Memory Basket
The basket of memories
had started growing heavy
on my wizened hands.
The apples therein
looked as fresh as ever
Every fresh dropp of tear
added to their tone
Every latest spill of blood
improved their colour.
Few more yards on that
dimpled sandy shoal.
I can see the end
half clear; half blurred.
Somewhere I have to stop.
The roaring waves looked kindly
at me.
The evening sand under my feet
felt lukewarm.
The dusking Sun flashed his
last parting grin.
My only worry;
can I carry my basket till end
and......... beyond?
poem by Sathya Narayana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dont Ya Tell Henry
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
I went down to the river on a saturday morn,
A-lookin around just to see whos born.
I found a little chicken down on his knees,
I went up and yelled to him,
Please, please, please!
He said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
I went down to the corner at a-half past ten,
Is lookin around, I wouldnt say when.
I looked down low, I looked above,
And who did I see but the one I love.
She said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
Now, I went down to the beanery at half past twelve,
A-lookin around just to see myself.
I spotted a horse and a donkey, too,
I looked for a cow and I saw me a few.
They said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
Now, I went down to the pumphouse the other night,
A-lookin around, it was outa sight.
I looked high and low for that big ol tree,
I did go upstairs but I didnt see nobody but me.
I said, dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Dont ya tell henry,
Apples got your fly.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How And Why
It was mid afternoon and not a cloud in the sky
The wind started acting up
I couldn’t understand why.
Then the rain started coming down
Heavy as can be
But it was only raining upon me.
twenty feet all around, outside of that
Not a dropp to be found.
How is this possible?
Is it that I’m dreaming?
And in my dream, this is what I’m seeing?
I looked up and down the street
And the cars were all dry.
I looked up again and the sky was clear blue
I just stood there not knowing what to do.
I felt someone or some thing touch my shoulder
And I spun completely around
But there was no one to be found.
I looked around again and the rain
Was still coming down
Then I heard a voice, an unfamiliar sound.
I have heard you, when you was praying at night
That you asked to bless all children
When ever in sight.
The children are blessed every second
Of every day, but your prayers
Help them, as they go on their way.
So continue your prayers and
Get the message To all mankind:
They are killing the earth
And there’s no reason why.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Empty Basket
Alongside the path a man very old
At half rate fresh oranges he sold
In the dim light of an electric pole
For he wished to sell the stuff whole.
At the midnight he sat with a hope
Beside the brimming basket to cope
With the domestic needs of future
To smash, break an ensnaring rope
Of misfortune but no one came by
While he made a silent unheard cry.
In the morn when the sun rose bright,
To reveal the spot of fear and fright,
The vendor lay prostrate motionless,
Ah! The basket was empty at the sight.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Apple-Gathering
I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple tree
And wore them all that evening in my hair:
Then in due season when I went to see
I found no apples there.
With dangling basket all along the grass
As I had come I went the selfsame track:
My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass
So empty-handed back.
Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by,
Their heaped-up basket teazed me like a jeer;
Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky,
Their mother's home was near.
Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full,
A stronger hand than hers helped it along;
A voice talked with her thro' the shadows cool
More sweet to me than song.
Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth
Than apples with their green leaves piled above?
I counted rosiest apples on the earth
Of far less worth than love.
So once it was with me you stooped to talk
Laughing and listening in this very lane:
To think that by this way we used to walk
We shall not walk again!
I let my neighbours pass me, ones and twos
And groups; the latest said the night grew chill,
And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews
Fell fast I loitered still.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God comes to me in the dusk of my evening with the flowers from my past kept fresh in his basket.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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That's It That's All
Back on the scene for ya'll people's delight
You want peace for the people then ya say alright
'Cause George W's got nothing on me
We got to take the power from he
When I'm on the mic I feel good to go
Like a snow day for school with hot cocoa
So don't speak what I heard, just say what I know
And my zodiac sign is Scorpio
Look what the cat dragged in
The creme de la creme without the skin
So take a rest and mind your own biz
And that's it that's all that's all there is
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
One for Brooklyn, two for Manhattan
Let's go to work, get those hands clappin'
Make you bounce, rock, roll and skate
Don't underrate how I operate
It ain't what you say, it's what you mean
Intention leads to action, that is my theme
So pay attention now as I begin to recap
Puttin' words and ideas stacked back to back
Some rhymes go flat, well mine go fizz
I got no time for the drama 'cause stress is for kids
'Cause when you're dead and buried well you got no biz
And that's it that's all that's all there is
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
Brand new
The time and place for the mind is here and now
Keep the mind present less to worry about
But like the hammer to the nail hit the nail on the head
Well I don't shoot blanks and I don't shoot lead
Well I'm a freaky streaker like Winnie the Pooh
T-shirt and no pants and I dance the bugaloo
Like George Whipple on New York One
Got a hairy ass and that's no fun
I'm in the rhyme zone a different time zone
And on the microphone you know that I'm at home
It's time we looked past all our differences
An' that's it that's all that's all there is
Come on
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
An' that's
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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August
THERE WERE four apples on the bough,
Half gold half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core;
The colour of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that grow
Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.
