Ash Poem
I could not take it, the fear.
Transient flesh
vibrant in a sunken ship.
On a coral island
deconstruction of a fallen window.
Jumping on million skins.
The level of violence was rising.
Rebuttal will not convey
the truth, the reality.
A thin line of lips
skates on the ice of power.
In a palm grove
I was held by music of death.
My arms unwrapped
around the portrait of life.
White swellings on the knuckles
betray the gliding priest,
who denies the god.
poem by Satish Verma
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White Knuckles
Smack dab flat on my back
The solid ground began to crack
I pulled her down and down and down
I lost my breath
I thought I'd drown
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Her leg, my hand, a smoldering brand
Sticking to her wet body like sand
Her place, distaste, we fell from grace
Red smears across her face
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
Fistfuls of you
Fistfuls of you
You pulled me through with white knuckles
White knuckles!
White knuckles!
White knuckles!
White knuckles
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Window
All night long, by a distant bell,
The passing hours were notched
On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell,
And the spark of life I watched
In her face was glowing or fading, -- who could tell? --
And the open window of the room,
With a flare of yellow light,
Was peering out into the gloom,
Like an eye that searched the night.
Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you fear?
"I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear:
Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, that wave in the night-wind's breath,
And low in the leafy laurels the larking shadow of death."
Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird
Told of the passing away
Of the dark, -- and my darling may have heard;
For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray
Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word,
Till the splendor born in the east outburned
The yellow lamplight, pale and thin,
And the open window slowly turned
To the eye of the morning, looking in.
Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright?
"I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white,
With the rose of life on her tips, and the breath of life in her breast,
And the arms of God around her as she quietly takes her rest."
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Two Pictures
WE sat by an open window
And hearkened the sounds outside —
The call of a lonely night-bird,
And the croon of a making tide.
He was an island-trader,
And talked of his sunlit home,
Of the palms and the happy people,
And reef and beach and foam.
All that the trader told me
Was wine to my soul and balm;
And I longed for the moonlit beaches
And the coral and the palm.
He was browned with the sun and weather
(How changed in mood and mien
From the days when the dark-eyed woman
Was throned in his heart a queen!)
He talked of the merry-makers,
Of the flower-crowned native girls;
Their eyes with the lure of midnight,
And their teeth like island pearls.
No word of the dark-eyed woman —
But dance and song and dish,
The white of the branching coral,
The hues of the rainbow fish;
Gossip of sport and battle
For love and faith and truth,
But never a word of the woman
He loved in his careless youth.
The tide on the rocks was crooning
(Sole sound), the bird was still;
And the night lay hot and breathless
On rock and tree and hill.
Two pictures were limned in the darkness —
(And sad, O sad, was the tide!)
A home in a sunlit island,
A grave on a green hillside.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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A Boy at the Window
War raged on as if that was how it was meant to be.
There were no sides. You killed your allies,
or you were killed by them. Fear made us
choose the former. Tears rolled down my sweaty cheeks.
Blood stained my mud-splattered skin and clothes
and fear.
The streets smelled of Hatred. Why so much Violence?
I desperately wanted to stop and mourn
for fallen friends, but there was no time for weakness.
I had to keep moving so no one could learn my strategy,
armed only with shields for eyes and daggers for teeth
and fear.
The streets smelled of Hatred. Why so much Violence?
I marched silently. My shoes made no sound against
the pavement and my footsteps were invisible.
I thought this would protect me: not my first mistake.
As far as I would see were nothing but the aftermath
of massacres and the afterthoughts of murder
and fear.
The streets smelled of Hatred. Why so much Violence?
I looked up to see a small, pale face hiding
behind a window. His arms were at his sides.
His eyes were expressionless bubbles.
I stood and stared at his innocent features,
and the child-who was blind to the bloodshed
that lay before him-held up his hand in a wave.
My face broke into a smile as I waved back.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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A white snow-mountain
A clear deconstruction of biased skins
Only left white action, speech and contemplated wisdom with fresh energy
beyond time frame
a white snow mountain on the move of mind-body connection.
