En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Metaphor Of Himself

what are you saying in what
you paint? the wall clock in your head
your left eye is closed
your right eyes stare to the wind
the big lizard flies in the canvass
of yellow and the louse is made
gigantic than the
sun that lies beside a tree
without leaves
the frame is a window
and it looks out to the sea
it is not there
the big water
are you trying to say
that time heals?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eyes Of A Stranger

[ page ]: dr. david, telephone please. dr. david
Dr. blair, dr. blair, dr. j. hamilton, dr. j hamilton
All alone now
Except for the memories
Of what we had and what we knew
Everytime I try to leave it behind me
I see something that reminds me of you
Every night the dreams return to haunt me
Your rosary wrapped around your throat
I lie awake and sweat, afraid to fall asleep
I see your face looking back at me
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
Ive always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare
Is this all thats left
Of my life before me
Straight jacket memories, sedative highs
No happy ending like theyve always promised
Theres got to be something left for me
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
Ive always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare [lies behind my stare]
How many times must I live this tragedy
How many more lies will they tell me
All I want is the same as everyone
Why am I here, and for how long
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
Ive always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare

song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vivaldi, concerto for flute

Children playing on a green playground
Mothers watching
Closely watching
The faces of children
Smiling

Cool air
Green leaves brown leaves yellow leaves
Soft wind
Leaves falling down to the slow soft wind

Children running
Chasing each other
They are playing

A mother feels the soft wind
Cool air
And sees the trickles of leaves
Blending green brown yellow

With sunshine as canvass
Nature and human figures of mothers and children
Blending
Amazing
What a beautiful painting has God
In quick short brushes
Effortlessly with perfect strokes did make

The frame is laughter of children.

I am taking the whole picture for home.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sounds

i heard the sound of the clock ticking
some things come
i am remembering these some things
burnt, and melting in my forehead,
i like the sound of the ticking of grandfather's
clock at night, i hear footsteps
and drippings of water
from the gutter to the floor

the window is closed and the wind makes
the sound of someone caught between
door jambs, creaking sounds creeping
on the wall, something is terrible, really terrible
and i turn my body to the left side,

there is this storm, and the strong rain comes
with the grunting wind, and trees are falling
unto each other, i hear leaves and twigs,
and the roof wanting to leave the house,

something is terribly happening on this night
of the suicidal darkness, the shimmer of the river
looks like a stainless knife

who's there? i ask the door. The mirror on the other
side answers, how dare you?

it is nobody. it is just myself, my mouth answers.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Water That Quenches Your Thirst

at four o'clock in the morning you wake up.
blood is boiling and you look for water to quench the fire.
there is no water in the kitchen.
you go upstairs
no one is there.
you open the window
there is no rain.

it is just the silence of the world
that becomes the water
to your soul.

you drink every moment of this silence.
every dew
in the leaves
of the tree of
solitude

you are refreshed and from that moment on
you know where water
is.

what dew is
what leaves are.

there is a thirst that you have just
defined.

it is not their water
neither yours.

it is beyond the ownership of everyone.
and you know
now
where to find it
because you
also know
what it
really
is

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Difference

i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old man standing
by his son's casket
draped by a flag...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i saw an old man
standing on the corner begging
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy
playing ball in the street
laughing and dodging cars
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i saw a crack head shivering
by an electric heater in a bare apartment
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young a/g student
helping some kid with his math
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i saw a desperate girl
walking the streets
looking for a john
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young girl's room
stuffed animals on the bed
pictures of her and her daddy on the wall
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i saw a young man
wild-eyed with fear
in a prison cell
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy gone hunting
with his grandpa on thanksgiving morn
with his dog by his side
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.

i pulled back the veil of time...
knowing, there is no difference!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Tried To Paint A Fire In The Snow

Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
Paint the sky with fire
And the snow with a barren hue

Can we catch these shadows with our hands
Or will the dusk refuse to play our game
I think the streetlamps want to breathe awhile
Before we fit them with a starry frame

The people pass and nod their vacant eyes
We paint them with a dash of loneliness
The keys for home sit anchored in their pockets
And all the words are written on their breath

The snow is whiter than the stone I found
That summer day in august at the shore
We said it looked just like a tiny moon
You held it till the daylight closed its door

But now the snow is growing cold as dawn
And all its left is pictures we could paint
That show two lovers with a broken brush
You paint a sky that I describe as faint

Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
I’ve painted love with fire
And the snow with a barren hue

poem by Ben Paynter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faded pictures

NLY two patient eyes to stare
Out of the canvas. All the rest-
The warm green gown, the small hands pressed
Light in the lap, the braided hair

That must have made the sweet low brow
So earnest, centuries ago,
When some one saw it change and glow-
All faded! Just the eyes burn now.

