Tinted Images
I remember tinted images
yellow and stained
in old wooden frames.
The glass was scratched and wavy.
They sat on a table next to a lamp
painted with naked cherubs.
The couch and chairs were covered in plastic.
I never asked why.
One day my father spilled his beer
no one panicked and I understood.
There were stories after dinner
with coffee and cigarettes.
I was young and don't recall them now.
We don't tell stories after dinner;
no one smokes anymore.
I have pictures in polished frames.
My couch is stained and the chairs are worn.
On a table next to the lamp
the one with naked cherubs
are the tinted images in the old wooden frames.
When the lamp is lit
I can see myself in the glass.
poem by Ronald Shields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
You Can Have The TV
You can have the T.V.
I'll take the radio
Really, I don't want the T.V.
Just please the radio
I'd like that chair if you don't want it
Thank you
You keep the couch
You'll need a couch that's ok
You can keep the records
Cause it's your sterio
Really, I won't need the records
Without a sterio
I'd like the kitchen chairs and table
Thank you
You keep the bed
I'll buy a bed
That's ok
The books we can split in half
The pots and pan we'll do the same
The pictures on the wall
We can split in half
And you can have the scrabble game
The money in the bank
We can split in half
And you can have your single name
Our friends, we can split in half
And we can each have half the lane
Ok it's settled then
You can have the t.v.
I'll take the radio
Really I don't want the t.v.
Just please the radio
I'll like a lamp if you don't want it
Thank you
You keep the couch you'll need a couch
That's ok
You keep the bed, I'll buy a bed
That's ok
The dog, you keep the dog
I'll come around and see him now and then
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A View In Town Square
four blue chairs surround
a center table
at the center table
lies the red cloth
there are no diners
this time of the day
on the blue frames of
the glass window
where the white curtains
hang & flow like silky water
the lush of the red
bougainvillea is a wreath
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upon A Day Of Reckoning
it is always i
who cleans the table from
morsels
who throws away the trash
of what is unconsumed from
the kettle
it is always i
who wipes the spilled milk
on the floor
who takes all the shit
on the sink
who kills all the bedbugs
on the pillow
it is always i
and on the day of reckoning
the table and chairs will be smooth
and glossy
the windows look to the other side without blinking
the door shall be mute forever
the hinges and frames all numb
on the last slamming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thirty Frames A Second
Today I saw a film going backwards
Thirty frames a second
Was a man I recognised
Say who you are
I lost my job
Security
Self confidence
Bank account
Identity
The league of youth
Coming backward at me
Thirty frames a second
Say who you are
Go back to father
Father wheres my food?
You food is on the table
That cant be food
Its dirt
Say who you are
Look at my skin
Look at my face
Look at my arms
Getting younger
Going backwards
Thirty frames a second
Say who you are
I crash my car
Collapse in town
Young immigrants
And legionaires
Fighting back back backwards
Thirty frames a second
Say who you are
Some friends of mine
I thought were dead
A coming back
What are you doing coming back
Jack
Say who you are
Feel Im going backwards
Thirty frames a second
Lyrics : j kerr music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To A Strict Lifestyle Of The Past
'twas the cruel time
with grandpa when dropping a grain
of rice on the table cloth is such a big crime
when you like to eat but you cannot swallow
the food
when you like to drink but the water tasted
as bitter as bile
when the conversations on the dining table
are shallow as affection is strange
as nothing becomes more important
than a future
not be be bound in the house anymore
when papa did not do anything
when mama simply sobbed
and stayed silence
and surrendered everything to God
all we waited is the blackness of the night
black because death is indifferent
because time is not a rescuer
of those who sank into
the bottom
of despair
i recall all these cruel times now
upon a grain of white rice
upon a coffee deprived of milk and sugar
upon a bread without the butter
upon a naked table
scratched with a knife
stained with tears
i look over the window
and stare at the black butterfly merely passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inventory
We've a room
That we call home,
With a bed in it,
And a table
And some chairs,
A to Z in it.
There's a mirror,
And a safe,
And a lamp in it.
