Black And White
The nihil extract seeps into,
hungry roots of thoughts,
doubts the doubter.
I do not abandon the
flame of nil shadows.
Try to find the way back to home,
where I was born,
breaking my leash.
Equanimity suffered when
continuity bargained for
substance, while I opted for
emptiness where the space was enough
to turn the pages of life,
and I listened to the unhitched
voices of virgin lips.
Moon shadow in a self portrait
hangs on a tear
but I worshipped the sun;
Its heat melting my contexts,
entombed in scaffoldings of hope.
The crisp day witnessed
a miracle when no body
complained in black & white.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
I Begin To Think
Abdicating the shadows;
totemic.
I return back to dig up the buried-
moon from the ruins of poetry.
It benumbs.
No response was coming from
cajoling the black secrets-
of time-cast.
A storm was raging in a pack
of emptiness. Like a dead fly
between the pages of skulls.
I couldn't find the exact words.
The religion of wish-lists.
Can you find the end of desires?
From thought to thought-
was there any vision?
poem by Satish Verma
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Hungry Moon (Ghazal)
It slowly creeps across the sky prowling for escapades, that hungry moon.
Darling, come with me, flirt with the night, I’ll protect you from that hungry moon.
We’ll dance the habanera and let it have its way with us all the night.
Then we’ll slip into the darkness under the shadow of that hungry moon.
With the conversation of the dance we’ll outshout cries from that hungry moon.
Together we’ll evade the ever-watching eyes of evry hungry moon.
We’ll outrun the loneliness that has stalked us throughout the slow-turning day.
A long day awaited, gobbled up during the night by a hungry moon.
We’ll look into the dream-lit stars until we’re dizzy, remember this night.
We’ll head for the shadows where it is darkest, away from the hungry moon.
With the swooping and snatching of an owl as it seizes its frozen prey,
I will not leave you in the shadows of the night or prey to that hungry moon.
Like a yelping dog, with the name of Ben, we’ll be racing across the ridge.
Encircled in my arms I’ll protect you then from that ever-hungry moon.
- April 4, ’08
Pulbished by The Ghazal Page online
Go to: www.ghazalpage.net/2008/moon_challenge/2008_moon_ radif.html
poem by Ben Gieske
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I Could Be The Moon
i could be the moon
where you can be a body and a
shadow
i could be a lake where
the moon may shine
and you can still be the body
and the shadow
and the voice
i could be a candle in the dark
where you may put
your hope and you can still be the
body and the shadow
and the scent
i could all be your moon
your lake and your candle
and you can still be the body and the shadow
and you shall walk
under me (if i were the moon)
and around me (if i were the lake)
and you may have the power
to put me off (if i were just a candle
in the dark
where you are the body
and the shadow and the voice
and by the mere sigh
of your whimper
i may die
so i still prefer to be your moon
or your lake so i can be your full light
so i can be your mirror
larger than your body
not helpless to your shadow
in silence, i still like to be myself
not a slave, not someone whom you can just
give away as easily as a flicker of a candle
as fickle as you are
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Candle of Hope
Candle of Hope
Lost within space and time,
I am running, as I am
Following the stars before me-
Inside of my mind,
All I can see are moments of madness.
My hair, blowing in the wind, behind me, as I
Dash away from all that I fear,
My thoughts are far away from
Every moment in time,
As I am searching for a ray of hope to hold onto as
None of my dreams have ever
Come true-
If I could light a candle,
Perhaps its flame would guide me towards a miracle-
A miracle of my most promising fantasies becoming reality-
Where the darkness of night
Would transform to the levity of daybreak at sunrise-
I am lost in space and time, where
My world continues to darken-
Life has always been a bizarre journey for me where
Hope has yet to be found-
It is the stars that have given me an increment of light,
Illuminating a pathway before me, to give me
Some small hope that I would awaken
In some other world where
Love, fortune and peace of mind would
Overshadow mistrust and sadness-
I whisper in thought, somewhere in the back of my mind-
Light me a candle with a flame so bright,
That will break through dark clouds of doubt-
Whereby I would be running forward in time,
Finding wealth, joy, and hope never ending
As the flame on that candle
Would burn for an eternity
Only to guide me forward, not backward,
Leaving that life of misfortune behind me-
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Uprising Roots
Uprising roots,
Blue grass in the sky;
Uprising roots,
Love under the sea;
Uprising roots,
In the deep!
