A Lasso
Battle remains between
white and black,
a synthetic truth
and a bald faced hornet.
Aching violence was spreading
on moon. I was tossing around
the stars placing the apostrophe
in the end.
There was a conflict in pain
and the pill. It was a prelude to the
carrier of a gun. Father was degenerating
in his son’s boots.
The social split was widening
in the gulf of posterity. You dress
as a bride to receive the punishment
from the hands of arrogance.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rosarium
When I entered his house
it was then when I faced the truth
we bought him the paper
and he was sat watching the news
he turned down the TV so we could speak
conversations, moments of silence spoke
the fear in his eyes when he looked at you
when he faced us all thats when we knew
fear was true.
We sat comfertable as he sat on his chair
and there Jesus looks back at me from the wall
he knows we're waiting
the devils path is waiting for him to fall
there are no children to play football
yet one remains inside his hall
the kitchen smell is not his pride
we all dress in black when he is alive.
At the door as everyone leaves
I take in the moment which everyone sees
they have only gave him everything that he needs
he hands me his rosary beads
and asks me 'can you make better use of these? '
poem by Daniel McCann
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Words Of Never Being
In unaligned loneliness,
tonight, a liquefied moon
will fill up my glass, and my shadow
will sit beside me and we will drink the pain.
Lets’s settle in twilight of stars
and think not of violence of crawling
and inflicting damages to each other; I will never be
myself again during the random dark.
The end of punishment or punishment
of ending were drawing very near,
dotting the landscape. All the budhas
are assembling to wash our sins.
Give me some bones to fix the knees,
I have lost my golden throne in
the dazzle of wounds, the flames
are lifting the red sky.
poem by Satish Verma
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Message Written Off
Any need to stitch an acid,
bare designed, in endoplasm,
when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride?
The synthetic feat was neat and clinical,
yet I want to turn back and talk about
something which heals the spirit of winged sorrow.
Marrow implant blooms like pink dough.
Can you walk straight,
think clean?
Organs for sale; mannequins are real flesh, bones, heart.
Roasted incense of sick birds floats –
you become a possessed iris.
Can you do something?
My limbs are aching, terrific pain.
Want to run like a stricken buck,
go for fasting like a schizophrenic,
become a letter undelivered
and message written off!
What is the truth then?
I cannot afford to accept the defeat!
poem by Satish Verma
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Life Of The Burden Carrier
The burden carrier...
Assesses life,
From a self centered point of view.
Nothing is ever quite right,
With their findings.
No matter what is done,
Or what some may do.
A fulfillment is obtained,
That sustains them with complaints.
And any excuse to induce their own pain,
Helps them contain an arrogance maintained.
This is the life of the burden carrier.
Nobody knows the troubles they've seen.
Nobody knows their sorrows.
Nobody!
And 'who' do we thank for that?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My thinking had been opened up wide in Mecca. I wrote long letters to my friends, in which I tried to convey to them my new insights into the American black man's struggle and his problems as well as the depths of my search for truth and justice. I've had enough of someone else's propaganda, I had written to these friends. I am for truth, no matter who tells it. I am for justice, no matter who it is for or against. I am a human being first and foremost, and as such I'm for whoever and whatever benefits humanity as a whole. The American white man's press called me the angriest Negro in America. I wouldn't deny that charge; I spoke exactly as I felt. I believe in anger. I believe it is a crime for anyone who is being brutalized to continue to accept that brutality without doing something to defend himself. I am for violence if non-violence means that we continue postponing or even delaying a solution to the American black man's problem. White man hates to hear anybody, especially a black man, talk about the crime that the white man perpetrated on the black man. But let me remind you that when the white man came into this country, he certainly wasn't demonstrating non-violence.
Malcolm X in The Autobiography of Malcolm X
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nihility
Dust to dust the soul,
moves in a confined circle
to preserve a death.
The struggle of a truth to find,
the space between the fact and fiction.
Time comes to breathe in nihility,
questioning the infidelity of violence.