I dare say people pass and pass
Before the blistered little frame,
And dingy work without a name
Stuck in behind its square of glass.

But I, well, I left Raphael
Just to come drink these eyes of hers,
To think away the stains and blurs
And make all new again and well.

Only, for tears my head will bow,
Because there on my heart's last wall,
Scarce one tint left to tell it all,
A picture keeps its eyes, somehow.

poem by William Vaughn Moody
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Of Two

Underneath a big clock at the corner of 5th Avenue and 22nd Street
I stood and waiting for a girl I knew at the spot where we agreed to meet
It was four minutes of two
At four of two, I stood waiting for the girl
I was four minutes early for the date we had planned
I was planning to say I was in love with her
Just as soon as she showed for a two o'clock date
And the clock said four of two
At four of two, I was staring into space
She was not yet late, according to the clock
I was feeling nervous so I kept looking up
At the clock sticking out of the side of the building
And it still said four of two
At four of two, I began to feel tired
And I rubbed my eyes, and again I checked the time
It seemed as if the sky was growing dark...
But I felt reassured when I looked at the clock
And it still said four of two
I lay my head down on the sidewalk so in case she were coming I would have a better view
But no one was there so I stretched out and closed my eyes for a second or two
It was four minutes of two
At once I awoke to a futuristic world
There were flying cars and gigantic metal bugs
I'd grown a beard; it was long and white
But I knew that the girl would be coming very soon
For though everything had changed, there was still that clock
And it still said four of two

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tis Me!

The tree on the left is made of bicycles.
The one next to it is red!
The one in the center is yellow
And the blue tree sits on the right end.

Unless you are standing behind them.
Then the blue tree is on the left.
Next comes the yellow then red tree,
And the bicycle tree comes next!

But if you watch from a merry go round
While it’s spinning in circles you’ll see,
Just a dizzying blur of colors,
Which one now is first, mercy me?

Who has such time that it does take
To sit and write the nonsense we read?
I bet whoever it is he’s retired,
And he looks an awful lot just like me!

poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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Christmas Story 'believe

she was awoken with a loud thunderous sound
she jumped up and looked around.
it can't be santa claus? it just can't be.
mommy did'nt even have money to buy a tree.

she heard the sound one more time
and upon her roof they did climb.

the little pitter patter of hooves
above her head
made her turn and jump out of bed.

she ran to the window and
looked to the roof
she wanted to tell her mother
she did have the proof.

she saw something red
moving to the chimney
then she knew it had to be.
that santa claus is not only
in our hearts and minds
and will live throughout all time.

all children are supposed
to be asleep.
but through half closed eyes
they would peak.

she then heard the sounds in
the room below.
as she opened the door very slow.
to her surprise there was a tree
decorated 'oh so beautifully'.

and there under the tree
there was gifts galore
who would think - that they were poor.

as she started to look around
at the fireplace he was found.
he was having the milk and cookies
that were left that night.
' oh my gosh what a beautiful sight'.

he then put his finger to his nose
and just like the book
up the chimney he rose.

she went back to her room, and climbed
back into her bed, said her prayers
and laid down her head.
she awoke the next morning
thinking it was a dream.
when she heard her mother scream.

how is this possible? how can it be?
'all these presents, and with a tree.'
as she ran to her mothers side
the tears started to fill her eyes.

i don't know who did this? i have no clue
and i don't know what i should do.
she then told her what she heard
and saw the night before
when she opened up her bedroom door.

as we opened up the first package
from under the tree
we saw a metal frame with one word.
BELIEVE
now we put this question to you.
do you believe? is this story true?

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 07: Two Lovers: Overtones

Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
'Well, am I late?' Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock's golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.

'I brought you this . . . ' the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. She does not answer.
Backward she leans her head,
And dreamily smiles at the peach-tree leaves, wherethrough
She sees an infinite May sky spread
A vault profoundly blue.
The voice from the house fades far away,
The glistening leaves more vaguely ripple and sway . .
The tap is closed, the water ceases to hiss . . .
Silence . . . blue sky . . . and then, 'I brought you this . . . '
She turns again, and smiles . . . He does not know
She smiles from long ago . . .