Were there more,
Our mighty love
Might get cramp in it.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Inaudible Melodies
Brushfire fairytales
Itsy bitsy diamond wells
Big fat hurricanes
Yellow bellied given names
Well shortcuts can slow you down
And in the end we're bound
To rebound off of we
Well dust off your thinking caps
Solar powered plastic plants
Pretty pictures of things we ate
We are only what we hate
But in the long run we have found
Silent films are full of sound
Inaudibly free
Slow down everyone
You're moving too fast
Frames can't catch you when
You're moving like that
Inaudible melodies
Serve narrational strategies
Unobtrusive tones
Help to notice nothing but the zone
Of visual relevancy
Frame-lines tell me what to see
Chopping like an axe
Or maybe Eisenstein should just relax
Slow down everyone
You're moving too fast
Frames can't catch you when
You're moving like that
Well Plato's cave is full of freaks
Demanding refunds for the things they've seen
I wish they could believe
In all the things that never made the screen
And just slow down everyone
You're moving too fast
Frames can't catch you when
You're moving like that
Slow down everyone
You're moving too fast
Frames can't catch you when
You're moving like that
Moving Too....
song performed by by Jack Johnson from Brushfire Fairytales
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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While the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin, the moon rises, and the glass lamp, with a bland smile, calls her, "My dear, dear sister."
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Leadlights
In the arch of a church window—
Silver stained with diamond panes—
The fractures piece together:
Paper thin, painted, and patterned
To illuminate the interior
With the intensely pale shade
Of transparency.
Dead-white and chalky,
The alabaster skin of glass—
With marble-like opalescence
And superficial iridescence—
Shimmers on the surface,
Reflecting its viewer's vision
With each ripple
Of the light's gleaming glare.
The bent, twisted marrow of steel,
The skeletal curve providing stability
To the etched imagery
Engraved in the glass
Frames the fragments,
Shapes the shards
In a patterned unison.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Eurotrash
We are nothing but Eurotrash
We take Plastic we take Cash
We are selling an image
Everything must go
I want you to know
You don't want the side effects
You wanna .com
Need simulated sex
We're selling you heaven
Prices down to a low
I thought you should know
It's all in your head
You're living a lie
There is nothing
Money can't buy
We are nothing but Eurotrash
We take Plastic and we take Cash
We sell our hearts second class
We slit our throats on tinted glass
We're silicon stitches
Reality bites hard
I want you to know
It's all in your head
You're living a lie
There is nothing Money can't buy
We are nothing but Eurotrash
We take Plastic we take Cash
We sell our hearts second class
We slit our throats on tinted glass
We are,We are,We are,We are,...
It's all in your head
You're living a lie
There is nothing Money can't buy
The future is here
Dreams have no end
Everything must go
We are nothing but Eurotrash
We take Plastic we take Cash
We sell our hearts second class
We slit our throats on tinted glass
song performed by by Zeromancer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A poem to my student Claire
Education is forever
a path to wisdom
Blue, yellow, red
color disguises to some,
it's difficult to understand
But there you are
on that poor wooden table
studying the certainty of the future
Sitting on a green plastic chair
of hardship, torture and uncomfort
Small cubicle glass
a size of a box
prisons all possibilities
of exploration
To little for a space
to venture the world of surprises
Learning with a cheerful eyes
unafraid, unceasingly open
every afternoon with a cup of coffee to suffice
The absence of the warm from family
you asked to be filled by a mother, a teacher-
that is me.
I'm surprise because you made me write again
a poem, I so long forgot.
poem by Hazel Calumarde
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Shema
The hidden sound, the spell under the tongue,
Hints of our truth revealed. Behold, Shema:
A doorway opens from a dwelling of despair
To speed the fate of birth and teach
To wear death’s sudden mask.
The bodies of our ancestors, eroded by disease
Unnamed and unconfined. Vital organs inflamed
By domestic plague, blamed on foreign clime.
Limbs torn by canon, severed by sword,
Lives cascaded into waters, in armour drowned.
They carried in their recessed minds
A fragment of the sound, beyond the language of their time.