I do not want to avoid the revolution within
let me use the knife to cut,
the moments into filaments of sparks.
I wanted to restrain myself,
from committing the act of accepting the pain.
The first truth remains the last truth.
Winds of change cannot erase it.
Right side of knowledge,
and wrong side of fact were always in conflict.
The sweet-smelling mask was baffled,
crippling the mind.
I craved only nothingness.
poem by Satish Verma
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Two Different People
Two different people
Black people, white people
Black world, White world
A black person thinks different from the white people
White people thinks highly of himself
White people works very hard for his living
Black's are lazy
They don't want to work, they just want the money
You have to work for the money, they just don't get it
White people knows that there are no free ride in life
Black's want a free ride, there are no free ride in life
Nothing is free in life except for the air that you breathe
The white people have to be careful of what they say to the black People
Whatever you say to the black people if they don't like it they will say it Is discrimination
We can't understand them
They have a mind of their own
The white people are loving and caring
What about the black people?
Not a hope in hell
I don't want any part of the black world
The black world is not safe for me
So I rather stay in my white world where I feel safe
We can't trust them
The reason why there is violence in this world is because the black People cause it
Now they don't like it because they have to live with it
We want a safe world for our people
The black people don't care about it because the only thing they know And seen is violence
There is too much violence on TV
They like it
They like the feeling of danger
We white don't like the feeling of danger
The blacks hate the white people and the white people don't like them Either
The white people knows when to shut up
The black people never knows when to shut up
There is why there are always problem with them
They make life miserable for us
The white people will always be a good friend
The black people can never be your friend
They will take everything they can get from you for free
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Bride Colored With Blood
In our country Parents feel proud.
When their daughter becomes not yet thirteen years old (poor kid)
Instead Of educating her mind to study to become successful one
They begine to tell her how beautiful bride she will become at the dress of bride
And soon their wish becomes real
And the poor kid becomes a bride
She leaves away her pride
Her dreams bright when she wears the white
White dress colored with blood
Leaving behind dreams of purple future
Her childish pure dreams
Her innocency
She enters the groove of cruelty
when she is still alive!
.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Kept In The Dark
Black days for humanity
Suffer the pain, the futility
Select few with immunity
Not the case for the majority
Eyes that pierce the world restrained
Healthy will to reveal contained
Questions search for truth remains
What is it you wanna see?
What is it you wanna hear?
Control is all that it can be
Control is what we all should fear
What is it to be?
Is it life or authenticity?
Black is truth or is it white?
Kept in the dark, cannot see the light
Words of power start to infect
Must see through must disconnect
Word of truth we all elect
If truth is dead then resurrect
Green is all that they can see
Their only link with reality
Who controls the monopoly?
Exploitation done professionally
What is it you wanna see?
What is it you wanna hear?
Control is all that it can be
Control is what we all should fear
What is it to be?
Is it life or authenticity?
Black is truth or is it white?
Kept in the dark, cannot see the light
song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kept In The Dark
Black days for humanity
Suffer the pain, the futility
Select few with immunity
Not the case for the majority
Eyes that pierce the world restrained
Healthy will to reveal contained
Questions search for truth remains
What is it you wanna see?
What is it you wanna hear?
Control is all that it can be
Control is what we all should fear
What is it to be?
Is it life or authenticity?
Black is truth or is it white?
Kept in the dark, cannot see the light
Words of power start to infect
Must see through must disconnect
Word of truth we all elect
If truth is dead then resurrect
Green is all that they can see
Their only link with reality
Who controls the monopoly?
Exploitation done professionally
What is it you wanna see?
What is it you wanna hear?
Control is all that it can be
Control is what we all should fear
What is it to be?
Is it life or authenticity?
Black is truth or is it white?
