Long Journey Ahead
Blinking at the bright light, I thought
“I’m all set for a long trip! I must!
Through many unfamiliar routs”
“I might have done it before! But
I lost my past at my last horizon
Which I left by accepting a covenant
Of oblivion, before reaching this zone”
Ending my musings, I gazed forward
To find two pairs of cool eyes looking into mine
From two masked persons with Steel blades
Bleeding in their hands! What a bad reception? !
Shocked, I remained in timid quietude
Then came an unexpected knock on my back
Someone has started hitting me, first with some heed
Then started speeding up, with sounds like
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud
I wanted to say, “Hey! Stop it! You freak!
My mumbled lips produced no sound
The hitting continued; with brisk strokes
This time on my belly as well
I felt vulnerable and weak
I wanted to weep; get out of this hell
I tried once again; this time with a crack
With full force I expelled, a shrilling yell
Now the hitting’ as slowed down to a somewhat
Systematic patting; to a more measured rhythm
Heartened; I shrieked again; with full throat
Louder and louder, hysterical, up to the acme
The hitting did cease, all abrupt
After a minute of silence I heard
My captors shouting with delight
“The baby has cried! The baby has cried! !
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Related quotes
Long Journey Ahead (Revised)
Blinking at the bright light, I thought
'I'm all set for a long journey
through numerous unfamiliar routs;
a promised joy-pain potpourri! '
'From where I started; go I where?
I might have done this trip before,
but lost my past at my last halt.
A thawed horizon's melted door
I left and passed through many a vault
and flushed out by a tidal bore
to reach this place oh by default.'
'I signed a pact or gestured yes
to some tacit contract to bind
myself to oblivion, I guess;
ere woke up finding me entwined
a coiled lump like in this foul mess.'
Ending my muse, I gazed forward
to find two pairs of coolest eyes
looking into my eyes! O' God
they have white masks of grand disguise
and shiny blades of steel in hands
dripping with blood and wiry bands
of flesh. Whom did they cut and prise?
Then came a sudden knock on my
frail back, first as a tender pat
then started speeding up; O' my
O' my, with sounds like thud, thud, phat!
I tried to shout, 'Hey stop you freak!
My mumbled lips produced no sound.
Oh continued their battery
with rhythmic beat in timbre loud.
This time on my belly as well!
I felt so vulnerable and weak.
I tried to weep out of this hell.
I tried again; this time a shriek.
With force expelled a shrilling yell.
The hitting had slowed down somewhat
to a systematic patting fast
with measured rhythm like horse's strut
on my back-street. Heartened at last
I shrieked again from depths of gut
aloud, a hysterical lambast.
The hitting did cease, all abrupt.
After a flash of grim silence I heard
my captors shouting with delight
'The baby cried; the baby cried! '
poem by Sathya Narayana
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The Pain Is Just To Real
The pain is just to real.
There’s a tear somewhere deep within me.
Pulling at me, reaching up, seizing me.
The pain is just to real.
It bursts white hot scorching my insides.
Prying me open, ripping inside me.
The pain is just to real.
Needles hitting over and over again.
A cry of fear burst through my mouth.
The pain is just to real.
I hear the thud each time the pain comes.
It’s excruciating, I can’t take this much longer.
The pain is just to real.
I clutch my chest I can’t seem to breathe.
It’s killing me.
The pain is just to real.
Something’s shattering inside me.
It’s hitting every piece of flesh within me.
The pain is just to real.
White hot pain explodes in my chest.
Thud, Thud, pain pulses through my veins.
The pain is just to real.
My muscles begin to twitch.
Clutching my chest I think I see lights.
The pain is just to real.
My vision goes blurry.
I’m coming short of breath.
The pain is just to real.
With one gasping breathe I realize what’s happening.
