Land’s Smell
Our mouths go dry
at midnight charter on papyrus leaf.
Are we reverting back to pristine stone reliefs?
How far we will go revolving around eclipse,
stumbling on the phraseology of cosmos?
Man was becoming inferior to beast.
Who will walk on the bones of ancestors
to dig out the truth from scriptures?
The proud cows have become violent –
separating milk from grass in agony.
The perks were increasing the rifles.
Freedom had fled away from the legacies.
The split lips cannot speak coherently.
Terror attacks were reaching there, where
drenched amnesia wants to remember only door bells.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)
speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Marble Nor The Gilded Monuments
THE praisers of women in their proud and beautiful poems
Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes
Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered
These were lies
The words sound but the face in the Istrian sun is forgotten
The poet speaks but to her dead ears no more
The sleek throat is gone -and the breast that was troubled to listen
Shadow from door
Therefore I will not praise your knees nor your fine walking
Telling you men shall remember your name as long
As lips move or breath is spent or the iron of English
Rings from a tongue
I shall say you were young and your arms straight and you!
mouth scarlet
I shall say you will die and none will remember you
Your arms change and none remember the swish of your garments
Nor the click of your shoe
Not with my hand's strength not with difficult labor
Springing the obstinate words to the bones of your breast
And the stubborn line to your young stride and the breath to your breathing
And the beat to your haste
Shall I prevail on the hearts of unborn men to remember
(What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost
Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation
Like dream words most)
Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women
I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair
And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders
And a leaf on your hair
I will not speak of the famous beauty of dead women
I will say the shape of a leaf lay once on your hair
Till the world ends and the eyes are out and the mouths broken
Look! It is there!
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Embarrassments Can Be Quickly Erased
If a declaration is made,
Of having amnesia...
'After' a violent act of atrocities,
Against others have been committed...
'That' is acceptable.
In any court where laws are aborted,
Tom distort.
And if one's amnesia can be connected,
To a childhood deprived of attention given...
Senseless attacks upon others are warranted.
No matter how innocent those who are defenseless.
Or a decision one makes,
To premeditate...
A conscious doing that takes place.
'So what is it that you are saying? '
Embarrassments can be quickly erased,
Depending upon...
Who passes the judgement.
And the quality of the statements heard to be taken.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Temple
do not speak of god,
of the father, or the mother...
nor the creator...
i do not dwell in temples,
creeds, or written scriptures.
i am formless, taking forms,
i am infinite, becoming particle.
i am clay and grass,
stone and wood...
i am flesh and semen,
and intimate eyes!
i am hungry, will you share?
i have no home or bed,
may i sleep with you?
i am lonely, will you speak with me?
i listen, will you listen too?
i am star and cosmos,
a simple dropp of rain.
i am the growl of thunder,
the sudden flash of lightning.
i am the bridge, will you walk me?
i am the lantern, waiting for the match.
i am the woman giving birth,
i am awe and wonder.
i am the language of silence,
the dirty hand extended.
i am truth, never settling...
i am the ache of the soul,
the tremble of the heart.
i am the sparrow's wings,
leaving the nest you cling to.
yet i am the straw that made the nest!
i am life unrestrained, i am death quite naked!
i am the sound you make,
when words will not do.
i am nameless, giving names,
i am thought set free.
i am compassion evolving,
my temple is you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Broremann The Farmhand
Broremann, the farmer worker.
Every morning at five thirty sharp, my brother Broremann
had to milk five cows by hand bring bucket full of goodness
to the scullery where maid sifted it and in a churn it went.
He had to start milking Rose first, she was the mother cow
other cows wouldn´t give milk unless he started with her.
After milking Broremann had to clean the barn five cows
make a lot of dung; he pushed it down in a hole in the wall
it was later used to fertilize the land. My brother was proud
of his ability to milk and his hands were, firm yet gentle.
There was a problem though Rose didn´t yield as much milk
as before as she was getting elderly and the farmer sold her
to the knacker’s yard. It was a sad day and the other cows
mooed woefully. The farmer bought a new cow to take Rosa´s
place, but Broremann couldn´t milk her first, as she was new-
comer, so he started with Gerda, now the oldest cow, and milk
the new one last, thus rural peace continued in the cow shed.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Some Distant Day
stillness wrapped in stillness,
memory ingrained in time.
an ancient holy book written
on a leaf, that falls freely,
turns bright with passion,
and crumbles into death!
who are we?
and what remains?
more than the inflection of voice?
less than scriptures etched in stone?
a star? a caterpillar? a gust of wind?
does the soul retain identity?
the spirit have a familiar face?
does the name change...
from Henry to pebble,
from William to speck of dust?
angel's wings, i think not!
neither pitchforks, nor hideous horns!
does the stone i read this poem to...
hear me? know what i've said?
recognize and feel comfort?
or is it all worms and time
and black and white photographs?
or a dropp of rain that feels
like a lover come back?
or are we just nails
rusted on the bridge of time?
do you know? do you care?
will your lips quiver
on some distant day...
trying to remember how
to speak my name?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Be Proud
Be pride and poison for it,
Poor is the friar who took.