The warm smell of the fruit was good
To feed on, and the split green wood,
With all its bearded lips and stains
Of mosses in the cloven veins,
Most pleasant, if one lay or stood
In sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree,
Red stained through gold, that all might see
The sun went warm from core to rind;
The green leaves made the summer blind
In that soft place they kept for me
With golden apples shut behind.
The leaves caught gold across the sun,
And where the bluest air begun,
Thirsted for song to help the heat;
As I to feel my lady’s feet
Draw close before the day were done;
Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.
In the mute August afternoon
They trembled to some undertune
Of music in the silver air;
Great pleasure was it to be there
Till green turned duskier and the moon
Coloured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.
That August time it was delight
To watch the red moons wane to white
’Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;
A sense of heavy harmonies
Grew on the growth of patient night,
More sweet than shapen music is.
But some three hours before the moon
The air, still eager from the noon,
Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;
Against the stem I leant my head;
The colour soothed me like a tune,
Green leaves all round the gold and red.
I lay there till the warm smell grew
More sharp, when flecks of yellow dew
Between the round ripe leaves had blurred
The rind with stain and wet; I heard
A wind that blew and breathed and blew,
Too weak to alter its one word.
The wet leaves next the gentle fruit
Felt smoother, and the brown tree-root
Felt the mould warmer: I too felt
(As water feels the slow gold melt
Right through it when the day burns mute)
The peace of time wherein love dwelt.
There were four apples on the tree,
Gold stained on red that all might see
The sweet blood filled them to the core:
The colour of her hair is more
Like stems of fair faint gold, that be
Mown from the harvest’s middle floor.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Sandy Desert We Were Silent
In the sandy desert we were silent;
where white and brown sand lies next to each other
we saw aloes and lilies growing together,
a sand-grouse or maybe another bird
and still we did not say anything
but thirstily did not spill a dropp of water.
The vastness, the intensity,
the sun that burnt scorching
brought us nearer to God
whose love pierces through all things,
even in places of dry rock and sand
and total forsaking.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Roamed With Anger Out Of The House
I roamed with anger out of the house.
My bosom filled with rage
My eyes with pride
My head with stubbornness.
And then
I saw the dawn arise – for it was dawn
At the beginning – and the sea was fresh
Still and naked from the nocturnal cloth
That covered it – now it lay
Listless as in a bed half-wake, half-sleeping:
I saw the rays - the rays of light increase
And turn to more yellow, more golden-fringed
And from the tree – the tree that looks
Down from the bastions – a small bird chirped
A startling song – perhaps a lay of love
Perhaps a dirge – perhaps an elegy.
I walked along the road that overlooks
The city bastions – long and old
And ancient the bastions with a kindly eye
Looked on the shore below and the over-lapping waves
I drank the wine of morn and of the dawn
Refreshing my throat from the old bastions
And looked upon the first sail-boats
Issuing from the rooms beneath the bastions
Dragged to the shore -
And then
And then
I threw the garb of my anger away -
And in my eye
There shone the happiness of the rising day
And forgiving forgetfulness.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Blood
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
He gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
And I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh blood (Lyrics)
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
he gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris,
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
and I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Disappear
dragged my feet across a seat
Jumped out the passenger side
The only thing worth looking for
Is what you find inside
But that had not yet appeared
Lost invisible here.
Tel Aviv and Agadir
Tone deaf for almost
Before I learned to see
The vanishing point appeared.
I looked for you everywhere
I looked for you everywhere.