White in white and,
Black in black;
But, underrated by your love.
Seven years of hope!
On the blue mountains;
And to take up a trip to let it show,
But, life is like a journey to us all.
The roots of life,
To put the stereo on!
But, i have a long way to go.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Green Pastures
in lunatic scape of
fringed labellum
the creeping malignancy was advancing.
i missed a rendezvous with moon
when you had brought a blue kiss
from abducted lips;
again I become a sisypus
lifting the rock off your comets
of round tangerines.
something was missing from our parched
lilies, this teaching was hurting, in our maniac depression
tampering with our melting,
the body had left the golden leash,
the first liberation from nagging pain of verbs
the noun moved farther than silent classics
shadows in between
the fatalities
poem by Satish Verma
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Shy
After a month of just bein alone he said, I wonder what l.a.s thinkin
Streets he roamed in search of a poem amongst the wild and drinkin
When he sees cool dark skin in hot virgin white
The search was over at least 4 2night
When she co-signed and then told him she was ...
Chorus:
Shy - cool dark skin in hot virgin white
Shy - lips say wont but her body say might
Shy - looks like were gonna take the long way home 2night
Oh baby (shy)
After a look much louder than words she said, I passed my initiation
A friend of mine, he got killed and in retaliation
I shot the boy (pop! pop!), huh, twice in the head
No regrets, no sorrow - Im goin back 2morrow 2 make sure hes dead
Cuz if I dont, theyll call me a chicken, but u can call me ...
Chorus
Shy
Shy - lips say no but the body say might
Looks like were gonna take the long way home..
Looks like were gonna take the long way home..
Looks like were gonna take the long way home 2night
The girl was rough, but he called her bluff
And he told her not 2 know was better
Fact or fiction he wondered
And thats when the rain and thunder got wetter
And at the top of the page he wrote ...
Shy - cool dark skin in hot virgin white
Shy - looks like were gonna take the long way home 2night
Chorus
(oh, say it now, yeah)
(shy, shy!)
(shy)
Ooh baby, dont u wanna be alone 2night?
Shy - yeah (oh yes)
Shy (shy)
Shy - looks like were gonna take the long way home 2night
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Chocolate
White chocolate when i taste it,
It makes me think of you,
It's melting upon my tongue gently,
And remembers me of your sensual lips.
White chocolate is like a dream,
Something that i can not control,
A deep temptation of my body,
To have a piece melting in my mouth.
White chocolate eating it's like visiting heaven,
Lingering on my tongue delicious, creamy, soft,
I crave the sweet melting sensation of it,
It's like your sensual lips are kissing me.
White chocolate is giving me the passion feeling,
When touching my lips with every bite,
It's like a crazy pleasure on my tongue,
It makes me feel so beautiful and alive.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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China Girl
VERSE 1
How do you find a place to sleep when there's nowhere to go?
Life must be a living hell to you - only time will show
There with no clothes or food to eat
So filled with shame
Each tear that sits upon your face
I know them by name
BRIDGE
When will you stop to hear the voice inside
That you try to hide
No one can save you but you
CHORUS
China girl
Hope your find your way home
Coz my heart is bleeding
Waiting for your safe return
China girl
Everybody loves you
All those hearts are breaking
It's not the same since you've been gone
VERSE 2
Each night you feel the need to hold someone you don't know
To replace the emptiness inside - start heading home
Your place was never on the streets
You ignored your call
Did you know that pride was in the way
Before you'd fall
BRIDGE
When will you stop to hear the voice inside
That you try to hide
No one can save you but you
CHORUS
China girl
Hope your find your way home
Coz my heart is bleeding
Waiting for your safe return
China girl
Everybody loves you
All those hearts are breaking
It's not the same since you've been gone
MIDDLE 8
I'm asking you if I could find
Just where you had to sleep tonight
I wonder did you eat today
Did you get on your knees and pray?
