For A Denial
It rained all night.
Heaving up the dawn immaculately, at my window
the lake crashed on white sands.
A lone tree
smelt of mist and grief.
A fury had submerged a road
leading to a forgotten childhood.
Knives and pins
clouds and bins-
a hate crime erupts between the teeth.
You meditate sitting on an anthill
to recover the lost bones.
Why don’t you leave the country
for good,
the empty vessel, incense and dirty coins?
For conceptual pain, the snake licks the breasts
of a white goddess, with a forked tongue
for sweet milk.
The hungry womanhood cries holding on to morality.
The memory leaks.
You go back to your gods
for renunciation.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Dirty White Boy
Hey, baby, if youre feelin down
I know whats good for you all day
Are you worried what your friends see
Will it ruin your reputation lovin me
cause Im a dirty white boy
Yeah a dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Dont drive no big black car
Dont like no hollywood movie star
You want me to be true to you
You dont give a damn what I do to you
Im just a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Well, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Ive been in trouble since I dont know when
Im in trouble now and I now somehow Ill find trouble again
Im a loner, but Im never alone
Every night I get one step closer to the danger zone
cause Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Cmon, cmon boy
Dirty white boy, white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Hey, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy, yeah
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A childhood forgotten, A childhood lost
[NOTE: THIS POEM IS NOT TO BE USED ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY CONCENT. PLEASE USE THE LINKS IN MY BIOGRAPHY OR MESSAGES ON THIS SITE TO CONTACT ME. THANKS.]
I can't remember,
Skipping rocks on the pond,
My childhoods forgotten,
My Childhoods lost,
Going to the lake,
Sitting on the beach,
Playing with friends,
or dancing in the streets,
I can't remember,
The crash in the fog,
My childhood was forgotten,
My childhood was lost,
The doctor doing surgery,
Me getting pills,
I can't remember any of it,
None of it's clear,
I still can't remember,
How it is gone,
My childhood forgotten,
My childhood's lost!
Well I'm gonna end it right now,
I gonna kill myself off,
A childhood Forgotten,
A childhood lost
poem by Dani Baxter
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Venus in the Garden
'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.
Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.
White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Broken Chains
Too many days now, been at their mercy,
Been living a life of pain, low down and dirty,
Chains biting tight, can only dream of the light,
Need to break free, can no one see what is right?
You see my tears,
Feel my fears,
Hear my cries,
I hear more lies,
Their knives are out, I can't breathe,
When I hear your footsteps you're about to leave,
My heart tears deep, life's blood runs,
Souls essence leaks, here come the guns,
My spirit wants to leave, return to love,
I look to the skies, where is the Dove?
Your face caught in my mind holds me back,
Heavens window opens just a crack,
You see my tears,
Feel my fears,
Hear my cries,
I hear more lies,
Where I come from all is love, suffering is nothing,
When they leave they will feel it all,
Where they are going, they gonna crawl,
I hear your footsteps in the hall,
Are you coming or going?
I just don't know anymore.
09 May 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Winter Is White
WINTER IS WHITE
Winter is white
.......dogwood white
..............forgetfulness
......... ..........an empty slate
Winter is windy
.......windless words
..............empty words
....................drifting aimlessly
Winter is cold
.......deedless words
..............barrenness
............ ........suffering cold
What sound goes there?
What meaning fills the void?
These white lies of life
...............blown sands –– no trace
.....................................–– no path
.....................blindness––no seeking
...................................... ––no faith
No seeing here
No leading love
White and no light
White and no sight
White and no flight
- March 6,2008
poem by Ben Gieske
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God Help our Men at Sea
The wild night comes like an owl to its lair,
The black clouds follow fast,
And the sun-gleams die, and the lightnings glare,
And the ships go heaving past, past, past -
The ships go heaving past!
Bar the doors, and higher, higher
Pile the faggots on the fire:
Now abroad, by many a light,
Empty seats there are to-night -
Empty seats that none may fill,
For the storm grows louder still:
How it surges and swells through the gorges and dells,
Under the ledges and over the lea,
Where a watery sound goeth moaning around -
God help our men at sea!
