Another Stroke
On the hay stack lies my body
brought from the shooting range.
Brain dead, I exit, to watch
the blood drenched earth. Foot prints of eternity.
Window is shut. No light enters.
In tiers, the cadavers are lying in a heap
of stinks. Violence has brought the perfect
insult to bubbling life.
A naked truth sweeps the floor, burns
the statements of filthy peers. I was
young with small eyes, full of water,
in the face of crime, looking at the stars.
Death will walk on payments now.
History will ooze in spurts.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Undone
I'm me
Me be
Goddamn
I am
I can
Sing and
Hear me
Know me
If you want to destroy my sweater
Pull this thread as I walk away
Oh no
It go
It gone
Bye-Bye (Bye!)
Who I
I think
I sink
and I die
If you want to destroy my sweater
Pull this thread as I walk away (as I walk away)
Watch me unravel ill soon be naked
Lying on the floor, lying on the floor
I've come undone
If you want to destroy my sweater
Pull this thread as I walk away
Watch me unravel i'll soon be naked
Lying on the floor, lying on the floor
Ive come undone
I don't want to destroy your tank-top
Let's be friends and just walk away
Hate to see you lyin' there in your Superman skivvies
Lying on the floor, I've come undone
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Naked Eyes
Naked and Vulnerable,
I lie before you
For you to behold me
With your naked eyes…
Beautiful and Ugly
I lie before you
For you to assess me
With your naked eyes…
Drenched in Love
I lie before you
For you to reciprocate
With your naked eyes…
Doused in Passion
I lie before you
For you to arouse me
With your naked eyes…
The Goddess in Me
Lying before you,
Asking
The God in you
To propitiate her
With his heavenly body
And naked eyes…
As you devour me
And savour me
In the heat and the sweat
Of our spiritual ‘coming’
I transfix my gaze
On your naked eyes…
When you smile back
In opulent ecstasy
I feel so blissful
And so peaceful
In this shameless abandonment
To your naked eyes…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Death
He, born of my girlhood, is dead, while my life is yet young in my heart
Ere the breasts where his baby lips fed have forgotten their softness, we part.
We part. He was mine, he was here, though he travelled by land and by sea,
My son who could trample on fear, my babe who was moulded in me.
As I sat in the darkness, it seemed I could still feel his touch on my head;
He came in the night as I dreamed, and he knelt at the side of my bed;
He murmured the words I had taught when his lips were the lips of a child,
Ere the strength of his arm had been bought and the love that upheld him defiled;
Then my faltering spirit grew bold, and my heart had forgotten its drouth,
And I crooned little songs as of old, till I woke at his kiss on my mouth.
Now waking and sleeping are pain. Nevermore will he kiss, nevermore
Shall I hear his low whistle again at the gate, or his step on the floor,
For to-night he was here while I slept, and this is the end of it all.
Now that welter of darkness has swept us apart, can he come if I call?
Can he come, little chap with the eyes that brought light out of heaven to earth?
Can he come, though the soul of me cries for the joy that I bought by his birth?
I can see but the horror that bids the heart of the mother despair,
The vision that burns on my lids, the face that will always be there,
For he holds out his hands to me, red, and his eyes tell the truth as he stands.
He is dead. He is dead. He is dead. He is dead, with the blood on his hands.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Love Has Brought Me Around
Dont come to me with your sorrows anymore
I dont need to know
How bad youre feeling today
I declare Ive had my share
And Ive heard it all before
Its time for me to be stealing away
Let those rain clouds roll out on the sea
Let the sun shine down on me, hey, hey
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around (yes, it has)
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
When my sky was full of gray
And my day was full of blue
There was nothing I could do
To see myself through
Now my head is full of springtime
And my heart is full of you
Good-bye lonely blue
It shall all come true
Miss november I detect a frown
Close your eyes and turn it upside down
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around (dont you know)
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
I know you know what
Ive got to say is an old clich? anyway so they say
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around (yes, it has)
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Undone) Sweater Song
Matt:] Hey bra, how we doin' man?
[Karl:] All right.
[Matt:] It's been a while man, life's so rad!
This band's my favorite man, don't ya love 'em?
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Matt:] Aw man, you want a beer?
[Karl:] All right.
[Matt:] Aw man, this is the best. I'm so glad we're all back together and stuff.