There is a calm I haven't come to yet
I spent half my life figuring what comes next
I telescoped in I finally win
I finally win the prize
That now eyes see comets perfect timing squeeze
Head first fighting everything
The crushing force of memory
Erasing all I've been
The vanishing point appeared.
I looked for you everywhere.
I looked for you everywhere.
Tell me why you're here.
I came to disappear.
Look at this face
Can you believe it?
Am I living in the beautiful vacuum?
Because I can't see it
The vanishing point appears.
I looked for you everywhere.
I looked for you everywhere.
Tell me why you're here.
I came to disappear.
Tell me why you're here.
I came to disappear.
I came to disappear.
song performed by by R.E.M. from Reveal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half Blooded Brothers
You my blood half or full were brothers, regardless of what you do to each other, you my brother half or full, .
We keep each other good, you my brother half or full. We take care of each other, because we brothers half or full.
Imma stop trippin, it'll take a while, because im use to bullshittin and prickin, but you my brother half or full.
Stick together we will stay alive, all the bullshit I said, I've been a asshole, shit who hasn't, but you my brother half or full and I guess that's what family does.
Arguments and verbal brutality towards one another is what we do, because we will always be brothers half or full. Blood half or full, it doesn't matter, because we are brothers till the end of time, your my brother half or full.
poem by Arthur V. Miller III
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pain I Forgot
It all started with my man and i sitting at the hospital waiting for blood test results to see what was happening to me
suddenly after hours of waiting the doctor came in and said congratulations your pregnant
months went by i still think of him as my most beautiful surprise
some days were hard others were easy most flew by
so im 3 days past my due date
been in back labor for 5 days
it hurts and its crazy
woke up to contractions at 11: 00
went to the hospital they said your 2 cm dilated
and we know your contractions are 4 mins appart
so go home try to walk as much as you can
walked for a half hour around the house contractions got 2 mins appart
they took me bk i was 4 an a half cm i said look just give me the epadural
they came back a half hour later my aunt kept saying sandy
blow out hunters birthday candles
they broke my water an gave me the epadural finally said ok its time to push
half way through the called in an expert
sandy dont panic but hes face up
now your gunna feel pressure just dont push
it wasnt pressure it was pain
i wanted to cry cause they had to turn him
next thing i know they say
sandy we have an expert here hes stuck your to small so we have to use the vaccume
i wanted to cry my aunt saw the tears in my eyes
the dad had to run out befor he fainted
my aunt held my hand cut the cord
then the pain was over,
they handed me my baby boy and i started to cry looked up at my aunt and said hes so beautiful as my bf walked in saw me holding hunter and we both cried and i forgot the pain
no ever time i look at him i can say i never wanna go through that again
but he is worth everything everyday
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Standing Beside Fay One Saturday.
It was Saturday morning
and Fay stood beside you
on the balcony of the flats
looking over the Square
she pointed at the baker
and his horse drawn cart
down by the wall below
my daddy says he's Jewish
she said
those who asked
for the death of Christ
you followed the baker
as he made his way to the stairs
carrying his bread basket
I don't think he was involved
you said watching the baker
until he disappeared up the stairs
she looked right over the balcony
gripping the brick wall
with her hands
I don't think he's Jewish at all
she said letting her feet
dropp back on the floor
and it doesn't matter if he is
I think he's a nice man
she added
looking at you
with her bright blue eyes
and you gazed at her
standing there
her flowered dress
colourful and coming
just below her knees
her battered sandals
having seen
better days
and her fair hair
tied into a ponytail
at the back
she looked over
the balcony again
I like to feed his horse
with sugar cubes
I get from home
she said thoughtfully
you lean over the balcony
beside her
your elbow touching hers
the pulse of her being
vibrating into your arm
you imagine
don't your parents mind
you taking their sugar?
you asked
she looked guiltily away
they don't know
she said softly
daddy would punish
if he knew
she paused and then said
you won't tell them will you?
the baker came along
the balcony behind you both
whistling happily
of course not
you said
taking in her
trembling jaw line
her blue eyes
and her lips slightly open
her words gone
it's a nice day
the baker called
yes
you both replied
I don't think he's Jewish
she said
anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strange Meeting Ii
Deep down in the depths of forgotten dreams
So far away so long ago it seems
The memory comes of a distant beach
Pale sand stretching far from reach
It was then I found my princess of the sand.