She turns to him and smiles . . . Sunlight above him
Roars like a vast invisible sea,
Gold is beaten before him, shrill bells of silver;
He is released of weight, his body is free,
He lifts his arms to swim,
Dark years like sinister tides coil under him . . .
The lazy sea-waves crumble along the beach
With a whirring sound like wind in bells,
He lies outstretched on the yellow wind-worn sands
Reaching his lazy hands
Among the golden grains and sea-white shells . . .

'One white rose . . . or is it pink, to-day?'
They pause and smile, not caring what they say,
If only they may talk.
The crowd flows past them like dividing waters.
Dreaming they stand, dreaming they walk.

'Pink,—to-day!'—Face turns to dream-bright face,
Green leaves rise round them, sunshine settles upon them,
Water, in drops of silver, falls from the rose.
She smiles at a face that smiles through leaves from the mirror.
She breathes the fragrance; her dark eyes close . . .

Time is dissolved, it blows like a little dust:
Time, like a flurry of rain,
Patters and passes, starring the window-pane.
Once, long ago, one night,
She saw the lightning, with long blue quiver of light,
Ripping the darkness . . . and as she turned in terror
A soft face leaned above her, leaned softly down,
Softly around her a breath of roses was blown,
She sank in waves of quiet, she seemed to float
In a sea of silence . . . and soft steps grew remote . .

'Well, let us walk in the park . . . The sun is warm,
We'll sit on a bench and talk . . .' They turn and glide,
The crowd of faces wavers and breaks and flows.
'Look how the oak-tops turn to gold in the sunlight!
Look how the tower is changed and glows!'

Two lovers move in the crowd like a link of music,
We press upon them, we hold them, and let them pass;
A chord of music strikes us and straight we tremble;
We tremble like wind-blown grass.

What was this dream we had, a dream of music,
Music that rose from the opening earth like magic
And shook its beauty upon us and died away?
The long cold streets extend once more before us.
The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old England

Man looks up on a yellow sky
And the rain turns to rust in his eye
Rumours of his health are lies
Old england is dying
His clothes are dirty shade of blue
And his ancient shoes worn through
He steals from me and he lies to you
Old england is dying
Still he sings an empires song
And he keeps his navy strong
And he sticks his flag where it ill belongs
Old england is dying
Youre asking what makes me sigh now
What it is makes me shudder so
Well
I just freeze in the wind
And Im numb from the pummeling of the snow
That falls from high in yellow skies
Where the time stained of england flies
Where the homes are warm and the mothers sigh
Where comedians laugh and babies cry
Where criminals are televised politicians fraternize
Journalists are dignified and everyone is civilised
And children stare with heroin eyes
Old england!
Evening has fallen
The swans are singing
The last of sundays bells is ringing
The wind in the trees is sighing
And old england is dying

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old England

Man looks up on a yellow sky
And the rain turns to rust in his eye
Rumours of his health are lies
Old england is dying
His clothes are dirty shade of blue
And his ancient shoes worn through
He steals from me and he lies to you
Old england is dying
Still he sings an empires song
And he keeps his navy strong
And he sticks his flag where it ill belongs
Old england is dying
Youre asking what makes me sigh now
What it is makes me shudder so
Well
I just freeze in the wind
And Im numb from the pummeling of the snow
That falls from high in yellow skies
Where the time stained of england flies
Where the homes are warm and the mothers sigh
Where comedians laugh and babies cry
Where criminals are televised politicians fraternize
Journalists are dignified and everyone is civilised
And children stare with heroin eyes
Old england!
Evening has fallen
The swans are singing
The last of sundays bells is ringing
The wind in the trees is sighing
And old england is dying