Oh! never a tempest blew on the shore
But that some heart did moan
For a darling voice it would hear no more
And a face that had left it lone, lone, lone -
A face that had left it lone!
I am watching by a pane
Darkened with the gusty rain,
Watching, through a mist of tears,
Sad with thoughts of other years,
For a brother I did miss
In a stormy time like this.
Ah! the torrent howls past, like a fiend on the blast,
Under the ledges and over the lea;
And the pent waters gleam, and the wild surges scream -
God help our men at sea!
Ah, Lord! they may grope through the dark to find
Thy hand within the gale;
And cries may rise on the wings of the wind
From mariners weary and pale, pale, pale -
From mariners weary and pale!
'Tis a fearful thing to know,
While the storm-winds loudly blow,
That a man can sometimes come
Too near to his father's home;
So that he shall kneel and say,
'Lord, I would be far away!'
Ho! the hurricanes roar round a dangerous shore,
Under the ledges and over the lea;
And there twinkles a light on the billows so white -
God help our men at sea!
poem by Henry Kendall
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Down This Road
(Michael Dulaney/Michael Lunn)
Down this road there's an old brick house
My mama cried the day that I moved out
And my first summer job was pumpin' gas and fixin' flats
But at Henry Walker's Texaco
Down this road, down this road
Down this road there's a maple tree
In a cotton field where Jenny first kissed me
And I can still remember the night she said good-bye
I stood there like a fool and watched her go
Down this road, down this road
And it goes on forever
And it goes by too fast
It'll take you anywhere you want to go
And every memory will bring you back
Down this road there's a small white church
Daddy lived his life by the preacher's word
He raised me right, I could always feel his love
Even when the angels called him home
Down this road
And it goes on forever
And it goes by too fast
It'll take you anywhere you want to go
And every memory will bring you back
Down this road
Down this road
Down this road
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Merry Window
The alabaster legs of the lonely woman
hang from the window like white ensigns
out of the laughing window like false teeth
sheets, flagstaffs, telescopes, rolls of music,
or you would say beheaded necks of swans
or the electric horns of factories
where foreign dreams are nightly fabricated.
Yearning for her coal once heaved in the seam
for her the sewers shrieked their way through London
and pigeons ate each other in the air.
But the deserted lady is frozen to the marrow
her heart has floated into her left leg
and her forked tongue asks in three languages
for a bassoon, a pyramid, and an egg.
All the white birds have flown out of her lips
the Polar Bear has eaten her left breast
her eyes are covered with yellow webs of dust,
in fact she is what a Saint would call abandoned
since even her own self has forgotten her.
poem by Francis Scarfe
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Morning
DAWN in the east, and chill dew falling--
Tears of the new-born day;
Dew on the lawn, and blackbirds calling,
Music and mild mid-May.
The lilac, see, wins back the colour
Lost on the field of Night
See, the spent stars grow dimmer, duller!
Look forth, my life's delight!
Open your window, lean above me,
Rose, my white rose, my song!
Leave your white nest, love, if you love me--
Night is so lonely-long.
Day is our own, and day's a-breaking;
Sweet sleepy eyes of grey,
You shall not chide an early waking
When Night grows kind as Day!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Jane and You and the Hollow Tree.
Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm
the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white
cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat
and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips
you noticed
blueness
about her lips
the cold taking toll
wasn't sure
if you would show
she said
the coldness
and such
I said I would
and I say
what I mean
you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands
out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours
where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better
around here than I do
you choose
you said
let's go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree
on the way up
to the Downs
she said
ok
you said
and so you walked along
and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked
of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about
and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting
and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke
watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed
and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you
of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church
as you stood looking
at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed
and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven
as if someone
had opened up
your heart
and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought
about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman
who'd got pregnant
and how did that happen?
she asked
and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached
the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down
looking out
of the hole
in the side
and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home
and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence
and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair
and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth
showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered
about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time
there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others
and she showed you
tucked between
her small breasts
a small locket
which used to be
her mother's.