My heart is shattering..
poem by Krystal Allison
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October Leaves
My arms are very chilly out in October
My knees are very filthy out in the mud
when I walk inside I here thud, thud, thud,
out in October
poem by SeQuoia Brown
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When the Thud of Sounds Cross Through the Night Hours
When the thud of sounds cross through the night hours
keeping you awake when you close your eyes
until the sun touches the horizon,
violating your home, wanting to drive you from your house
and if you want to correct that people,
they may want to cause more amok,
when the thud of sounds cross through the night hours
keeping you awake when you close your eyes,
they may hit you with knuckle-dusters
or they may take revenge later
and in an incident all your ribs may be broken,
or they may shoot you quite by accident,
when the thud of sounds cross through the night hours.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Big Dumb Guy
So many tech-heads
Recent invasion
I stretch out my long legs
And I kick away the mouse pad, baby
Amazon, eBay, Oracle, he say
He promise a freebee
But he's such a pokey little guy
Wait, I hear big footsteps
Thud, thumping out of the past
That big dumb guy is here at last
That big dumb guy is here at last
Cyberman lights up
But mostly he floppy
Computer man crashes
He's so humpty dumpty, baby
Now he tries this experiment
Though he knows it's so low-tech
He tries patting his forehead
While he's rub, rub, rubbing my stomach, baby
But he can't do it, can he?
No, no he can't do that at all
But wait, I hear big footsteps
Thud, thumbing out of the past
Sure enough, that big dumb guy
Is here at last
That big dumb guy is here at last
Big papa bear
Maybe you can remember
It wasn't that long ago
When you dialed a number
You got a living, breathing human being
On the telephone
Don't want nothing to do
But just study the skin on your face
I want to look up at the sky
And watch the sunset
With someone like you
Wait, I hear big footsteps
Thud, thumbing out of the past
That big dumb guy is here at last
That big dumb guy is here at last
That big dumb guy is here, he's here
In fact he's brought his
big raccoon coat with him
And he doesn't even know it's
politically incorrect
That big dumb guy is here at last
I see him now walking torward me
Let's get it on with your big bad self
Get it on babe, Get it on babe
Get it on babe, Get it on babe
That big dumb guy is here at last
Big, big, big, big, big
Big dumb guy
Oh, ha - smartest guy
I ever knew yeah
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me
kiss me, kiss me now
If feels so good
I don't want to have to go into those chat rooms anymore
I don't want to see that pinwheel go round
and around and around
Every time I try to open any window
Hold me, you big dumb guy
You smart guy
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Concrete Garden
I've got a garden in my yard
Outside my kitchen window
And the sounds that kiss my ears?
Not the wind rustling through plants
Not birds, singing as they plunder
Not the thud of hoe against soil
My garden grows in concrete
And the sounds that kiss my ears?
The shouts of laughter
The words of team spirit
The thud of basketball against pavement
That's the fruit of my toil
poem by Diana Holinski
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Repression of War Experience
Now light the candles; one; two; there’s a moth;
What silly beggars they are to blunder in
And scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame—
No, no, not that,—it’s bad to think of war,
When thoughts you’ve gagged all day come back to scare you;
And it’s been proved that soldiers don’t go mad
Unless they lose control of ugly thoughts
That drive them out to jabber among the trees.
Now light your pipe; look, what a steady hand.
Draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen,
And you’re as right as rain...
Why won’t it rain?...
I wish there’d be a thunder-storm to-night,
With bucketsful of water to sluice the dark,
And make the roses hang their dripping heads.
Books; what a jolly company they are,
Standing so quiet and patient on their shelves,
Dressed in dim brown, and black, and white, and green,
And every kind of colour. Which will you read?
Come on; O do read something; they’re so wise.
I tell you all the wisdom of the world
Is waiting for you on those shelves; and yet
You sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out,
And listen to the silence: on the ceiling
There’s one big, dizzy moth that bumps and flutters;
And in the breathless air outside the house
The garden waits for something that delays.
There must be crowds of ghosts among the trees,—
Not people killed in battle,—they’re in France,—
But horrible shapes in shrouds—old men who died
Slow, natural deaths,—old men with ugly souls,
Who wore their bodies out with nasty sins.
. . . .
You’re quiet and peaceful, summering safe at home;
You’d never think there was a bloody war on!...
O yes, you would ... why, you can hear the guns.
Hark! Thud, thud, thud,—quite soft ... they never cease—
Those whispering guns—O Christ, I want to go out
And screech at them to stop—I’m going crazy;
I’m going stark, staring mad because of the guns.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Music Festival
The beat of the music goes THUD! THUD! THUD!