Kept in the dark, cannot see the light
song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Love Sometimes Gets Unrequitted, And It Is Very Painful
how the moon and the stars
truly loved the sun
how the sun
with its arrogance keeps busy all the day
how the moon hides sometimes
on the nights when the stars
are away
the moon
feeling so lonely
till this day
her true love for the sun
still unrequitted
and indeed it is very painful
the moon bleeds
her tears
and blood flow like her
shining moonlight
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Standing On The Moon
Standing on the moon
I got no cobweb on my shoe
Standing on the moon
Im feeling so alone and blue
I see the gulf of mexico
As tiny as a tear
The coast of california
Must be somewhere over here - over here
Standing on the moon
I see the battle rage below
Standing on the moon
I see the soldiers come and go
Theres a metal flag beside me
Someone planted long ago
Old glory standing stiffly
Crimson, white and indigo - indigo
I see all of southeast asia
I can see el salvador
I hear the cries of children
And the other songs of war
Its like a mighty melody
That rings down from the sky
Standing here upon the moon
I watch it all roll by - all roll by
Standing on the moon
With nothing else to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you
Standing on the moon
I see a shadow on the sun
Standing on the moon
The stars go fading one by one
I hear a cry of victory
And another of defeat
A scrap of age old lullaby
Down some forgotten street
Standing on the moon
Where talk is cheap and vision true
Standing on the moon
But I would rather be with you
Somewhere in san francisco
On a back porch in july
Just looking up to heaven
At this crescent in the sky
Standing on the moon
With nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you - be with you
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Troublesome Woman
a woman of trouble knows how to weave words, fabricating them
into little monsters, not of lesser significances that litter in that
pestering pond that she creates herself,
she likes what she is doing and she likes
trouble, she makes trouble, she will die without trouble,
so sometimes she pulls out her teeth for trouble and cuts her hair for trouble
because you see her ugliness and you are caught in a reflex of telling
her
that she is ugly
and there again the trouble begins, you start it by telling her the truth and she will not like it,
she seeds the conflict and you pick it up, the conflict becomes yours
it is growing and spreading and she will be laughing because
a war is born
and she says, it is not her war, you started it, it is yours now.
she hides in the light and makes many shadows that soon she will fear herself,
she will mumble names, this so and so is trying to kill her, and she must
take revenge,
to justify her quest for violence,
violence begets
violence
her mottoo and she sees to it, that violence is created even without her
she fears herself though and hates the mirrors on the walls
she lists her enemies, plans her schemes of destroying them ahead
of their plans destroying her,
she has a lists of the faults and shortcomings of her friends,
(she has no friends in her heart
she has no heart in her body
her body has no soul)
she writes:
the sun is hot
the moon is a slut
the air is pushy
the wind is bitchy
the sea is salty
the child is naughty
her mother is ucky
her father is sickly
the world is leaky
everyone is pricky
the system is kinky
the priest is hankypanky
the mayor is itchy
and so on and so forth
a woman of trouble always falls short of herself measuring her height
against the rest
she will be either taller or shorter and this makes her so
unsatisfied
always comparing herself she feels always defeated, there are always
more of them than her so she feels so empty like a hot baloon
pulled by the air up
(only to burst at the end)
she floats she pulls everyone to her to anchor her emptiness
she will be devoured soon by the big mouth of her own
troubles, the horror of her own big mouth devouring her own body
like a movie
she will shout herself so loudly using the remains of her own tongue
she will hear
the screams from inside her but she will not listen still as inch by inch
the big mouth swallows her
noisy, garrulous, hysterical she will make her last scream
she is gone
her own mouth and sharp teeth have tasted her
she is gone
and what shall be written about her is this bitterness of cannibalism
and the ending lines shall be
(as she is finally consumed)
let eternal rest be granted to her Oh Lord!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Tawdry Apostrophe (Extended Metaphor) Part 1
Prologue
Alas not just the pure search, and procreative struggle of poetry
can a hood over psyche’s head put, and stumble out prison security
but attitudes to communication generally, particularly where it is difficult.
So let’s see, is my “Apostrophe” condescending self-indulgence
hiding behind an erudite popularism? (I have been told so.)
Something tawdry, base, inferior, unworthy of me and the world the poorer?
(I fear so.)