This is great, man.
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Matt:] Hey, did you know about the party after the show?
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Matt:] Aw man, it's gonna be the best, I'm so stoked! Take it easy bra'.
I'm me
Me be
Goddamn
I am
I can
Sing and
Hear me
Know me
If you want to destroy my sweater
Hold this thread as I walk away
[Mykel:] Hey, what's up?
[Karl:] Not much.
[Mykel:] Did you hear about the party?
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Mykel:] Um, I think I'm gonna go but, um, my friends don't really wanna go. Could I get a ride?
Oh no
It go
It gone
Bye-bye
Who I
I think
I sink
And I die
If you want to destroy my sweater
Hold this thread as I walk away
Watch me unravel, I'll soon be naked
Lying on the floor (lying on the floor)
I've come undone
If you want to destroy my sweater
Hold this thread as I walk away (as I walk away)
Watch me unravel, I'll soon be naked
Lying on the floor (lying on the floor)
I've come undone
I don't want to destroy your tank-top
Let's be friends and just walk away
It's good to see you lying there in your Superman skivvies
Lying on the floor (lying on the floor)
I've come undone
song performed by by Weezer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sight In Camp
A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital
tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended
lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket,
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.
Curious, I halt, and silent stand;
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first,
just lift the blanket:
Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-grey'd hair,
and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you, my dear comrade? 10
Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling?
Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?
Then to the third--a face nor child, nor old, very calm, as of
beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man, I think I know you--I think this face of yours is the face
of the Christ himself;
Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Love Sonnet XXIX
Dearest, there is no part of us, but air
And earth are counterparts. Your fragrant eyes
Touching my own, some essence of the skies
Instil therein, and all your warm, brown hair
Smells of the sun’s slow passion, fine and fair.
I cannot touch your hands but I surprise
Some element of summer; and the sighs
Of stars from your red lips I seem to share.
O Love…Love…Love…Dearer than God to me.
Earth of the earth are we and light of light.
God-born, God-breathing, all our scented souls
In Death will glow, gladdening eternity.
So give me love…all love…this perfect night
As round our naked limbs its full fire rolls.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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An Air Of Delight
An air has brought delight to the soul,
The body stains a breath once it expresses.
The fortune of your sayings is strong,
Like the wind of the sea and the land.
Many have brought destruction to life,
The life that ends and breaks apart the other lives.
This truth is sudden, the life has truth
Where we sleep and learn and watch
Forming solutions inside the stomach
By eating the winter’s cold health.
The bringing of death is the fault of a nature
Too sudden and dangerous, but we fight.
The air is suddenly present with disease
As the death has been a reliable image.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Dictators
An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
The delicate dictator is talking
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
cross the corridors at times
and join the dead voices
and the blue mouths freshly buried.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence
poem by Pablo Neruda
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The Drowned Alive
I was one so deeply drowned,
That when the drag my body found,
Twas void of motion, void of breath,
And to sensation dead as death.
In a languid summer mood
I had plunged into a flood,
That to the low sun’s slanting beams
Gleamed with only quiet gleams,
Each with a wide flicker sheeting
From its still floor, fast and fleeting,
E’en such a flood as, one would say,
Could never, or by night or day,
Have drenched a man’s warm life away.
But what are these down in its bed
That trail so long and look so red,
Moving as in conscious sport?
Are they weeds of curious sort?
But I’ll drive to them and see
Into all their mystery.
Down I dive. A plentious crop!
Some shall with me to the top,
For here there is too dim a light
To show their character aright.
I wind them in my arms, intent
To root them up in my ascent;
But they resist me, and again
I tug them with a stronger strain.
Full well, I trow, they hold their own,
Gripping fast each bedded stone
With their tuby roots, that go
Down through the stiff slime below.
Well at last I find that I
Must leave them.—But in vain I try!
Fierce as lightning on my brain
Smites the dread truth—I try in vain!
Yea, more and more, in coils and flakes
Like long blood-red watersnakes,
The deadly things around me clasp—
The more I tug the more they grasp!
My pent breath, growing hot and thin,
Explodes with a dull booming din;
While through my unclenched teeth the wave
Comes drenching! Is there none to save?
None near to see, to guess, to trace
Under the water s gleaming face
The dread extremity of one
Thus fastened down? Ah! Is there none?