Pleasure is soon, sooner than ever,
When bones are picked by the vultures
Over our heads that speak of those ones that fly nearby.
Be proud and in the death of others be proud
Against a fountain of rifles and ammunition,
These are the guns we lift to our eyes and let vultures fly to die.
The monks are not in the vicinity, like hairy monks.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Warning Bells
Warning Bells
Reaching for that bottle, your hand on that throttle,
getting ready to ride without a guide,
down that road, that road to hell.
Wake up before it's too late,
before you reach that gate.
Let go of the hate,
think of your mate.
Looking at life through the bottom of a bottle,
hands shaking,
body quaking.
One of these days you won't be waking.
Don't you hear them Warning Bells?
Shatter that bottle on the floor,
turn around, walk out that door,
do it for you. Listen to them Warning Bells.
Only time will tell if you heard,
heard them bells.
Don't find yourself on the floor, anymore,
turn around say no more, walk out that door.
You're off that road that road to hell.
You've heard them Warning, Warning Bells.
poem by Lucille van OnselenZunckel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If You Need Scriptures....
if you need scriptures,
read the scriptures written
on the walls of your soul!
read the scriptures written
in trees, in rocks, in rivers.
read the scriptures written
in the broken alley.
in the homeless man's eyes,
in the addict's desperation,
in the shuffle of jobless feet.
in the cry of the newborn baby,
in the lovers moan of fulfillment,
the scriptures written
in the sweet darkness of night,
in the jail cell,
in the picket line,
in the monk who sets himself
on fire for freedom and justice,
in all the colors of equality...
in the hungry child's hand reaching out...
read them, know them, be them!
life testifies to the living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
He made the cows to want the rain to fall he made the grass that they use to eat to fill the want inside a cow he makes grass as bread for cows they just continue there to graze in some places in the desert spaces there is grass for cows to eat this is called heaven sweet to cows they drink water when they have it in a drink flavored pouch oh no see eh ewe caught me making lies no listen while eye smile and tell ewe this poem is so nice there is grass for all the cows there is grass on every hill and every cow can eat in heaven they still have grass for every cow there is food in heaven there is food there in a drink flavored pouch.
poem by Charles Hice
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Total Eclipse!
Time unto time
A door's closing
A seasons change
The end of ones pristine
Time unto time
A door's opening
An' season's anew
Yet one shall be missed
Moment by moment
Account of count
Thine pages of living proof
Moment by moment
count thy count
For your reminisce remains
Eclipse after eclipse
Toll upon toll
Always there for the need
Eclipse after eclipse
Toll upon toll
Always the planting of seed
Brother unto brother
Closer than blood
And a promise never unbroken
Brother unto brother
You are my blood
an' forever a part of me
poem by Geoff Warden
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old hometown looks the same
As I step down from the train
And there to meet me is my mama and papa
And down the road I look and there runs Mary
Her golden lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they've all come to meet me
Arms reaching, smiling sweetly
It's so good to touch the
Green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And there's that old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane I'd walk with my sweet Mary
Her golden lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yesm they've all come
Arms reaching, smiling sweetly
It's so good to touch the
Green, green grass of home.
Then I awake and look around me
At the gray walls that surround me
And I realized that I was only dreaming
For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre
Arm in arm, we'll walk at daybreak
Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes they'll all come to see me
In the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me neath the
Green, green grass of home...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm a proud African child
I'm a pretty bud
growing out of the mud,
I'm a blessed child -
tame and free in mind,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm a precious stone,
neither am I broken nor torn,
A precious stone am I -
treasure to the nation's eye,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm a star in midnight
which gives a spark of light,
Like a diamond in the sky
I dwell with pride in the high,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm the hope for the future,
a pure seed of true virtue,
A fragrant leaf of uncorrupt nature,
A beneficiary of unlimited adventure,
I'm a proud African child.
I'm a child of God
out of doom and gloom called,
I'm more precious than gold
and even more special than a goat,
I'm really a Proud African Child.
poem by Comfort Ndlovu
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20% Amnesia
What is your destiny? the police woman said....(20% amnesia)
The word that she wanted was destination i'm afraid (20% amnesia)
This is your future boy, this is your fate (20% amnesia)
And you're obsolete and they can't afford to educate you (20% amnesia)
In his bedtime boot boy jersey
Ringing up some fantasy tart
Give me strength or give me mercy
Life intimidates art
Chorus:
Give me strength or give me mercy
Don't let me lose heart
From rage to anaesthesia
Twenty percent amnesia
Were you passed out on the sofa (20% amnesia)
While justice was bartered by a drunken oaf? (20% amnesia)
This is all your glorious country thinks of your life (20% amnesia)
Stripped jack naked with a stanley knife (20% amnesia)
So the german queen went home again
But she couldn't find forgiveness
They made a fist of her hand of friendship
But it's only business
Chorus
The wine you drink has never seen a grape
And now your sci-fi suit has lost its shape
But its a dangerous game that comedy plays
Sometimes it tells you the truth, sometimes it delays it
Think back, think back if you still can
When the trumpet sounded and the world began
Somebody said "we must have won"
So they started burying the boogeyman
Mister gorbachov came cap in hand (20% amnesia)
From a bankrupt land to a bankrupt land (20% amnesia)
Mister gorbachov and some other fella (20% amnesia)
Were taken to a show called "cinderella" (20% amnesia)
It wasn't an accident, it wasn't a mystery (20% amnesia)
It was calculated and the rest is history (20% amnesia)
You don't have to listen to me
That's the triumph of free will
When there are promises to break
And dreams to kill
Chorus
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Milkmaid's Song
Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn,
Turn by the dale, my Harry!