poem by Terry Collett
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Dirt Road Pome
Dirt red road in the evening sun
the rattlesnake stretched
and twards the sky
flickers a forked tongue
I stop and the snake curls up
walking on the bridge
streaming creeky river runs lazy
in the orange leaf and lily path
The bridge is strong
and well built
old nails driven by old handled hammers
and old wrinkle wise confident hands
On the evening side
the rabbit hides
well, i know
it's the dark that licks it's way past
the snake stretched scaly
cold blood and forgiving
all he wants
is the last bit
of the warm Alabama sunlight
Night falls down slowly
on a slinky little road
some distance from the rattler
and his low lie
lonliness
In the cricket reprise
they change a few notes
and I welcome the new feel
the night, she pulls her pants down
and she shows it to me
the night she is fantastic
and she's a crazy wind
this night out here in insects and denial
that anything better exists.
poem by Jeffrey Quattlebaum
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and it was Her Summer
…And It Was Her Summer
“Go back to the children’s home, she said I have no work and
can’t afford to keep you” Late June afternoon she sat on a bench
with a man I didn’t know. The man smiled I didn’t like him, but
took the coins he gave me to buy an ice –cream for; I was still
hanging about so mother got up and slapped me across the face.
”Get lost you stupid boy! ” My face was burning I threw the coins
into the lake and ran away. When I stopped running it was night
and I could see sheep in a field, I was tired and cold, thought of
seeking shelter in a little wooden church, but it smelt of fear and
I thought of ghosts, so I walked on till I came to a workman’s hut
near the road, it was easy to get in; here the smell was of coffee,
and kind men in overalls, perhaps one of them were my father?
It was morning and warm sunlight when they came, they were not
angry, but gave me milk and bread and showed me the quickest
way to get home. The sky that day was enormous and from a hill
I looked down to the town, I could see the school building it must
have been early, no children in the yard; but I just sat there and
could not understand why my mother didn’t want to se me.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Dying Of Pere Pierre
". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
Chronicle.
"Nay, grieve not that ye can no honour give
To these poor bones that presently must be
But carrion; since I have sought to live
Upon God's earth, as He hath guided me,
I shall not lack! Where would ye have me lie?
High heaven is higher than cathedral nave:
Do men paint chancels fairer than the sky?"
Beside the darkened lake they made his grave,
Below the altar of the hills; and night
Swung incense clouds of mist in creeping lines
That twisted through the tree-trunks, where the light
Groped through the arches of the silent pines:
And he, beside the lonely path he trod,
Lay, tombed in splendour, in the House of God.
poem by John McCrae
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Dreaming The Breasts
Mother,
strange goddess face
above my milk home,
that delicate asylum,
I ate you up.
All my need took
you down like a meal.
What you gave
I remember in a dream:
the freckled arms binding me,
the laugh somewhere over my woolly hat,
the blood fingers tying my shoe,
the breasts hanging like two bats
and then darting at me,
bending me down.
The breasts I knew at midnight
beat like the sea in me now.
Mother, I put bees in my mouth
to keep from eating
yet it did no good.
In the end they cut off your breasts
and milk poured from them
into the surgeon's hand
and he embraced them.
I took them from him
and planted them.
I have put a padlock
on you, Mother, dear dead human,
so that your great bells,
those dear white ponies,
can go galloping, galloping,
wherever you are.
poem by Anne Sexton
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The Blur
I’m feeling empty
I’m feeling lost
I’m feeling like
My life’s going to cost
I don’t know why
They did that to me
I cant see the light
In all my misery
The countless years
Of covering this under
Are making me sick
And making me wonder
How did I know
What sex was at two
And how did I cope
And somehow pull through
Then leading me to turn
To everything wrong
And making me cover
Up this for so long
Why did it happen
Why couldn’t they see
That all of my actions
Were cries to save me
I lost my childhood
I lost my friends
I lost my innocence
When will this all end?
I cant turn back time
I know that for sure
But my childhood was lost
…forever to be a blur!
poem by Isabella Afanasieff
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The Rainbow
Watch the white dawn gleam,
To the thunder of hidden guns.
I hear the hot shells scream
Through skies as sweet as a dream
Where the silver dawn-break runs.
