Two heads weaken
Two brothers as two hands worked together
And made heaps from dust; they soon got married.
Since then they started working as two heads,
Heaps sliding to dust. Two hands together
Are stronger than two heads put together.
07.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Time and Leaves and Heaps
time runs
leaves fall
the ground is filled with heaps and heaps of them
the world too
is thickened by the leaves of time
heaps and heaps of what man once was
we bury all of them
time
leaves
heaps of leaves
so many times
we fall too like leaves
the world is thick of those like us
fair enough.
fair enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dust 2...
If dust could only talk
What would we hear it say?
Before it's brushed aside
Just as it's swept away
It's just the evidence
It's of no consequence
It's only flesh and bone
Why don't you leave it alone?
If dust could only speak
Caught in a falling beam
If dust could only cry
If dust could only scream
For it's the single witness that might testify
Could I spit out the truth?
Or would you rather just swallow a lie?
But dust is always caught behind a coat of pain
Beneath the marble fingernails of kings and saints
And in the theatre curtain where they hang a drape
Or in the ticket pocket where your hands escape
Before they start to wander
Or they start to shrink
You rub your eye a little and appear to blink
And then she caught you staring
She knows what you're thinking
What got into you is not a ghost as such
It was just dust
Here comes the juggernaut
Here come The Poisoners
They choke the life and land
And rob the joy from us
Why do they taste of sugar?
Oh, when they're made of money
Here come the Lamb of God
And the butcher's boy, Sonny
Well, I believe we just
Become a speck of dust
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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How I Wish You Do Not Understand My Language
speaking in tongues the drops of light fall on the pavement
of the church, worse, there were heads banging against other heads
and beards. Birds fly away, upon a thud of a pod,
pudding, leaves heaping, trees shedding off heaps of leaves,
and church bells ringing, i drag my feet drugged against the
ragged tags of the rugged rags, Sham, It is still painful.
How i wish you do not understand my language, Yet you
are speaking it, like i am the sham shaman of the shah of tehran.
it is your wedding day. I am here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Life Of A Thinker
you do not know how is it to live as a thinker
literature has portrayed an old man to this art
long white beard, silver hair unkempt
baths sacrificed for the constant write
hands on the paper before him
dawn and night and day
nothing matters really now except those thoughts
heaps and heaps of books and files of papers abounding
the room and wall practically all not just pulp
but binders and paper clips as well
outside him the world changes
seasons keep on changing
light and darkness exchanged vows
the journey is about to end
he knows where he is
a place where time is dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Are We?
WHAT ARE WE?
What are we?
Dust of the earth
Dust of the stars
Thinking dust
Dreaming dust
Loving dust
Dust of Dust
God’s Dust
What are we?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sometimes I am amazed of the magic that is done
It all started with something insignificant
Like dust,
Sticking on a window pane, and I want it
Dusted off, it is dirt, it is unwanted,
And I do not even know what to do next
About such
Insignificance and feelings of simply
Trying to get rid of dust immediately,
But then, I begin to think about this
Dust, this me, this dust in me,
Some dusts on my feet, some dusts on
My forehead, and some dusts in my ears,
Some dusts in my eyes so obstructive
Of what I really am, and I know what to do next,
The bulb lighting in my head in a sudden,
I touch the dust,
I feel the dust with my fingers, and I am crazy enough
I taste the dust on my window pane,
And I shiver,
I am shaking to its taste, the taste of nothingness
If was from dust that I really come,
I now remember,
It will be to dust that I shall return,
I am now reminded,
And the dust that I used to see
As dirt, as something so insignificant, is now,
A magical patch, glistening, so filled with meaning,
I am nothing but dust; I am biting the dust,
I am very insignificant, in that window pane, at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death's Final Conquest
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now,
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
poem by James Shirley
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San Simeon Hill Zebras
Drifters, if they could be.
Sometimes, when they think
no one is watching,
they near the barbed wire.
Hooves and hooves and hooves.
A silent choir, a mass
of muscle-held cellmates.
Their heads are full of high grass
and long shadows. They dream
of lowland lions grifting gazelle.
Behold the moiré bolting
of the chain-gang jumpsuits
—dust and dust and dust—
safe in their target-striped caps!
Church Monuments
While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust
My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at jet and marble put for signs,
To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent, that when thou shalt grow fat
And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.
poem by George Herbert
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Seeking Touch....
hands seem to grow
smaller with age.
the maps neath the eyes
go from destiny to love.
love that had no horse,
but worked a mule.
and kingdoms only thus,
manure, and sweat.
your body perfume,
rust of a moth's wings...
hymnals made of dust,
simple words, bent nails.
love's sap dried
on your thighs and lips.
no names, no images,
just small hands seeking touch!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mzuzu academy prep hall
it's a wide and vast
although it is not full of dust
its 7 o'clock on the watch
no one is allowed to wash
everyone is so quite that never before
since they came two minutes before
the only sound is books
even with girls who have looks
the inspector looks at troublemakers
since there is no one to punish noisemakers
while students hold firmly their future
since it doesn't came nature
a bulb in the ceiling smile brightly
as they light the hall nicely
students scratch their heads
as if they will have a chance to decide tails or heads
one and a half hour is the time
as students prep has no rhyme
as their future is in their hands
as they hold it in their expands
they got no time to waste
not even time to rest
as the time to exams is near
they prep and pass clear
poem by Tanaka Chirombo
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A dust cleaner marries a street sweeper
Skinny poor Princess
Who works in a Tea sorting Factory
And cleans the dust whole day,
On her way back home
She coughs and dust mites run.
