En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Inner Voices

traveling backward in dark to meet
my father I held the hands of my grandchild

in broken dawn of random spring to collect
the lost years of old house where we could not

meet and he sat feet resting on the thighs
in the valley of unwritten letters and thin

silence, you left before I knew my thumb
had your skin, climbed to despair I untied

the knot and had a fatal, pure wound, which
like a lantern still burns in the eyes of

my offsprings unabated, the seeds and salt
and bloodstained umbrella will cover the street

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Letters

She held a pack of love letters tied with ribbons and bows.
these were the love letters that she would never show.
Every one of them was dated first to last
These were the letters that held a life past.
Times may pass and things may change
But memories stay the same.

The writing of love letters had slowly disappeared
But she held on to them from year to year.
She sat with the letters in her lap.
As the tears rolled down her eyes
He had said he would be with her
Till the day he died
And fifty years later
He met his maker
And was carried to the cemetery
by the undertaker.

The letters had been written
with tenderness and love
Proclaiming every thing
Even the stars above.

He said life was meaningless if with her
His life he could not share.
And losing her was something
he could not bear.

Now that he was gone and she
Was left all alone.
The house didn’t seem
like much of a home.

She knew her children would not understand
Why she held the love letters in her hand.
These were the memories that kept her alive
And on that she couldn’t deny.
But her mind and body was fading fast
And she knew she could not last.
So to her children she bequeathed
The letters that she cherished all her life
For that was her husband, and she was his wife.

These are the love letters that your father
Wrote to me when we were young and carefree.
He told me of all that life had to offer.
And of all the love he had for me
And that he wanted to raise a family.

When you read his letters you will know
Why I loved this man so.
And now it’s time for me to go.

Because your father awaits me on the other side
And we’ll be together for all of time

poem by Louis Rams
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Travelin' Man

The man i loved ran a salesman route
Selling goods from house to house
Now i knew my mama would never stand
For me stepping out with no traveling man
Mama bought things that he was a'selling
But mama didn't know and i sure wasn't telling
That behind her back i was making plans
To meet somewhere with that traveling man
Oh the traveling man was a good bit older
But a girl needs arms to hold her
Mama didn't know 'cause i didn't told her
But mama wouldn't understand
Me stepping out with a traveling man
Mama didn't allow me a'going courting
And i'd tell lies that i reckon i oughtn't
Oh but she'd a'give me the back a' her hand
If she'd a'seen me with that traveling man
So i tell my mama that i reckon i oughta
Go to the spring and fetch us some water
What mama didn't know is i had a plan
To meet down there with that traveling man
Now i make plans to run away
With that traveling man on a saturday
Well saturday's here and here i stand
And there goes my mama with that traveling man
Oh that traveling man was a two-time lover
He took my love then he took my mother
But i didn't know 'cause mama didn't told me and i don't understand
My mama running off with my traveling man
Mama, you know you oughtn't a'done that
You just like my daddy
He run off before i ever knowed him
You done run-off with my traveling man
And i really don't think i ever knowed you either
Oh there goes my mama with my traveling man
And i'm really gonna miss that traveling man
Mm-hm

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Traveling Man

The man I loved ran a salesman route
Selling goods from house to house
Now I knew my mama would never stand
For me stepping out with no traveling man
Mama bought things that he was aselling
But mama didnt know and I sure wasnt telling
That behind her back I was making plans
To meet somewhere with that traveling man
Oh the traveling man was a good bit older
But a girl needs arms to hold her
Mama didnt know cause I didnt told her
But mama wouldnt understand
Me stepping out with a traveling man
Mama didnt allow me agoing courting
And Id tell lies that I reckon I oughtnt
Oh but shed agive me the back a her hand
If shed aseen me with that traveling man
So I tell my mama that I reckon I oughta
Go to the spring and fetch us some water
What mama didnt know is I had a plan
To meet down there with that traveling man
Now I make plans to run away
With that traveling man on a saturday
Well saturdays here and here I stand
And there goes my mama with that traveling man
Oh that traveling man was a two-time lover
He took my love then he took my mother
But I didnt know cause mama didnt told me and I dont understand
My mama running off with my traveling man
Mama, you know you oughtnt adone that
You just like my daddy
He run off before I ever knowed him
You done run-off with my traveling man
And I really dont think I ever knowed you either
Oh there goes my mama with my traveling man
And Im really gonna miss that traveling man
Mm-hm

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men in Green

Oh, there were fifteen men in green,
Each with a tommy-gun,
Who leapt into my plane at dawn;
We rose to meet the sun.