A beyond-concept conceptuality-map.
Portrait
As I gaze blink-less
At the bare beauty of your persona
Behind the thin satin coat
Your portrait steps out alive
Out of the golden frame.
Your portrait generates
A multitude of elemental emotions,
Some romantically elusive like fluttering butterflies,
Others tangible like love-making,
Yet some others audible like the dying cadence
Of a stringed music played on my lyre.
Am churned by the immaculate portrait
Like the ocean
And I deliver nectar and parijat
From the dark womb of my private secrecy.
I owe it to your portrait timeless,
As I take the yet-to-be christened
Eleventh incarnation of Indian pantheon
Embodying love and truth
With an assured confidence.
Power of the King
Death be not proud
for you have no hold over my life,
Death be not proud
for I cannot die! !
Death be not proud
you instill no fear
Death be not proud
for my King lay down His life for me
Death be not proud
you have no power
you destroy just flesh and bone
you dont have the power to resurrect
Death be not proud
you own me not
for I have been bought
Death be not proud
for my soul shall live on,
In HIS Kingdom is where I belong! !
poem by Melissa Desiree Reddy
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A Skull rests on a table
Through your sunken eyes
I see the World, its uncertainty
And the skeleton figures boast themselves.
I regret that I cannot see my own
And how beautiful you are without flesh?
*Every time I close the door on Reality, it comes in through the window.
-Ashleigh.Brilliant
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Silent Silver
Silence adrift with golden sunset.
Fallen shadows cast upon mankind.
Silent hopes and dreams of reality.
Cast forth with silver silence.
Set adrift upon milk fed shores.
Calling forth the inner shadows.
Setting the fallen idol in raptures.
Casting spells which reflect kindness.
Sunken fallen empty hollow ship.
Cast forth the raptures into silence.
Empty bottomless silence, king of hearts.
Fallen idols again sound to silver silence.
Beat upon the wind swept shores of life.
copyright 2005 POEWHIT
search: POEWHIT
JESUS SAVES
poem by Joe Poewhit
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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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The Third One
The three of them sat before the window looking at the sea.
One talked about the sea. The second listened. The third
neither spoke nor listened; he was deep in the sea; he floated.
Behind the window panes, his movements were slow, clear
in the thin pale blue. He was exploring a sunken ship.
He rang the dead bell for the watch; fine bubbles
rose bursting with a soft sound - suddenly,
'Did he drown? ' asked one; the other said: 'He drowned.' The
third one
looked at them helpless from the bottom of the sea, the way one
looks at drowned people.
-yannis ritsos
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thrown to Hit
The truth has frightened.
None knew it would be like this.
They believed truth could be dismissed.
Like a white lie told from lips.
But truth is unresisting.
It hits like a ton of bricks.
And could care less,
Who denies its existence.
And those living without it...
Now find their lives in a mess.
The hour of truth has arrived.
And recognizing it,
Catches many by surprise.
Why?
Because so many believed,
It was something they could create.
Like a lie told that is given life.
But there is nothing artificial about truth.
It will always remain solid like a rock.
And when it is thrown to hit...
It hurts!
Getting over it...
Is not as easy as getting up off the ground!
Once it lands,
Truth has a tendency to stay around.