As I traced the foam, peebles beneath my feet
I looked behind, I saw this one so sweet
She came to me and I saw in her eyes
The heavy toll of a thousand eyes
I called her my princess of the sand.
She stared at me and my mind was in a maze
As we moved along in a summer sea-dream haze
She moved her mouth but there came no sound
The message she brought can never be found
But I called her my princess of the sand.
One moment we walked with the night breeze in our face
Then I looked, shed gone. of her presence there was no trace
Where she went or came from who can know
Or if shell ever return to help me know
Who she is, my princess of the sand.
Sometime when the summer nights come back
Ill go back to the sea, follow that sandy track
Ill look around, hope to find
That strange young dream, close behind
Ill call her my princess of the sand.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking Ahead.....
early mind so fresh, telling
new ideas
with new, way of how to
win a living
sweet fresh of saliva; fresh
smell, true
deodorant of an early
morning fumes,
a style that
need not a gargle
with eyes half awake, the
heart that makes
a break, and
the body wet, take a
little burp for a little dandy
step by steps move
your feet
ahead, forward
with hands in fit, distance
squeeze and jump for
sweat
looks what you see
your
path make its way
i'am moving
on ahead of you
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Wonderful
Take a basket...
Fill it with who...
You think you are...
Mix it up good...
Be frank...
Now pull something...
Out of the basket...
It does not matter...
Whats in the basket...
Its your chatter...
That the basket holds...
It's you...
Not who...but...
You are a good person...
You are a bad person...
Mainly a good person...
That is who you are...
By far...you...
Are a wonderful star...
A real human-being...
Who can smile...
Who cares...
Damn what others think...
You are you...
In the pink...
whisperkwane
[email protected]
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Balbus
I'll tell you the story of Balbus,
You know, him as builded a wall;
I'll tell you the reason he built it,
And the place where it happened an' all.
This 'ere Balbus, though only a Tackler,
Were the most enterprising of men;
He'd heard Chicken Farms were lucrative,
So he went out and purchased a hen.
'Twere a White Wyandot he called Mabel,
At laying she turned out a peach,
And her eggs being all double-yoked ones
He reckoned they'd fetch twopence each.
When he took them along to the market
And found that the eggs that sold best
Were them as came over from China
He were vexed, but in no ways depressed.
For Balbus, though only a Tackler,
In business were far from a dunce,
So he packed Mabel up in a basket
And started for China at once.
When he got there he took a small holding,
And selecting the sunniest part,
He lifted the lid of the basket
And said "Come on, lass... make a start!"
The 'en needed no second biddin',
She sat down and started to lay;
She'd been saving up all the way over
And laid sixteen eggs, straight away.
When the Chinamen heard what had happened
Their cheeks went the colour of mud,
They said it were sheer mass production
As had to be nipped in the bud.
They formed themselves in a committee
And tried to arrive at some course
Whereby they could limit the output
Without doing harm to the source.
At the finish they came to t' conclusion
That the easiest road they could take
Were to fill the 'en's nest up wi' scrap-iron
So as fast as she laid eggs they'd break.
When Balbus went out the next morning
To fetch the eggs Mabel had laid
He found nowt but shells and albumen
He were hipped, but in no ways dismayed.
For Balbus, though only a Tackler,
He'd a brain that were fertile and quick
He bought all the scrap-iron in t' district
To stop them repeating the trick.
But next day, to his great consternation
He were met with another reverse,
For instead of old iron they'd used clinker
And the eggs looked the same, or worse.
'Twere a bit of a set-back for Balbus,
But he wasn't downhearted at all,
And when t' Chinamen came round next evening
They found he were building a wall.
"That won't keep us out of your 'en 'ouse"
Said one, with a smug kind of grin;
It's not for that purpose," said Balbus,
"When it's done, it will keep you lot in."
The Chinamen all burst out laffing,
They thowt as he'd gone proper daft
But Balbus got on wi' his building
And said "He laffed last who last laffed."
Day by day Balbus stuck to his building,
And his efforts he never did cease
Till he'd builded the Great Wall of China
So as Mabel could lay eggs in peace.
poem by Marriott Edgar
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Affection
in an unfriendly snowy city
dear affection is
sorely missed
a room with furniture
varnished
accentuated with fresh
white magnolia on
a vase
apples and peaches
in a basket
on an island of light
in the kitchen
still there is no
affection
a vacant room speaks
and looks
there is something missing still
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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