To free you from this misery
That's not how life's supposed to be
No need for you to carry shame
There's no person here to blame
CHORUS X2
China girl
Hope your find your way home
Coz my heart is bleeding
Waiting for your safe return
China girl
Everybody loves you
All those hearts are breaking
It's not the same since you've been gone
song performed by by 411
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Church
Painted angels guard the altars;
And rest and shadows; beam from blue eyes.
In incense-fumes dirty lyes swim.
Figures stagger woebegone in the emptiness.
In the black kneeler a smallish whore
With faded cheeks resembles the Madonna.
In golden beams wax figures hang;
Moon and sun circle the white-bearded God.
A shine of soft columns and skeletons.
The sweet voices of boys died at the chancel.
Very quietly rapt colors move,
A flowing red from Magdalene's lips.
A pregnant woman goes astray in grave dreams
Through this twilight full of masks, flags.
Her shadow crosses the saints' still ways,
The angel's rest in lime-washed rooms.
poem by Georg Trakl
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10-11-93
10-11-93 is when pity was born
when unbelievers, fornicators, and thieves were born
10-11-93 is when prejudice was born
when Emmit Till was sabatoged and killed of looking the wrong
10-11-93 is when dreamers were born
when the astronaut went to the moon and many became believers
10-11-93 is when humans was born
when imperfection ran through dominating our body and cell forms
10-11-93 is when her little son who is 3 and she is 15 said for the first time that he had to use the potty
10-11-93 is when abusiveness and violence was born thats when threats became part of nature and humans be misled by haters
10-11-93 is when the voices of unwanted babies screamed, when pregnant mommas didnt believe
10-11-93 is when racism was born, not being white was taken very strong
10-11-93 is when divers was born, down in the water where legs were tragically torn
10-11-93 is when a black man got is first show on t.v
10-11-93 is when speaking slang identified u as being black or in a gang
10-11-93 is when music was born, when African Amercian heros were formed
10-11-93 is when Ahtivah Lawton was born!
poem by Ahtivah Lawton
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The Only Voices I hear Are On The Inside
I was born not being able to hear
Born not hearing my mother tell me I'm dear
Born never listening to anyone who spoke to me
Born not enjoying music
Born without the ability to gauge sound, unable to hear the clock tick
But since the day I was born
Since before I could talk, I could scorn
There was one thing I always did hate
And that was the thing deepest inside of me,
The thing for which I cursed fate
Worse than deafness or being unable to see
Since the day I was born I heard voices
Not when loved ones talked, but voices that weren't my choice
To hear, voices that were inside my head
Voices that nobody else heard, but I didn't know if they were lying
Because my hearing has always been dead
I'd hear screeching or dying
When none was there
Those voices they'd tell me what to do and how could I deny them?
They were, they are, and they will be the only ones who care
Because they're the only one that speak to me, I can't find the sin
That I committed to be born like this, to be born broken
I've heard more conversations than any other man
And yet I've never heard man utter a word, through my whole lifespan
The only voices I hear are on the inside
And it's the greatest torment that I hide
They'll just tell me I'm crazy, well in writing
But these voices, they accept me, they sing
These voices they know because they've talked to me
These voices are the only I've ever known the
The first voices I've ever heard
Like a mother, I've never listened to a singing bird
But I've listened to a cacophonous symphony of arguing inside my head
These voices are like the woman I did not choose, but wed
I can't separate myself from them
The only time I hear anything, it's torment to condemn
Me, it's funny that I could never speak to anyone but myself
But I guess I've never, ever, been lonely... not ever.
I
Have
Never
Been
Alone
W ho could save me from myselves?
poem by David Knox
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A Buddah Is Born In Me
a buddha is born in me
&
every morning
a 'buddha' is born in me
as a clear babbling stream
are all my meditated thoughts-
the roots of worries
like mirror reflections-
the moon-beam of life
at a reachable distance-
i gaze into myself
in perfect perspective -
and visualize myself
as a rootlet in every happening-
the goodness of others blossom
as the bright bars of morning sun -
i destroy my poison
to let in good thoughts-
'bliss hereafter in my life! '
i enjoy in meaningful silence.