As revellers dance around, ankle deep, in thick, gooey mud.
Bedecked in waterproofs and their designer Wellington boots,
The festival goers are all having themselves a right old hoot.
Famous bands have been booked to headline.
The organisers pray that the weather stays fine.
Revellers of every age – both young and old,
Are wrapped up against the wild wind, so cold.
The fans sway from side to side and wave their hands,
As they sing along at the tops of their voices to the bands.
Some fans are here to see their favourite bands in the flesh,
While others want to check out talent, that’s new and fresh.
Despite the mud, there’s a smile on every face
Of the fans who, each year, flock to this place.
Some girls wear pretty flowers in their hair.
At their heroes on stage, they stand and stare.
The singer on stage, stands and sings famous hit after hit,
As the drummer behind him, bashes away on the drum kit.
Heard are the strains of electro-acoustic and bass guitars.
To be here, many bands and their fans have travelled far.
Everyone really looks forward to this wonderful weekend,
When they can listen to wicked sounds and make new friends.
Fans sing along at the top of the voices, until they croak.
The rain falls down again, and the poor fans get soaked.
Everyone is feeling happy and spirits are riding really high,
Despite the fact, not a single fan has managed to stay very dry.
Girls jump up and down and wildly scream.
Their perfectly made-up faces excitedly beam.
As evening falls and we head on into the inky night,
Mobile phones are held aloft and there’s a sea of light.
By the end of the night, everyone’s feeling drained,
But they’ll return tomorrow, ready to do it all again!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Animal
I look out over this dusty ridge ~~ I look around me and wonder why I am alone all the time ~~ Even though I know I am not ~~ Wondering why I feel this way ~~ I feel as if a animal is tearing me apart on the inside ~~ I want to say something about the feeling of claws ripping though my chest ~~ I feel the wind pick up ~~ I notice the clouds ~~ I want the hurt in my chest to stop ~~ I look down into the valley of this place ~~ Knowing I am so far up, making the trees look like ants ~~ It starts to rain, as it rains I start to cry ~~ All I want to know is what happened ~~ Why won’t you let me know you after all this ~~I am soaked to the bone ~~ It is a cool rain ~~ The animal is still clawing me apart on the inside ~~ I tell myself that I can do something about it ~~ The more I start to realize what I can do to fix this ~~ The more the hurt stops, the animal stops for now ~~ My knee’s fall to the ground with a heavy thud ~~ The animal starts to pace ~~ I see the mixture of rain and mud clouds from it ~~ Then as more happens, as I try to fix it ~~ All it does is make the animal return ~~ The memories return ~~ My heart starts racing ~~ The animal is more fierce then before ~~ The hurt returns, along with all the heart ache ~~ The rest of my body grows weak as it start’s clawing in my chest ~~ My body falls the rest of the way to the ground with another heavy thud ~~More mud and dust clouds raise up ~~ The animal claws are like razors in my chest ~~ My face is now laying upon the mixture of mud and dust ~~ My limbs go numb ~~ I can hear the animal’s roaring in my ears ~~ I can feel my eyes slip shut ~~ I can’t see anything but black ~~ I know it won’t be long before I let the animal have it’s way ~~ All I wanted to do is know you ~~ I can feel the animal starting at my heart ~~ The animal starts to clam as I take my last breath of life ~~ Then I know is it all over, and I’m gone ~~ There is finally peace ~~
poem by Marla Smith
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Valley Of The Dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Went the gang of four
Song number one and the rhythm up amping
Drummer beats down 4/4 rock ranking
A bass so deep thud thud spines shaking
And all around mad eyes are rolling
Made up and stunning
As the feet get moving
As the pressure rising
White faces staring
As into the valley of the dolls
- go the gang of four
Song after song rockettes up rocking
One hundred watts scream man
My ears are bleedin
Hot bodies charged blonde locks a givin
And all around - young girls are fainting
Their hearts a pumpin
As the spikes are dancing
Shank girl shanking
I saw love vibrating
As into the valley of the dolls
- go the gallant four
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
As into the valley of the dolls
4 skulls are splitting
5 fingers are clicking
6 strings are burning
7th hour approaching
8 legs are stomping
9 lives are groovin
10 thousand coasting
X generating
As into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley
Into the valley of the dolls
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I fell off my pink cloud with a thud.
quote by Elizabeth Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep Blue
A solitude of ghostly spill, a dim dispersion,
forgotten sand in eternity's hourglass,
sailors distinguish this life as an obsession,
warriors so expendable, across surpass.