We set our course towards the east
And climbed into the day
Till the ribbed jungle underneath
Like a giant fossil lay.

We climbed towards the distant range,
Where two white paws of cloud
Clutched at the shoulders of the pass;
The green men laughed aloud.

They did not fear the ape-like cloud
That climbed the mountain crest
And hung from ropes invisible
With lightning in its breast.

They did not fear the summer's sun
In whose hot centre lie
A hundred hissing cannon shells
For the unwatchful eye.

And when on Dobadura's field
We landed, each man raised
His thumb towards the open sky;
But to their right I gazed.

For fifteen men in jungle green
Rose from the kunai grass
And came towards the plane. My men
In silence watched them pass;
It seemed they looked upon themselves
In Times's prophetic glass.

Oh, there were some leaned on a stick
And some on stretchers lay,
But few walked on their own two feet
In the early green of day.

(They did not heed the ape-like cloud
That climbed the mountain crest;
They did not fear the summer sun
With bullets for their breast.)

Their eyes were bright, their looks were dull;
Their skin had turned to clay.
Nature had meet them in the night
And stalked them in the day.

And I think still of men in green
On the Soputa track,
With fifteen spitting tommy-guns
To keep the jungle back.

poem by David Campbell
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An Epic Of A Mother

when night felt deep in the main street of that bordering town, when streets were dipping in profound silence, we were in search of news moving aimlessly from here to there we met that mother, rather, we met that family unit some years ago.

a scratched man of broken images guides the woman with a girlbaby on her lap, clients appeared from the dark to bargain woman's flesh, the scratched man fixed the rate holding the girl of three years from her lap to him and allowed the woman to go with them.

the woman went to a deserted dark marketarea just beside the mainroad, during this break we appeared immediately in front of that man that broken man and learned he was the father of that little girl, husband of that mother-woman whom he sold for temporary shot-contact to be vamped her warm and salt, to be cooked her flesh and flexibility.

just we met that night with that woman that mother and also learned her dream was her girl-child would grow-up as a dignified woman which needs a lot of money, so she used to run on that underground track, she also knew her husband, the girl child's father physically not fit to meet her demand of purchasing the so-called dignity one need to acquire from human society.

when that woman the mother talked with us, the street lamp showed us her eyes were glittering with her dream of a glorious future of her three years old girlchild whom she loved more than herself.

where she now I don't know, but this epic I send for the readers of my site to pray for her specially for this day.

Pranab k c
13/05/2012

poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Our Hands

My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.

Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,

Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,

My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.

poem by Rebecca Adams
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Meet Me At The Station

(brother williams memphis sanctified singers)
Well if I get to heaven before you do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, mother dear, for you
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Well if my eyes see the glory, before yours do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, father, for you
I will meet you at the station whe your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Now if my feet touch the homeline before yours do
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, my brother, for you
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Now if you see gods country before I do
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
Will you be there watching, sister, for me
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
When my train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
Sister, when my train comes along
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
Oh, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Live On These Streets

To live on these streets
You have to mask your intentions,
Avoid the drugs that bring despair and defeat,
Not judge anyone drifting
Into bad luck and loneliness.

The streetlights and neon signs
Have a pensive glow
But the homeless saints
With random smiles
Preserve the slightest hope.

I’ve seen the children
In paint-peeling houses
Show kindness to everyone they meet.

I’ve had people die at my feet
Just hours before the dawn
In my beloved Detroit,
But I knew God was watching
In the dark starless sky
Trying to keep us all alive.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The Love That You Can Offer To The Broken Woman

you see this broken woman
outside the house outside the fence finally
under the noonday sun
she walks without an umbrella
looking forward to another day
on weary feet
she takes the path that carries her
to her freedom

i wrote a poem last night
and i knew she was able to read it
i did not see whether her hands tremble
but she asked me
if i have this kind of love to offer
to make her live to make her dream

she is free now and in truth
i do not really know what i have
everything i have is in the house
and there is a woman there
who owns the letters of my name
who keeps the key
to the door that is locked
and she says
i am chained there and she brags that i am
the willing victim

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Objectified

All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise

poem by Vaida Marea
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A Naked Snake

Tree wound
Earth ground
Hissing and biting
Its own tongue
Its own tail
Changing its skin
Sky flung
House burdened snail
In the traces of the wet curse left
Wrapped in red lace lobster cleft
Creeping the bottom of the original fall
Poisonous curves wound within all
A bit of poison turns into a bit of the cure
Wound within a knot of circles of the sin
Reaching high above the realms of the pure
Curable disease of its own medicine
Bitter taste poisoned blood shivering in mud