&
in the speed of seconds
in the friction of events
in the rashness of conclusions
and in the heat of anger
i expolde offensive words
and burn myself-
why everyone has drawn
daggers at me, all in unison?
i knock my head
in depths of darkness.
where my buddha
had gone dead?
how did so many ghosts
gain entry into me
to crush and drink my blood?
&
' i will turn a good soul tomorrow! '
i tell the night that drags me along;
i could read a soft smile at its lips!
-chandra kalaadhar
S.CHANDRA KALAADHAR
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Broken Wings (Lyrics)
No body known’s who I truly am,
I’ve never felt this way before,
Why do things turn out wrong?
With the way of this open door,
My broken wings were in my back,
Till I let them extract,
I’m flying through the air,
With my hair everywhere,
Why do people have to know?
What do they have to say?
Why can’t they leave me alone?
From now till the end,
My broken wings were in my back,
Till I let them extract,
I’m flying through the air,
With my hair everywhere,
Why do I live like this?
It’s like the world don’t exist,
I and you were we at,
It’s like the day is a fact,
My broken wings were in my back,
Till I let them extract,
I’m flying through the air,
With my hair everywhere,
No body known’s who I truly am,
What do people have to say?
Why do they hide from me?
Are they scared of what they see?
My broken wings were in my back,
Till I let them extract,
I’m flying through the air,
With my hair everywhere,
poem by Lorissa Cowan
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What If You Could? (would you?)
Could you undo what has been done
What would the world be like tomorrow?
Could you simply lose what’s been so hard won
Would there be more happiness, or more sorrow?
Had you chose a path, that you chose to shun
Would your world be the least bit brighter?
Had you lingered in shadow, or basked in the sun
Would the load that you now carry be lighter?
Were you offered the chance to go back in time
Would you refuse, vacillate, or be eager?
And if you eagerly opted for that second chance
Would the returns be rich or be meager?
Would you trade your same old tomorrow for a brand new today,
If you knew not what the new day would bring
What if the new day today was much like the same old tomorrow?
Would the new day’s delight, in sorrow take wing?
If you could tear out the pages of the diary of your life
And new pages, beg, steal or borrow
If you could undo what already tis done
What would your world be like tomorrow?
poem by David Whalen
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Hope Bailey Cruz
hope bailey cruz
died at birth
for 2 minutes
the doctors
brought her back
hope bailey cruz
heared voices
ever since that night
and what had happened
the night she was born
hope bailey cruz
nearly drowned
at age 2
her brother hunter
saved her
but her gift
never went away
hope bailey cruz
was only 8
she heared voices
and seen things
that weren't really there
hope bailey cruz
had family who
didn't believe her
the only one
who did believe
was her sister samantha
who was in grade 6
hope bailey cruz
died without a clue
her parents got fed up
with all her lying
but she was telling the truth
hope bailey cruz
got so hurt
she ran away
she ran so far
she sliped
into a big hole
in the dark
deep woods
hope bailey cruz
tiny body hit a pipe
that tore a hole
right through
her tiny body
she died slowly
in the next past hour
in extreme pain
for her family
could've stoped this
if only they listened to her
but they never
gave her the chance
by: crystal sonier
age: 16
poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
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If You Could See
If you could see into the nature of a single thought,
what it really is, though you think you know already,
if you could for one moment as old as the world
stop casting all these handshadows on the moon
as if they were the birds and bedrock of your intelligence,
as if the waves hauled the sea around in chains,
as if the leaves were a language without roots,
you would stop reading yourself like a prophecy in your own bones,
and be brought to your knees like a bull
penetrated by the seven swords of insight
and realize the unwitnessed clarity of the emptiness
that suggested you to you out of its dark abundance
is also the bright vacancy of this world that keeps you company.
All these intimate secrets of yourself
you keep posting to the sky like stars
or the single shoes and milkcartons of the missing
when you go looking for yourself like knowledge
in the eyeless spirit's lost and found;
why don't you, just for once and ever,
treat yourself to a season of your own, and shed them;
open your fist like a tree and let them go into the big O of omega,
hold yourself up like a candle to a black hole
and see what's deep inside
when the world's turned inside out
like a gallery at night without pictures?