And stabbing of light
Scorches the virginal white.
But I feel in my being the old, high, sanctified thrill,
And I thank the gods that the dawn is beautiful still.
From death that hurtles by
I crouch in the trench day-long,
But up to a cloudless sky
From the ground where our dead men lie
A brown lark soars in song.
Through the tortured air,
Rent by the shrapnel's flare,
Over the troubleless dead he carols his fill,
And I thank the gods that the birds are beautiful still.
Where the parapet is low
And level with the eye
Poppies and cornflowers glow
And the corn sways to and fro
In a pattern against the sky.
The gold stalks hide
Bodies of men who died
Charging at dawn through the dew to be killed or to kill.
I thank the gods that the flowers are beautiful still.
When night falls dark we creep
In silence to our dead.
We dig a few feet deep
And leave them there to sleep -
But blood at night is red,
Yea, even at night,
And a dead man's face is white.
And I dry my hands, that are also trained to kill,
And I look at the stars - for the stars are beautiful still.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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Soli Cantare Periti Arcades
Oh, I would live in a dairy,
And its Colin I would be,
And many a rustic fairy
Should churn the milk with me.
Or the fields should be my pleasure,
And my flocks should follow me,
Piping a frolic measure
For Joan or Marjorie.
For the town is black and weary,
And I hate the London street;
But the country ways are cheery,
And country lanes are sweet.
Good luck to you, Paris ladies!
Ye are over fine and nice
I know where the country maid is,
Who needs not asking twice.
Ye are brave in your silks and satins,
As ye mince about the Town;
But her feet go free in pattens,
If she wear a russet gown.
If she be not queen nor goddess
She shall milk my brown-eyed herds,
And the breasts beneath her bodice
Are whiter than her curds.
So I will live in a dairy,
And its Colin I will be,
And its Joan that I will marry,
Or, haply, Marjorie.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Empty Chairs
A large willow tree
Still budding
With small leaves
Taking in warmth
and the suns rays
Set back from the
Well traveled street
Narrow lane
leading to
A enchanted white house
Generously shaded
By that starting
Willow tree
Away from it all
Noise and fury
A table mostly white
Its age is shown
By the bleeding rust
Its companions
Too similar chairs
The severity of winter
has left its punishing touch
Their forms
rugged and sound
Years of resting
On that paved brick ground
On the top
A cloth
Of colors
Filled with streaking
Lavander, Crimson and white
On that cloth
For my thirst
A glass dew dripped,
Filled with ice and lemonade
In this beauty
there I sit
With an empty seat
Enjoying the gentleness
Of this place.
poem by Howard Johnson
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Pain Shall Have No Power
The pain we hate shall have no lasting power,
And weak it will be when we shall see the sane,
Go without dominion into deaths final hour,
Sink into the ground where they will rise again.
Caught up to the stars to have their names regain,
When new breath is blown upon their dry bones,
Pain shall have no power nor leave the sting of stain,
Lying under wet earth to clean splintered stones.
Where the wind blows a rose will bloom more,
And lift our heads to see the rainbow in heaven,
But your shadow will bring the clouds together,
Spilt colorful bow until the clouds break down.
Faith in God shall give the sinews strength,
And overcome the cries to the distant ears,
Though changing years have split friends by health,
The pain we hate shall be forgotten in tears.
And no more bright daisies made sad by fear,
Strapped to guilt when they love to pray,
The pain we hate shall have no lasting power,
And our brief parting shall only be for a day.
poem by Gerry Legister
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Why you so inquisitive of my whereabouts?
My night school's still dark
and the road I walk
Tar always black!
On the way,
I see rare night flowers,
They too have pearly white teeth
when they smile?
O the white Goddess
as passing clouds.
The white board in the gloomy class
Colored teacher writes on
with a piece of black chalk
A poem to recite;
'When forget-me-not
covers the old pauper's graveyard
Everybody thinks
It's the garden of Eden?
But in cruel Autumn
When the flowers withered
It's still the pauper's graveyard? '
[ From Father have I my stature,
my zest for earnest living;
From little Mother
my gay nature,
My love of story-telling.]-Goethe
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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