Wild as vain my struggles grow—
Horror, horror, life must go!
Hope gives up her ghost, despair;
I am dying; round me here
The long weeds erst so deeply red,
Look, even where nearest, grey as lead,
As mid them, settling down, I sway
To and fro, and fast away
Life keeps bubbling—bubbling, aye
Through my cold lips wide agape,
White, and stiffening to that shape
They take at last when done with breath
In the rigid face of death.
And now, while sullen drummings make
My spirit through mine ears to ache,
Life-long memories interwrought
With all I ever felt or thought,
Sacred fancies hidden long
Lest the world should do them wrong,
Pent-back feelings that for years
Just below the source of tears
Folded close their glowing wings,
With a million other things,
All thick interthronging press
Through my drowning consciousness;
Then comes the thought of how my doom
Must wrap my mother in its gloom;
And give my sire to hold his breath
For anguish, hearing of my death,
And wound one fond heart to the core
In the wide world evermore.
All in the same instant so
Do these quick thoughts come and go,
Life within my failing brain
Full of pity, full of pain.
Lastly a drear stupor blent
With a comfortless content,
Into one mass of clammy clay
Kneads mind and body. Drenched away
With one faint shudder, one last throe,
Life stagnates and its shell lies low,
Swaying weed-bound to and fro,
Void of feeling and of breath,
How die we, if this be not death?
Ah! What thrilling, thrilling pain
Kindles through my heart and brain!
Ah! What horrors o’er me wave,
Shadowing forth as from the grave;
Ah! Those sudden gleams of light,
They fall like firebrands on my sight!
Ah! What vast and heavy world
Is all at once upon me hurled,
Massing into one immense
Oppression, every tortured sense.
. . . . .
Yes; I now remember well
How my sudden fate befell;
And are we, then, in death s grim thrall,
Thus consciousness of our funeral?
But where are they who most should mourn
When by bier is graveward borne?
With her whose face I yearn to see—
Where are they? And where is she?
Where the crape-trimm’d followers all?
Where the coffin and the pall?
Or do death and nature strive
Within me? Is the drowned alive?
poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Precision
The day you flew in perfect arc
from your motorcycle was the same day
I broke the perfect formation of your women
at the railing, leaving behind
your grandmother and mother, to run
and jump the fence. The stop watch hanging
from my neck, suspended between gravity
and momentum, swung its perfect pendulum.
All our motion was brought to conclusion
by your broken body at rest
on the ground. Your breath never rose
to the oxygen placed on your face
and your heart never rallied
to the arms pressing your chest.
You wore the perfect clothes:
the ashy grey of death.
At the hospital they said your failure to survive
was complete. Though I never saw
the neck you perfectly broke or your body
cleanly draped by a sheet, I did see
your dead face bruising up at me
and for lack of something to touch,
I touched the stop watch
which had not died.
If any nurse or doctor had asked,
I could have told, exactly,
to the hundreths of seconds, how long
it had been since I'd seen you alive.
Submitted by Jt
poem by Laurie Duesing
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sky Weeps
My fear becomes the courage
to pursue the truth,
the basic abandonement.
I must go after the dark
stepping on hot leads of pain.
Truth does not stalk,
it burns the fingers on your face
for a self-portrait.
Evidence of borders gives
the catastrophic miss
let us abolish the centre.
No body will now
measure the distance.
We will move at periphery
on a trajectory of truth
within the eternity
of larger boundary.
Why you live in future,
opposing today,
to put away the past?
That was my eternal question.
You felled a tree with a terrible bang.
My heart aches.
Water moves in sudden spurts
of nightmare. Sky weeps.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Lying In Defeat
The irony of this thought will fade
And you won’t even be able to look me in the face
I know what you did
And that night I found what you hid
You said it was only a one time thing
So I sat there and watched her leave
You promised it was okay
But, I had to watch her leave more than just that day
Her body always fair and supple
But, you swore I was better
I took those words and hung on to them forever
They made my pain fade
That was with what you paid
But, my tears burned and it was such a deep pain
My soul now tattered and my heart now bled dry
You took this to far all you did was lie
I wanted it to work but, you let it die
I wanted you more but, you wouldn’t try
Our love gave me a natural high
But, what we were meant for was sin
I don’t try to compete with your ways you’re too sly
And every night those tears helped me get by
And every day those looks from you will make me last through the hour
But, the time will come when I won’t fake it
My anger will shine through
And the truth of how you hurt me will lay naked
And this irony of this thought will be a bold red
The color of all the blood my heart has shed
This is what we get when ignore lies
This how I deal with the death of our perfect life
This is what will come when you cheat
A perfect heart lying defeat
poem by Victoria Martinez
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Sacred to the Memory of “Unknown”
Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory—
And away o’er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long—
It is safe in the Big Scrub’s keeping—
’Tis the butcher-birds’ and the bell-birds’ song
In the gum where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping—
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping).
Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here—
But the Bushmen knew by the dead man’s hand
That his past life lay not near.
The law of the land might have watched for him,
Or a sweetheart, wife, or mother;
But they bared their heads, and their eyes were dim,
For he might have been a brother!
(Ah! the death he died brought him near to them,
For he might have been a brother.)
Oh, the wild black swans to the westward fade,
And the sunset burns to ashes,
And three times bright on an eastern range
The light of a big star flashes,
Like a signal sent to a distant strand
Where a dead man’s love sits weeping.
And the night comes grand to the Great Lone Land
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
And the big white stars in their clusters blaze
O’er the Bush where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Three Flights Up
On the first floor On the first floor
On the first floor there's a young girl reeling
Her body's numb and without feeling
As illusions dance on the midnight ceiling
Now she's falling, now she's kneeling
It's almost like she's bowed in prayer
A savior she's about to bear
She screams for help, but no one's there
On the first floor
On the first floor people walk the halls
But none can hear her desperate calls
There is no sound beyond the walls
So to the telephone she crawls
She telephones her only friend
The one on whom she can depend
But the phone rings on without an end
Then rings no moreOn the first floor
There's a party on the second floor
And through the picture window you can see them all
They're laughing and they're dancing
Admiring the Renoir that's hanging on the wall
But in the master bedroom where the coats are piled high
A silent, saddened lady thinks of what it's like to die
And as she dwells on all the years she still has left to face
She wonders how she'll ever find someone to take his place
Then suddenly she's jarred by the ringing of the phone
Oh, why do you ring now, just when I want to be alone?
So she walks into the bathroom and drinks some water from a cup
But the telephone stops ringing just before she picks it up
My family was very poor
So I worked hard to be secure
I married one I had to wed
And not the one I loved instead
When I was young my blood ran wild
But we stayed married for the child
Now three flights up, I'm all alone
My wife is dead, my child is grown
My daughter leads a wayward life
She's been a failure as a wife
And though she lives just one floor down
She never calls or comes around
Step off the platform and onto the train
Look out your window and into the rain
Watch all the buildings that pass as you ride
And count all the stories that go on inside
And then ask yourself if it must be this way
Should walls and doors and plaster ceilings
Separate us from each others' feelings?
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A live pulse
I wished it to happen again and again
Though there was seen no gain
It was mental satisfaction at the core
I wanted it to happen and explore
She msut walk in gently and shut the door
I may daze at her as very poor
She may walk in elegently
And push me aside very gently
I may raise my head and watch at the sky
I had no reason to miss the joy and feel shy
The stars may twinkle in their own way
She may slidely open the door and go away
I never wanted her to disappear
Her long absence I could not bear
I wanted the fresh air to let in
To make me feel always keen
I will watch the sky and feel apart
She had almost become inseprable part
I can not think even wheather she may stay or depart
I was feeling weary from the very start
Her presence was really a boost and mazing
The dark clouds always made me dazing
The sun shine may appear and aremove the fear
I may thenl rub the eyes to clear it from tears
I wanted to smile and watch her from window
She may always apper from the distance as shadow
As the figure may draw closer and appear
I shall feel happiness and force the smile to wear
Her foot steps brought the fresh fragrence
She was always wanted and welcome hence
I could think of no more epowerful gesture
I had full faith in coming days as bright future
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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All Is Truth
it is a lie
i am not myself
i am all of nature
the air, water, grass
every thing in everything
i am not myself
how can i be myself
when if the air goes away
i too have to go away
proving that i am but a lie
i am but a cog in the wheel
it is a lie
i am not myself
i am all of nature
the water, the grass, the clouds
how could i be myself
when if the water runs its last drop
i too would too have to make that last pause from the world
those teachers who get me to think i am just
body and bones are liars
i am more than that
how could i be myself only
when if the sun says goodbye
i too have to say goodbye to all
call me anything buy myself
the sun, the moon, the air, water
will vouch for that
you liars
inspired by
All Is Truth
O ME, man of slack faith so long!
