Ce sont les yeux por une image
Je suis un toutage de papillon
Mort dans le lumiere
Un pavot rouge rouge ensanglante
Je vive comme une chant blanc
Ce sont les battements de mon coeur
Ce sont les petals de mon fleur
Mon coeur mon courage
Mon fleur mon image
Je suis une cadeau pour le ciel
Je dis Pater Pater papillonace
Comment t’appele tu?
Hello, my name is Sarah
These are the hands for the birds
These are the windows for the eyes
These are the eyes for the image
I’m a tatoo of a black butterfly
Dead within the light
I’m a red red poppy in blood
I live like a white song
These are the beats of my heart
These are the petals if my flower
My heart my courage
My flower my image
I say a butterfly-like Father Father
What’s your name?
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down And Dirty
She's a dancing girl who brings up the heat
Hits on all the men
She knows how to move and make you feel
Like you want to get into sin
A chocolate bar was going really far
Really made me catch my breath
So she had an unordinary glance
I got down tools in the chest
Down and dirty
You're down and dirty, alright
She's down and dirty
You're down and dirty
She twisted her ass around drinks
While the dirty works the girl's booty
Whispered in my ear what I want to hear
Says, "Come with me baby, let's play." (Okay!)
She went to the back to get her traps
My sixth sense was bothering me
She came to work and something I heard
Makes me want to get comfy
Down and dirty
She's down and dirty, alright
Get down and dirty
Get down (Listen)
Down and dirty
Woo!
Alright
Ooh yeah
Well there's something going on
Something I've never known before
Leather and lace is all that I can see
I lost my power of will
You know she should be still
Never thought I'd get hit by some teen, no
I start to bleed, have mercy on me
I'm feelin' a bit distressed
What you're doing to me is so obscene
Got myself into a mess
She started to dance, I grabbed my pants
Found my way to the door
Hot on my trail, a thousand females
Saying, "Baby, more more more!"
Down and dirty
(Hurt me)
Down and dirty
(Well, well, well)
Down and dirty
(Oh yeah)
Get down and dirty
(She is)
Get down (Down)
Get dirty (Dirty)
Take me down (Alright)
One more
Get down (Oh yeah)
Get dirty (Turn around)
Get down (Come over here)-
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The age of image.
The people who know you
Are the canvas on which
Your image, good or bad,
Is drawn rightly or not.
Mind! The image you built
Will die with the canvas
When it’s torn or worn out.
Yet, each one wants an image.
Don't we desire leaving
A child for our copy,
which will not last long though?
02.01.2009.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Butterfly (Children's Poem)
Mother wants to catch a beautiful butterfly
To put on in my pink dress
And bring me to stroll down the street
My Mother chases and chases
Until a butterfly
Is in caught my mother’s clever hands
But I am always swaying
Frightening the butterfly
So that when she moves, her wing is either too long this way
Or too short that way
If mother has to relax her hands
Butterfly flies away quickly
Mother wants me to be an obedient child
I stand still and move less
Finally, mother catches
A big beautiful butterfly
That becomes a bow tie on my pink dress
And our stroll begins
Image building.
I’m known for different reasons
In different circles I lived in.
I’m known for different things
In different ages I went through.
The image built in a circle
Is unknown to other circles.
The image built in one age
Is unheard of in other ages.
Each image is left to die
When I shifted circles and ages.
Image building is a futile
Exercise we’re happy to do.
13.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yellow Butterfly.
Gently flapping it's thin wings,
A butterfly lands upon my fingers,
And upon a soft breeze it leaves,
Yet it's delicate presence lingers.
Sunny yellow rimmed it's wings.
With dark daffodil yellow rings,
Pure coal black traced it's veins,
It's image - in my mind - remains.
Such a soft and delicate brush,
Of a butterflies wings, so plush,
The softest touch of it's tiny legs,
Lifted my spirits - well, the dregs.
That butterfly, that passed me by,
The messenger between land and sky,
Has stayed lodged in my mind,
I'll never meet another of it's kind,
A single butterfly, while I was alone,
Came to me and my world was thrown,
But I'll never forget that yellow butterfly,
That left me when I let out a soft sigh,
A soft sigh that came from me,
Swept my butterfly, set it free,
This is my butterfly that I'll remember,
My butterfly from last September.