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Church Sitting

You sat with Jane
in her father's church
the bright morning sun

piercing high windows
pushing colours on flagstone floors
the silence caressed you

her nearness warmed
her ankle socks and sandals
had an innocence of strawberries

her flowered summer dress
rode up to her thighs as she sat
her hands resting on her knees

can you feel that breeze?
she said
cooling isn't it

you sensed it as she spoke
yes I can
you replied

your eyes moved along her thighs
then lifted to her face
as partial sunlight

seemed to show
grace there on skin
and dark black hair

and you watched her lips move
as she spoke and said
I was christened here

and maybe I'll be wed here too
to whom?
you asked

and she looked at you
a thirteen year old boy
then looked away

some birdsong from outside
had caught her ear
and she turned her head

and you gazed
at her neck and jaw
and saw her beauty

in a way you had not before
sunlight catching her
as it had coloured patterns

on flagstone floor
you wanted to reach
and touch her arm

her skin and sense
her pulse of life
that pumped within.

poem by Terry Collett
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School Crossing Guard

never in my life could i foresee
that a school crossing guard
would be a life for me.
but looking into my grandchild's eyes
i knew it was a must
for in me he put his trust.

then i heard of a child who died today
' oh so young' to be taken away.
the parents and family in total grief
with no signs of any relief.

the child had gone out to play
and the ball just slipped away.
without looking she ran to the street.
the driver saw the ball and then the feet.
tried to swerve from the child
but was traveling at forty miles.

the child never got to see the car
or hear the screeching of the tires.
for death has no sound
it just comes and takes you down.

that was when i knew
that a scg was what i must do.
now i like so many others
stand on a street corner
helping to keep the law and order.

poem by Louis Rams
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Winter Stars

My father once broke a man's hand
Over the exhaust pipe of a John Deere tractor. The man,
Ruben Vasquez, wanted to kill his own father
With a sharpened fruit knife, & he held
The curved tip of it, lightly, between his first
Two fingers, so it could slash
Horizontally, & with surprising grace,
Across a throat. It was like a glinting beak in a hand,
And, for a moment, the light held still
On those vines. When it was over,
My father simply went in & ate lunch, & then, as always,
Lay alone in the dark, listening to music.
He never mentioned it.

I never understood how anyone could risk his life,
Then listen to Vivaldi.

Sometimes, I go out into this yard at night,
And stare through the wet branches of an oak
In winter, & realize I am looking at the stars
Again. A thin haze of them, shining
And persisting.

It used to make me feel lighter, looking up at them.
In California, that light was closer.
In a California no one will ever see again,
My father is beginning to die. Something
Inside him is slowly taking back
Every word it ever gave him.
Now, if we try to talk, I watch my father
Search for a lost syllable as if it might
Solve everything, & though he can't remember, now,
The word for it, he is ashamed...
If you think of the mind as a place continually
Visited, a whole city placed behind
The eyes, & shining, I can imagine, now, its end-
As when the lights go off, one by one,
In a hotel at night, until at last
All the travelers will be asleep, or until
Even the thin glow from the lobby is a kind
Of sleep; & while the woman behind the desk
Is applying more lacquer to her nails,
You can almost believe that the elevator,
As it ascends, must open upon starlight.

I stand out on the street, & do not go in.
That was our agreement, at my birth.

And for years I believed
That what went unsaid between us became empty,
And pure, like starlight, & that it persisted.

I got it all wrong.
I wound up believing in words the way a scientist
Believes in carbon, after death.

Tonight, I'm talking to you, father, although
It is quiet here in the Midwest, where a small wind,
The size of a wrist, wakes the cold again—
Which may be all that's left of you & me.

When I left home at seventeen, I left for good.

That pale haze of stars goes on & on,
Like laughter that has found a final, silent shape
On a black sky. It means everything
It cannot say. Look, it's empty out there, & cold.
Cold enough to reconcile
Even a father, even a son.