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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Power Of A Million Lights
I hear your voice close on the phone
But I know youre far away
Ive waited so long to talk to you
But now I cant find the words to say
So I sit and I listen to you
Breathe on the open line
I can almost taste your lips
And touch your hair
Its like intoxicating wine
I can almost see your face
Through the miles and miles of space
Chorus
I can feel the power of a million lights
When I see your eyes burn bright
I can see the sparks of a million volts
When you touch me through the night
I can feel the heat across a million miles
When you voice comes through the line
I can feel the power of a million lights
Come through the satellite
Although these oceans hold us apart
Where theres a will theres a way
Im going to reach across the miles of sea
No matter what they say
So close your eyes and Ill be there
Theres magic in the sky tonight
When you see the lightning flash around the world
Its the power of a million lights
Until I see your face
Through the miles and miles of space
Chorus
Somewhere over the atmosphere
The signals are crossed
Now youre not so clear
The power is out and the lights are down
My head is spinning
Round and round and round and round and round
You know I need you more tonight
By the power of a million lights
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfectly Happy
Deconstructed the terrible intimidating
bulwark as dark blue paper keeps the
sun out, I'm not really awake, dreaming
about every moment of reality being the
centre of a flower from which the petals
radiate each being a different version of
reality and every line cast forever - to be
visited at our ease whenever we please
Feeling the heat of excitement rising in
me each time I think about Johnny and
his friends jumping from one timeline to
another, in one Wobbler was never born
and to change back to where they came
from, they have to fix the mistakes of the
past, this dream of unlimited opportunity
fills me with happiness, it is as if I see the
end result of such unbounded choice and
I am so glad everything worked out in this
way, a million alternatives might exist, but
I am perfectly happy with this!
"Johnny and the Bomb" - Terry Pratchett
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Rising
Cant see nothin in front of me
Cant see nothin coming up behind
I make my way through this darkness
I cant feel nothing but this chain that binds me
Lost track of how far Ive gone
How far Ive gone, how high Ive climbed
On my backs a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile of line
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Left the house this morning
Bells ringing filled the air
Wearin the cross of my calling
On wheels of fire I come rollin down here
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
Theres spirits above and behind me
Faces gone black, eyes burnin bright
May their precious blood bind me
Lord, as I stand before your fiery light
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
I see you mary in the garden
In the garden of a thousand sighs
Theres holy pictures of our children
Dancin in a sky filled with light
May I feel your arms around me
May I feel your blood mix with mine
A dream of life comes to me
Like a catfish dancin on the end of my line
Sky of blackness and sorrow ( a dream of life)
Sky of love, sky of tears (a dream of life)
Sky of glory and sadness ( a dream of life)
Sky of mercy, sky of fear ( a dream of life)
Sky of memory and shadow ( a dream of life)
Your burnin wind fills my arms tonight
Sky of longing and emptiness (a dream of life)
Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clouds
The clouds as I see them, rising
urgently, roseate in the
mounting of somber power
surging in evening haste over
roofs and hermetic
grim walls—
Last night
As if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling, as if the last traces
of warmth were still fading in you.
My thigh burned in cold fear where
yours touched it.
But I forced to mind my vision of a sky
close and enclosed, unlike the space in which these clouds move—
a sky of gray mist it appeared—
and how looking intently at it we saw
its gray was not gray but a milky white
in which radiant traces of opal greens,
fiery blues, gleamed, faded, gleamed again,
and how only then, seeing the color in the gray,
a field sprang into sight, extending
between where we stood and the horizon,
a field of freshest deep spiring grass
starred with dandelions,
green and gold
gold and green alternating in closewoven
chords, madrigal field.
Is death’s chill that visited our bed
other than what it seemed, is it
a gray to be watched keenly?
Wiping my glasses and leaning westward,
clearing my mind of the day’s mist and leaning
into myself to see
the colors of truth
I watch the clouds as I see them
in pomp advancing, pursuing
the fallen sun.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Her Eyes Say Yes
Her eyes say Yes, her lips say No.
Ah, tell me, Love, when she denies,
Shall I believe the lips or eyes?
Bid eyes no more dissemble,
Or lips too tremble
The way her heart would go!
Love may be vowed by lips, although
Cold truth, in unsurrendering eyes,
The armistice of lips denies.
But can fond eyes dissemble,
Or false lips tremble
To this soft Yes in No?
poem by Arthur Symons
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Oh see, first off you gotta realize - everything for me is a reconstruction or deconstruction. I would actually say deconstruction. Mission: Impossible would be the exception. That would be a reconstruction- deconstruction.
quote by Danny Elfman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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