One auspicious day she met
A courageous Prince
Who sweeps the street.
How the shrewd fate brings them together?
And nobody oppose as they walk on the same street.
He stops at a certain place with his broom
And she heads to the Factory.
As far as the dust & dirt would remain in this unclean World
Thank God! Their jobs are permanent it seems!
*To have a friend, be a friend.
-Old saying
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Liu Ch'e
The rustling of the silk is discontinued,
Dust drifts over the court-yard,
There is no sound of foot-fall, and the leaves
Scurry into heaps and lie still,
And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them:
A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
poem by Ezra Pound
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His Hands
His hands should have
their own identity,
a name perhaps,
befitting each vocation
they enjoy.
Skillful hands -
finely tuned, they hold every tool
with equal panache.
Each callous earned, a trophy,
yet self-aware, they're gentle
as they browse my every curve.
Comical hands -
the right one scraping whiskers,
razoring down a field of white
revealing trails of pink-skinned angles.
I laugh at the silly poses
skewed by the left
so the right won't miss a spot,
my just reward, a foamy kiss.
Angry hands -
his driving hands,
hands that slap the wheel
as assholes go too slow
or cut in front,
directionals up their butts
with their heads.
I'm glad the angry hands
are only known to live in cars.
Those hands...
I love his hands.
Dust In The Wind
Music : Kerry Livgren
Lyrics: Kerry Livgren
I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind
Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Now, Don't hang on
Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scar Tissue, And Rust!
scar tissue, and rust...
dust long standing
in the corner by the bed.
fingerprints on the pane
of the window unopened.
soot on the hands
that tended the last fire.
the lone bullet in the chamber,
the tongue swollen, and parched.
scriptures written on
the bandages of the wounded
and dying....
will the preacher say a few words
as the people bow their heads?
the skies promise rain,
and the last wind is still!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Where Are We Runnin'?
Fast lane
High speed
On the grind
24/7
No time
Always runnin' here and there
Chasin' the money
So much jibber jabbers
Cloggin' up our soul
Where are we runnin'
We need some time to clear our heads
Where are we runnin'
Keep on working 'til we're dead
Where are we runnin'
Oo wee oo wee oo
Where are we runnin' now
In style
Profile
Got to buy
The new Cavalli
Keep the skin tight
And the booty in the air
Don't stop the party
The road is paved but narrow
I hope we all get home
Where are we runnin'?
We need some time to clear our heads
Where are we runnin'?
Keep on working 'til we're dead
Where are we runnin'?
Oo wee oo wee oo
Where are we runnin' now
Where you runnin' girl
I see you up there
Oh you up on that stage
You up there
I saw you
Where are we running
We need some time to clear our heads
Where are we runnin'
Keep on working 'til we're dead
Where are we runnin'
Oo wee oo wee oo
Where are we runnin' now
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing By
Close your eyes
Can't you see it's burning slow
Fading down the sparks of fire earth bound
Space in two
Warm beyond the love below
Close your eyes
It's time for us to go
Over our heads
Light keeps passing through
Over our heads
Lite from me to you
Falling down
Way beneath the healing skies
Rise and shine
The crying times left behind
Over our heads
All we see is true
Over our heads
Can't you see it too
Over our heads
Light keeps passing through
Over our heads
Lite from me to you
song performed by by Zero 7
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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August 05
M) The month of August
In the summer of 2005
In June I turned 18
My best friend moved back in state
In April I got a girlfriend since our first date
I met her last August
Later that year went to dust
H) I received a call on a hot summer day
The mood went a different way
She sounded like she cried
Like someone or something died
M) We started to change
Said I had become strange
We started to change
Hands against the wall
H) You wanted to escape
Cried, a victim of rape
I offered my help
M) What happened to the past?
A time that didn’t last
We changed too fast
H) You wanted to die
Then started to cry
I said I would help
You fought against the pain
Didn’t let your life dwain
You didn’t go insane
You won against the pain
M) Close to one year
Faced another fear
I broke your heart
I tore us apart
You chose a different fate
Tried to save us too late
I know there is nothing to save
I will bare this to my grave
H) M) I failed and succeeded
Helped you through his crime
We died in our prime
We are separate now
We were not meant to last
And you excepted your past
August 31,2005
My problem= M) helping her=H)
poem by Isaac Helms
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