Or light verse ironic ephemera, gone tomorrow, raw rashly
attempting to self-justify, with cynical political expedience?
You are my referee and reviewer, for I fear indolence
and my political enemies’ public backlash, imperialist violence as prosody.
But a warning, I am serving no caviar and hors d’oeuvres; but cod, chips and vinegar
for this is no time for reflective trimeter, and lovingly chosen metaphor.
I have a story of ordure and a warning to give, the form I need is narrative
the boozy romp of bald description, the extra long line and hate inspired initiative.
Well then.
An English Grammar School
The single most common English grammar headache
don’t splutter, it’s no joke, keep your eyes open:
a punctuation mark in shape of a snake, posing as correct spelling
a vipers /s//ə z/ and worse, admitted, with split personality glaring.
It sounds like a hoax I know, but its bite swells /ziz/
so the best you can do is release the pressure with yelling
or risk ending up in English Lit, and in poetry truth discovering.
Inexcusable, syntax more like semaphore, this apostrophe.
How and who first conceived, such boastful misanthropy
and wanton waste of school child’s precious learning years.
A guarantee of miscommunication and learning alienation
subtle psychological scarring and language fear
for millions of fresh faced innocents new each tear.
Let us relive that first lesson in primer one, eyes wonder
it’s Mum and milk, and off-to-school, you’re nearly five.
Waiting no longer is lay priest, Jack of all, and local discretion
from national goals; but word builder, identity layer, English teacher!
This modern English teacher, the pride of political correctness
in whom impossible a sadistic tendency should reside unguessed
by deep criminal record checking, multi-panel personality vetting.
One of life’s little ironies then, in the hive of social progress
that the poison should be hidden in the lesson.
poem by Philip Housiaux
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midsummer New York
Wake up in the morning, my hands cold in fear.
And midsummer new york my heart shakes in terror.
My heart, my hands, my legs, my mind,
Evrything I touch is shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my beds wet in sweat.
And midsummer new york, scream in the mirror.
And the door, and the chairs, and the floor, and the ceiling,
Evrything you see is aching, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
And you shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Wake up in the morning, my minds dried up in pain.
Midsummer new yorks waiting for the rain.
The window, the trees, the park, the sun,
The whole world s shaking, is shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, oooh.
Shake, oh, shake, oh, shake,
Shake, oh, shake, shake.
Aching, aching, aching, aching, aching,
Oh, its aching, aching, aching, oh, aching,
Aching, aching, oh, its aching, aching, oh, oh.
Shaking, shaking,
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Shake, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake.
Shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake, shake.
Ooh, oh, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, aching, oh, oh, aching, aching, aching, aching.
Shake, shake, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Shaking, ooh, oh, shaking, oh, shake,
Oh, oh, shaking, shaking, shaking, shaking,
Oh, oh, shaking, shake, shake, shake, shake,
Shake, shake, shake,
Shake!
Oh, oh, oh, shake, shake.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Black Dress
Every woman has one in her closet,
Although some are loathe to confess.
It’s perfect for many occasions.
It is known as the little black dress..
For Women who seek to entice,
or have men they want to impress.,
There is nothing terribly virginal
concerning that little black dress.
Its of Spidery inspiration and,
oh, what a web they can weave.
They use it, some say, ensnaring their prey.
It comes out again when they grieve.
In Wedding, our Ladies wear white.,
A Little black dress when they keen.
They dress in subtler shades of gray
on all the days in between.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Empathy
Word by word I was drinking
your fathomless pain,
not asking to shine
any prehistoric sin.
You are still flying straight as the crow flies
into timeless grief.
Why we have to suffer in the hands
of tiny barbs?
Who will outlive the wits of ancient insects?
The jungle is spreading far and wide.
With infinite patience
I have been watching the world go by
carrying the pulp of intelligence.
This knocks me down,
the betrayal of blue sky.
A black hole is widening
in the sniffling cosmos,
flooding the desires of flesh.
On dust I sit frightened.
Where are we heading?
poem by Satish Verma
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