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Head Souns Like That

The metal jangles as the key turns
Unlock the door, wipe my feet clean
Oh my head sounds like that
The oil is spitting in the saucepan
I squeeze this sponge and let the cat out
Oh my head sounds like that
Oh my head
Oh oh oh
Oh oh oh
The waters dripping in the hallway
The guy next door, he knocks his wall down
Oh my head sounds like that
The knife it scrapes across the burnt brown toast
The freight train rumbles pass my window
Oh my head sounds like that
Oh my head
Oh oh oh
Oh oh oh
Oh oh oh
Around the axis we all spin
To determine whats left out and whats left in
Whats left out and whats left in
Whats left out and whats left in
Whos left out and whos left in
Whos left in
The moments come and go like water
I try to hold them but theyre fading
Oh my head sounds like that
Oh my head
Oh oh oh

song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting For Him

With a look of hope
On the face
Eyes gleaming
Longing to see her desire
Fulfilled
She sat in the window
Looking at the street
Waiting for him to arrive
Arms of the clock
Kept moving
Her desire
Remained starving
Color of the face
Kept changing
Pink became yellow
In no time
Eyes moved
From street to the clock
Now and then
Afternoon went
And evening arrived
No sign of
Her love to be seen
Eyes became wet
Tears started flowing
One more day
Had left her crying
Waiting for him
Had become
Her only pastime

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On a hot summer afternoon

On a hot summer afternoon
I open the window and listen
To the flowing wind
Dry leaves on the tree rustle
The atmosphere filled with dust
The sun shines
Emitting tremendous heat
Making the wind hot and severe
Everybody on the street
Runs for shade
Throats dry
Thirst for water increases
Every soul
Search for a glass of cold water
Birds and animal rest in shades
Waiting for the sun to set
I close the window
In a huff
Never to open and feel the wind
On another hot summer afternoon

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Blue-Tinted Lizard

There's a blue-tinted lizard on the redbrick wall,
Where the green ivy grows and the brown leaves fall,
'O it's such a pleasant day, ' say my playful little parents,
'Why don't you go outside where the brown leaves fall.'
But I'm so tired all the time in my redbrick house,
And all I see when I look out is where that blue-tinted lizard used
to slither on the wall,
Where the green ivy grows and the brown leaves fall.

poem by Joshua Dinkin
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Paint Brush

We forget
We’re humans in disguise
We lust for angels
We lust for demons
We cannot exorcise the human inside.

We paint a layer of lies
No water can wash it off
Human doesn’t let paint spread
In the end humans peel paint off.

Some are left buried
With paint left unpeeled
The paint dries away
But human never dehydrates.

We may paint on thorns,
But flowers we remain inside.

poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mirror Mirror on the Wall

*couldn't find Two Souls Intertwined so here*

Mirror, mirror on the wall. Sit and watch me take my fall.
Reflect the world right back to me and mock me against it all.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. It’s not as it should seem.
The truths are lies the lies are truth and I can’t even scream.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. You lie straight to my face.
Though the picture may be clear my mind you slowly erase.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. You’re complexion is smooth and cold.
But beneath that reflecting beauty lies something worse than bold.

Walls that see my every move; that hear my every word.
Can you hear my heart beat quicken like a tiny caged bird.

Windows that show the freedom. Out there beyond my world.
What you paint is like the mirror; deceiving at every turn.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. You see what’s in my hand.
Walls that know my secrets. I think you know my plan.

Windows that show my freedom. Shall I toss her out of you?
Face that reflects with a glimmer. Is this what you choose?

Eyes that stare back at me. I do not recognize.
The walls, the mirror, the windows too are all out for my demise.

Mind that’s been corrupted. Stare upon thy face.
If I destroy this ‘home’…shall I to be erased?
Mirror, mirror on the wall. You have seen me take my fall.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. You were never there at all.

poem by Vanessa Kingsley
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Red Colored Stars

I'll open my eyes, and a new day will come
I'll see Red Colored Stars in the sky and in your eyes
Fast away the ugly, just one more bill to pay
All the past will be moon dust that flies, from where we lay
I can feel it, I can feel
Red Colored Stars in my hands are the stones that were cast
They left us with scars, reminders
There's a wall in my way, there's a war in my way
Tales of love that consumed me
Hide from the fight
I'm a slave in my head, I'm awake in my bed
Tell the worms they can soon eat tonight, eat tonight
I can feel
Red Colored Stars in my hands are the stones that were cast
They left us with scars, reminders
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Sleep, there's a wall in my way
There's a war in my way
Sleep, there's a wall in my way
There's a war in my head
Start our cars and be around, there's room enough for you and me
When the sun comes up, we'll leave them down and stare into the dream
Red Colored Stars in my hands are the stones that were cast
They left us with scars, reminders
I can feel it
I can feel it
I can feel it
I can feel it

song performed by by Ours
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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