poem by Rayne Goddard
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Dirty Old Town
(ewan mccoll)
Found my love by the gaswork croft
Dreamed a dream by the old canalkissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town, dirty old towni heard a siren from the dock
Saw a train set the night on firesmelled the spring on the sulfured wind
Dirty old town, whoa-oh, dirty old townwere goin to take a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fireand well chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town, dirty old towndirty old town, whoa-oh, dirty old town
And oh well chop you downoh, dirty, dirty, dirty old town
Dirty old town, dirty old townand oh whoa-oh dirty old town
Chop you down one of these days
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Very Image - To Rene Magritte
An image of my grandmother
her head appearing upside-down upon a cloud
the cloud transfixed on the steeple
of a deserted railway-station
far away
An image of an aqueduct
with a dead crow hanging from the first arch
a modern-style chair from the second
a fir-tree lodged in the third
and the whole scene sprinkled with snow
An image of a piano-tuner
with a basket of prawns on his shoulder
and a firescreen under his arm
his moustache made of clay-clotted twigs
and his cheeks daubed with wine
An image of an aeroplane
the propellor is rashers of bacon
the wings are of reinforced lard
the tail is made of paper-clips
the pilot is a wasp
An image of the painter
with his left hand in a bucket
and his right hand stroking a cat
as he lies in bed
with a stone beneath his head
And all these images
and many others
are arranged like waxworks
in model bird-cages
about six inches high.
poem by David Gascoyne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Image
Written by: richard marx & fee waybill
Hope you dont believe a word
Of all the things I know youve heard about me
Really just a pack of ies
You see the truth before your eyes around me
Hard to keep it straight
The real from the ruse
Probably way too late
What can I do, but its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
Would it be too much to ask
That you could just gvie me the chance to prove it
Or would it only be a waste of time
To try to make you change your mind and use it
What Ive been looking for
Isnt what I thought
Not behind the golden door
Youre all Ive got, and its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
What Ive been looking for
Isnt what I thought
Not behind the golden door
Youre all Ive got, and its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young Lust
I am just a new boy
Stranger in this town
Where are all the good times?
Who's gonna show this stranger around?
Oh I need a dirty woman
Oh I need a dirty girl
Will some woman in this desert land
Make me feel like a real man?
Take this rock and roll refugee
Oh Babe, set me free
Oh I need a dirty woman
Oh I need a dirty girl
Oh I need a dirty woman
Oh I need a dirty girl
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Golden Memory
When I was a young child
about five to seven years of age.
I noticed the neighbour's trees
were dirty and sooty and black.
Black with smoke chimney coal dust.
The bark was ugly dirty and black
the leaves were ugly dirty and black.
And barely green if at all in most places,
except a little on the side facing the sun.
The sun I saw as a beautiful yellow light.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were really tall shrubs, but I was but still
a young child, with much to learn in this world,
ruled by mean men. Magic and the elfin language,
still danced like sparkling stardust in my eyes.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were so sad dull black lifeless and ugly.
I took a bright yellow lively house paint.
And painted the trees yellow bright golden yellow,
in all sad places I could short armed easily reach.
But I also got paint on my hands face clothes.
In my wonderful joy I got paint on my clothes.
My apparently best going to town best clothes.
My mother punished me for painting the trees.
And the leaves a bright joyous yellow colour.
For making a small part
of this dull adult world.
A golden magical shinning
bright fairy glade place.
For painting making a small part
of this dull adult fading world.
A golden orb magical shinning
bright mystical fairy glade place.
For trying to make the tired
world a better magical place.
Thus were childhood dreamers
often beaten into submission.
By those who failed to see
the divine presence in dreams.
By those who failed to see
the magical sparkle in dreams.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Your Image
In my madness
Transformed agonies
Existential leanings
Yourself because of me
I hold your image
In my eyes
Like after death
The snake is burnt
As he carries
The image of his slayer
In my own circles
Like a mirror in palm
While you do your eyes
A reflection always
As you shatter me
Into dust
But like the snake
Ye shall burn me
To escape thy image
And by then
Ye shall see thine image
In thy soul
27/2/2009
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Of Image. And Not Substance
We were hired to clean this house,
But where are all the supplies to do it?
'The last occupants,
Took everything.
Including the kitchen sink.
And left nothing behind,
To enable us to do the job properly.'
This will be gruesome news,
To those who value this place...
As a symbolic image they pride.
We will have to triple the budget,
Just to maintain an image.
'What about the people,
Who aren't aware of this? '
I will do the best I can,
To convey that message.
However...
They will just have to face the truth.
'I don't envy the position you are in at all.'
Many do!
But they are certainly not getting the message,
From this inside point of view.
And...
I've already told them I would need their assistance.
'But sir...
If I may say this.
They are a people of image.
And not substance.'
I am finding that out!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Image Of A Man's Face
Walking along the bush on the 26th of August 2012,
Then came the dark clouds in the sky!
Oh, what will come up next? ! !
Suddenly, came the rainfall;
Shortly after came the rainbow.
I looked at it and,
It suddenly went down very slowly and it disappeared!
Oh, what will come up next? ! !
Then, i saqw the image of a man's face up high in the sky!
Yes, the white clouds gave me this image;
With a very large ring over his head.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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As with sound, images are subjective. You and I may not see the same color red as red, but we will probably agree that the image on the screen is a digital image or film image, based on contrast, bit depth, and refresh rate.
quote by John Dykstra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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