Standing aloof-denying portions so long;
Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;
Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie, and can be none,
but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon
itself,
Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth
does.
(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately-But it must be
realized;
I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest,
And that the universe does.)
Where has fail'd a perfect return, indifferent of lies or the truth?
Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man?
or in the meat and blood?
Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into myself, I see
that there are really no liars or lies after all,
And that nothing fails its perfect return-And that what are called
lies are perfect returns,
And that each thing exactly represents itself, and what has preceded
it,
And that the truth includes all, and is compact, just as much as
space is compact,
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth-but
that all is truth without exception;
And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am,
And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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You, And I
september, and roses;
a lot of things turn grey.
and the book never read
stands alone on the shelf.
the clock ticks, scraping
against the walls of eternity.
part the Sea, or just walk
on the water, what difference?
lying naked on the rose petals,
or standing in the unemployment line.
the ghosts of Martin Luther King,
Jesus, and that old cat
who slept in my guitar case.
every ordinary moment, holy!
and small memories we leave behind
the real history of the human heart
tiny universes complete with
falling stars you, and i!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Concept Of The Soul
The candle is shut and the flame is out.
The candle is left and the life has set.
Before shut, the candle must have been lit.
The unlit candle can never be shut.
The being is dead and the life is out.
The body remains lifeless and sparkles.
Does the death mean the exit of the soul?
The soul to exit, when did it enter?
Is it that the soul has entered at birth?
No, the embryo has life before the birth.
Is it that the soul has entered at zygote?
No, the sperm and the ovum have their life.
Hens lay eggs, which turn chicks; they all have life.
No stage is void for the souls to enter.
The souls are the extension of the chicks
And the chicks, the extension of the hens
The child is the offshoot of its parents,
Who in turn are of their parents and so on.
The body and the life have struck to form
A unit when the first life was born.
Death is no more than the death of a shoot.
The death of the shoot is not the death of the tree
Nor is the death of the tree the death of the seeds
Nowhere else is broken the chain of the life.
When one begets the other, the other
Is of matter and life put together.
There are no such things as soul and body
To fuse at birth and depart at death.
Germs multiply by fissions and budding
Plants diversify by seeds and cuttings.
Birds by eggs, mammals by kids, they all spread.
Germs to mankind, the life is an extension.
The soul is a single string that has run
Through all living bodies, alive or dead:
Through germs, reeds and plants, through flies, worms and prawns
Through fish, snakes and birds and through. Cows and man.
Candles and flame are not bodies and soul.
The candle is lit before it is shut.
The body is not lit with the soul
For it to be out at the time of death.
Then what is the aftermath of the death?
Isn’t that the life is soul that went out?
Yes, the life goes, the soul goes, not as a whole.
The extended part of the life/soul dies.
Should the life be the soul, then there must be
Only one soul to have come with the first life.
The whole living kingdom has evolved
From the origin of life by evolution.
The plants imbibe the inorganic salts
And grow and the animals eat the plants.
When plants and animals exhaust themselves
The worms and germs eat them and release salts.
That the soul enters the body is a myth.
That the soul exits the body is a myth.
That the liberated soul reenters
Or is redeemed of rebirth is a myth.
In every birth the soul will protrude
And on each death the protrusion is off..
It is not that there are as many souls
As there are living things born and dead.
The whole universal life is one soul
That travels through the different branches
Of the matter in growth and adoption,
And is off when the branches meet their death.
09.01.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Hymn
When glacier recedes,
Your eyes start flowing,
and by the swollen river
an island is swallowed up.
You swim from the lake to the shore
of grief to err again.
Water was your home,
water is your life.
Soft marble swells up in deep crevices
of brain, shaking the foundation of
thoughts, naked as it is.
The fog sleeps on the sea for eternity.
The wrath of sky will burn the skeletons
buried in sand.
Summer will bring the violence.
You cry for forgotten greens,
and kelp and sailing ships
full of hops.
When the hymn recedes,
your eyes start flowing.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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