My obsequies in sea, a trinket of dispersion,
recall me lost in January, found in May,
my dreams convert my demise to affection,
and my epitaph became a crossed dismay.
Thud Thud, sounds in sleep, wind-sail-blasts,
She may be the ultimate mens beguile,
Impertinent of a deity, waves on masts,
With her ambrosian sovereign touch and smile..
Maybe I 'll fly with her above a lonely steppe
my solitude will dream of her, as I 'll hark,
word of a priestess form, Delphic corax step,
expended in Stygian terre oblong, as Hydras bark.
Oh, Mother of all my ailments, effusive in cold air..
You who had bestowed my analogy on earth,
and blue Naiads who solemnly, filled my stare,
deep blue I claimed you, in ocean's cold hearth..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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One moment you appear to be riding the crest of a wave, only to have the rug pulled away from you, bringing you back down to earth with a sickening thud.
quote by John Barrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Only One
'The only One Who can teach me to find God is God, Himself, Alone.'
Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation.
The only one
who can fill black night
with interior light,
who can lead me
past the gun-shots,
thump and thud,
hate filled percussion,
of hidden mines,
the death of
children
is God,
Himself,
Alone.
poem by Steven Federle
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I became a connoisseur of that nasty thud a manuscript makes when it comes through the letter box.
quote by James Herriot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I heard this massive thud. I spun around, and there Keith was, on the ground. He'd cut his gums up on impact, he was very bloody, and clutching his head. I think it was a kind of wake-up call for him.
Remember Me?
I was a whisper
That passed by between two hands
A promise to keep
But in slip of tongue
I'm an itch of the curious
Migrating around
Between truth and lies
I lost my identity
That no one can claim
Except this trouble
In no aisle of secrecy
A thud, I became
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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The Sentry
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime
Kept slush waist high, that rising hour by hour,
Choked up the steps too thick with clay to climb.
What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
If not their corpses. . . .
There we herded from the blast
Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last.
Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles.
And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
And splashing in the flood, deluging muck --
The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
"O sir, my eyes -- I'm blind -- I'm blind, I'm blind!"
Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
And said if he could see the least blurred light
He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
"I can't," he sobbed. Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids
Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
In posting next for duty, and sending a scout
To beg a stretcher somewhere, and floundering about
To other posts under the shrieking air.
Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
And one who would have drowned himself for good, --
I try not to remember these things now.
Let dread hark back for one word only: how
Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneath --
Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
"I see your lights!" But ours had long died out.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Cycles
When Dave Priest died grave sexton told
to toll bell well for corpse stone cold -
from epiderm to earthworm’s feast
star studded sports sporadic yeast.
The moral reads: reeds brave, deeds bold,
berth bends to end which breaks birth's mould.
Mould broken, mould returned, at least
is he released from life once leased.
Though pitter-pat or thud, thud, thud,
warm blood turns into tainted mud,
must musty dust depart, heart ceased,
Time’s gavel knocks down man and beast.
As cycles spin, out's in's template,
who sees the light before dark fate?
© Jonathan Robin – Sonnet robi3_0968 written 1 November 2005 revised 17 October 2008 - for previous version see below
When Dave died grave sexton was told
to toll the bell for one grown old, -
now he is young again, released
from epiderm to earthworm’s feast.
The moral is, however bold,
all bend to end which breaks the mould.
Mould broken, mould returned, as least
is he who highest life once leased.
So whether bid or oversold
warm blood soon rudderless and cold
must musty dust turn heart beat ceased,
Time’s gavel sells off man and beast.
Though cycles swift accelerate,
who sees the light before dark fate?
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sit around bonfire,
Sparks rise and fly like glow worms;
Charred logs fall with thud.
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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