The colleges, hunched passageways of stone,
The worn and lettered tombs by which the students pass
Libraries rebuilt on wooden beams
In the sunlight of stained glass.
Illuminated minds renew
The stunted frames of ancient words:
Their syllables extend
Towards the hidden sound.
poem by Frank Bana
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Red Stained the Earth
When white clouds filled the land
Red stained the earth
Thunder roared and lightning struck
Red stained the earth
Darkness devoured the soul
Red stained the earth
Smoke choked the air
Red stained the earth
Cries were loud but never heard
Red stained the earth
Words misunderstood
Red stained the earth
A compromise was in vain
Red stained the earth
Land was stripped of its beauty
Red stained the earth
Raped of dignity, honor and trust
Red stained the earth
Language lost, stories untold
Red stained the earth
No more tradition, no more culture
Red stained the earth
When white clouds filled the land
Red stained the earth
poem by Ema Bovoro
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A Lamp In Us!
The small lamp commenced to burn,
When two bodies united as one,
From the day one until the day yet to know,
The lamp burns slowly in the spirit of ions.
Keeping the lamp safe from rough climes,
Protecting the yarn from the heavy dye,
Nourishing the lamp with fuels approved,
The lamp may burn quietly as expected.
we let it burn with bigger flame,
By adding steroidal fuels and nocturnal fun,
we let the motor to run in higher speed,
by pressing the temptation to accelerate.
The lamp may start to play snake and ladder,
By climbing up and down at the dice of illnesses,
Sometimes gets overheated to jam up the motor,
Hold your lamp lovingly for it to glow pleasantly.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Lava Lamp
In the half light of the evening
I could almost see you glow, I can tell by the way you're moving,
Time may be right to let you know,
you've got a many coloured halo, the body of venus
a babe rainbow and if I come on any closer, I might fall into your silhouette
but the shape of things to come is constantly changing
so let it, so let it, so let it flow
lava lava lava lamp, lava lava lava lamp
indigo, violet and blue, can we meet where the edge is blur cause I am comin' atcha, like a bug eye heading for the burn
the truth is I can't stay away, no I wanna let you light my volcano
and maybe it's just my imagination, but you never know
because the shape of things to come is constantly changing
so let it, so let it, so let it flow
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
so let it, so let it, so let it ...
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Melodic Themes
A beautiful stained glass cathedral lamp,
a white heart-motive decorated book stand,
silver wire containers covered in silk and
elegant roses, classic journals with velvet
and leather covers and textured pages -
inspiring dreams of unique first editions
Yet I came home with Fantasia, orchestral
sound producing beautiful pictures through
Chladni’s figures; material objects being
frozen manifestations of sound patterns -
ideas and dreams expressed in melodic
themes – creating the visible world
As a series of fossilised moments in an
eternal process of infinite becoming…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Thirty years ago, we were in a movie theater and thought it was so cool because we were finally delivered from the horrors of stained glass and wooden pews.
quote by Bill Hybels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tender Buttons [a Plate]
An occasion for a plate, an occasional resource is in buying and how soon does washing enable a selection of the same thing neater. If the party is small a clever song is in order.
Plates and a dinner set of colored china. Pack together a string and enough with it to protect the centre, cause a considerable haste and gather more as it is cooling, collect more trembling and not any even trembling, cause a whole thing to be a church.
A sad size a size that is not sad is blue as every bit of blue is precocious. A kind of green a game in green and nothing flat nothing quite flat and more round, nothing a particular color strangely, nothing breaking the losing of no little piece.
A splendid address a really splendid address is not shown by giving a flower freely, it is not shown by a mark or by wetting.
Cut cut in white, cut in white so lately. Cut more than any other and show it. Show it in the stem and in starting and in evening coming complication.
A lamp is not the only sign of glass. The lamp and the cake are not the only sign of stone. The lamp and the cake and the cover are not the only necessity altogether.
A plan a hearty plan, a compressed disease and no coffee, not even a card or a change to incline each way, a plan that has that excess and that break is the one that shows filling.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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