If you listen, if you learn to listen deeply
with your eyes and your blood
with the intensity and focus of a hunting cat,
you can hear the crazy keys to freedom
jingling everywhere like flowers jailed by the rain
or the sun held for ransom in the siloes of the brain
the moon ploughs and seeds with thoughts of shining.
Once you stop looking for continuity in the emptiness
you'll come to realize that emptiness
is the fountain-mouth of its own theme
and it's the dream not the dreamer that's in play
when a fish suddenly jumps like a thought
and there are ripples on the moon.
Who comes like an explorer without a flag
before an undiscovered sea of light
and stands before it like a spoon?
Raise the well of your darkest night up to your lips
and drink it drier than the eyes
of the lover who gave up crying over you
once she opened up like the mouth of a river
and entrusted herself like an aimless thought to the sea.
Hold yourself up like the Hubble
to the vastness of the darkness and the shining
to the largesse of the night in its open-handed radiance,
to the imageless wisdom of the mother you don't know
who abides in your seeing like a compassionate shadow
and the intangible mystery of the mother of forms that you do,
and drink yourself down to the last star
to ever lay eyes upon you.
poem by Patrick White
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The Unknown Star
I was born of an unknown star, of a mother who did not know herself-
From the very beginning I was a canary that could not sing and who
Would fall to the ground every time I lifted my wings to fly-
Trapped inside a cage of my own delusions,
I was alone looking upward towards that clouded sky, searching for that unknown star,
Where by chance I could find a place where I would belong-
My mother wept a wide stream of tears
Not to be consoled from the deep pain that tore at her heart-
The day I lost myself to another world, she abandoned me as agony wrenched her soul-
A phantasmal canary lying still at the bottom of my cage-
Hiding behind a rainbow looking for rays of hope,
Trying to deafen the voices only I could hear,
Searching for that unknown star,
I would dance in the rain beneath the faint light of the moon at night
Seeking for myself, that person I could not find, however
All I could find was a shadow upon the wall-
A shadow upon the wall I hardly recognized as myself,
A reflection within a pond which was that stream of my mother’s tears-
Dancing in the rain trying to become somebody,
Somebody famous or a perhaps an angel or a saint,
Trapped inside a cage of my own apparition where dense cloud cover barred me from
That unknown star where I might feel at home-
Looking about me at hillsides I might have tried to climb-all I could see was my shadow.
A shadow upon a hillside or inside, a shadow upon the wall,
A vague reflection within a pool of tears- Seemingly eyes of a ghost staring into mine,
Reading the demonic thoughts that raced inside of my mind-
Born of an unknown star, I had never found a home and
Born of an unknown star, I had never found myself-
Searching inside and outside all I could ever see was
A dark shadow of a lost person with no destiny or direction-
That canary that could not sing or fly, or perhaps a being who
Tried to come to life dancing in the rain beneath the faint moonlight- I became
A shadow dancing beneath the light of that unknown star I could not reach-
Hoping someday I would save the souls of those who despair and expectantly
Someday I would become that canary, but lifting my wings to fly and bursting into song,
Joyfully watching the sunrise as the moon would vanish
Behind disappearing dark clouds of despair.
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Burning Books
Throw your books in the fire. What do they say
As the pages crisp in soft, warm embers?
When the paper blackens the words away,
What thoughts will the ashen scraps remember?
Erase the nostalgia of history
And abandon semiotic recourse
In the shrouding exhaust of mystery.
Let them vanish in the singeing heat's source.
Destroy the facts that exceed their meaning.
Allow truth to shribble inside the pit
Underneath illiteracy's screening.
Let the ledger's binding begin to split.
Stoke the blazes of intolerance
That make all information ignorance.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Insurrection
insurrection...
or just the pot boiling over,
the plant breaking through the gound,
the leaf bursting from the bud,
the wind breaking down the door.
light breaking through the darkness,
the body breaking free of bonds.
the spirit breaking from the body,
the truth breaking from the silence.
hope breaking from despair,
caring breaking from the calloused....
the individual breaking from the crowd.
the many breaking from the few,
the man breaking from enslavement.
the pot boiling over...
be careful!
you'll burn your hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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