poem by Larry Levis
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Aproaching The New...the Unknown

it is not easy to save
or spare the years
itiis a tough business
though
ı have spared and saved so many years
once ı was a baby in a cradle
crying and seeking a refuge
in my mother bosom
then she was in flesh and blood
living beloved
now she is gone and left me alone
fed up with me
resting in her grave
may be a skeleton ı fear and salute
ı have never known father too
thoughmy mother...my father
my sisters and my big brother
always meet
ı n a photocopy
of an ancient..old and faded photograph
my wife put in my sleeping room
my father was a veteran soldier
of our liberatı on war
now ı am grown up
really
becomı ng an old man
a ping pong ball
walking in stalk
sometimes with a walking stick
lost one of my hip
no bosom to cry
with nowhere to shelter
just me and myself
approaching where ı never know
never guess
cause ı have enough of years
when ı remember them each
comes from my heart and eyes
the tears
fearing the new of everything
it is 20 of december
no snow this year
even the season is faking
may be the end we are approaching
for the word
for the universe
or rather for me
never the less
life living worth
some say it is fall
some say it is spring
some say it is the end
but ı have enough of spared years
let the rest be yours

poem by Metin Sahin
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An Umbrella

Saves you from the sun and the rain,
It also protects your skin from pain,
Your skin remains smooth and fine,
No rashes are there and no line,
Under it your body is safe and sound,
Seeing it your joy knows no bound,
But there is no cover on your soul,
You seem to be a man without a goal,
It's getting dirty day by day,
And one day it will meet its decay,
Tell me where is its umbrella?

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Last Meeting

My father, you were cold and grey
The last time we did meet,
You didn't speak to me at all,
Were covered in a sheet,
Your eyes were open, stared at me
But didn't see a thing,
I felt the love gush from my eyes
Like water, from a spring.

I thought that you were hiding,
That you'd played some trick on me,
That presently you'd jump on out
The way it used to be,
We'd laugh about it then for years
And mother would join in,
But still you lay, ignoring me,
The silence growing thin.

I touched you, and you were so cold,
So icy lying there,
I felt the chill surrounding me,
The chill of your cold stare,
And where the wit I'd grown to love,
The wisdom you had shown?
You answered in your silence then,
'You must go home alone! '

I never thought I'd see the day
When you were not around,
Set in the background of my life,
Your comments, so profound,
I left a part of me behind
With you, once you had gone,
'Last meeting' was not yesterday;
Your Death's now Twenty One!

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Meet My Despair

Meet my despair,
She doesn't even show signs of care.
She knows she'll be my destruction,
That's the meaning behind her construction.

Meet my despair,
You can taste the foul death in the air.
She smirks at the cause of my untimly death,
It makes her lose her frigid breath.

Meet my despair,
She's my burden to bear.
She'll dance on my grave,
Ah, she's so brave.

Meet my despair,
her name's.357 magnum.
She's truly lovely.
She's truly mine,
My despair.

poem by Steven Elsner
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A Little Bit

And it will take a little bit of extra time
To make it shine, to make it shine
And it will take a little bit of extra care
To bring it where you think it's there
And there's no one else around
This is what I've found Anyone you see
Anyone you meet
Some one at your feet
Anyone could be that one
Anyone you know
Anywhere you go
Some one in a show
Could be that one
And it will take a little bit of all you've got
To get a shot, get a shot
And it will take a little bit of extra care
To bring it where you think it's there
And there's nowhere else to go
This is what I know
Anyone you see
Anyone you meet
Maybe down the street
Anyone could be that one
Everywhere you look
Pages of a book
All the years it took
Everything got you down
And it will take a little while to get back home
The road is long, the road is long
And it will take a little work to get it back
To mend the cracks, to bridge the gaps
Anyone you see
Could be the one
Anyone you meet
Could be that one
Some one at your feet
Could feel the same
Maybe you'd complete
Could share your name
Anywhere you look
Pages of a book
Everything she took
Never let it keep you down
Holding out for used
Broken up and bruised
Losable to lose
Anywhere you go
Anyone you know
Think it doesn't show
Everybody knows
Anyone you meet
Maybe down the street
(And it will take a little time to get back home)
Some one at you feet

song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Dark End Of The Street

(penn/moman)
(c) - (f) - (g)
(c) at the dark end (g) of the (c) street
Thats where we (g) always (c) meet
Hiding in shadows where we (f) dont be (c) long
Living in (f) darkness to (g) hide our (c) wrong
(f) you and (c) me at the (f) dark (g) end of the (c) street
(f) you and (c) me (f) (g) (c)
I know time is gonna take its toll
We have to pay for the love we stole
Its a sin and we know its wrong
But our love keeps coming on strong
Tonight well meet at the dark end of the street
You and me
Theyre gonna find us, oh, theyll find us
Theyre gonna find us, theyre gonna find us
Oooooh, some day
You and me at the dark end of the street
You and me
And when the daylight hour rolls around
And by chance were both downtown
If we should meet, just walk on by
Ooooh darling, please dont you cry
Tonight well meet at the dark end of the street
You and me

song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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