Fill pail, fill pail,
He has turned by the dale,
And there by the stile waits Harry.
Fill, fill,
Fill, pail, fill,
For there by the stile waits Harry!
The world may go round, the world may stand still
But I can milk and marry,
Fill pail,
I can milk and marry.
Wheugh, wheugh!
O, if we two
Stood down there now by the water,
I know who'd carry me over the ford
As brave as a soldier, as proud as a lord,
Though I don't live over the water.
Wheugh, wheugh! he's whistling through,
He's whistling 'The Farmer's Daugher.'
Give down, give down,
My crumpled brown!
He shall not take the road to the town,
For I'll meet him beyond the water.
Give down, give down,
My crumpled brown!
And send me to my Harry.
The folk o' towns
May have silken gowns,
But I can milk and marry,
Fill pail,
I can milk and marry.
Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through
He has whistled through the water.
Fill, fill, with a will, a will,
For he's whistled through the water,
And he's whistling down
The way to the town,
And it's not 'The Farmer's Daughter!'
Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer,
The sun sets over the water,
Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer,
I'm too late for my Harry!
And, O, if he goes a-soldiering,
The cows they may low, the bells they may ring,
But I'll neither milk nor marry,
Fill pail,
Neither milk nor marry.
My brow beats on thy flank, Fill pail,
Give down, good wench, give down!
I know the primrose bank, Fill pail,
Between him and the town.
Give down, good wench, give down, Fill pail,
And he shall not reach the town!
Strain, strain! he's whistling again,
He's nearer by half a mile.
More, more! O, never before
Were you such a weary while!
Fill, fill! he's crossed the hill,
I can see him down by the stile,
He's passed the hay, he's coming this way,
He's coming to me, my Harry!
Give silken gowns to the folk o' towns,
He's coming to me, my Harry!
That she walks to-night with Harry!
Come late, come soon, come sun, come moon,
O, I can milk and marry,
Fill pail,
I can milk and marry.
Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through,
My Harry! my lad! my lover!
Set the sun and fall the dew,
Heigh-ho, merry world, what's to do
That you're smiling over and over?
Upon the hill and down in the dale,
And along the tree-tops over the vale
Shining over and over,
Low in the grass and high on the bough,
Shining over and over,
O world, have you ever a lover!
You were so dull and cold just now,
O world, have you ever a lover?
I could not see a leaf on the tree,
And now I could count them, one, two, three,
Count them over and over,
Leaf from leaf like lips apart,
Like lips apart for a lover.
And the hillside beats with my beating heart,
And the apple-tree blushes all over,
And the May bough touched me and made me start,
And the wind breathes warm like a lover.
Pull, pull! and the pail is full,
And milking's done and over,
Who would not sit here under the tree?
What a fair fair thing's a green field to see!
Brim, brim, to the rim, ah me!
I have set my pail on the daisies!
It seems so light, - can the sun be set?
The dews must be heavy, my cheeks are wet.
I could cry to have hurt the daisies!
Harry is near, Harry is near,
My heart's as sick as if he were here,
My lips are burning, my cheeks are wet,
He hasn't uttered a word as yet,
But the air's astir with his praises.
My Harry!
The air's astir with your praises.
He has scaled the rock by the pixy's stone,
He's among the kingcups, - he picks me one,
I love the grass that I tread upon
When I go to my Harry!
He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the knowe,
There's never a faster foot I know,
But still he seems to tarry.
O Harry! On Harry! my love, my pride,
My heart is leaping, my arms are wide!
Roll up, roll up, you dull hillside,
Roll up, and bring my Harry!
They may talk of glory over the sea,
But Harry's alive, and Harry's for me,
My love, my lad, my Harry!
Come spring, come winter, come sun, come snow,
What cares Dolly, whether or no,
While I can milk and marry?
Right or wrong, and wrong or right,
Quarrel who quarrel, and fight who fight,
But I'll bring my pail home every night
To love, and home, and Harry!
We'll drink our can, we'll eat our cake,
There's beer in the barrel, there's bread in the bake,
The world may sleep, the world may wake,
But I shall milk and marry,
And marry,
I shall milk and marry.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Split Moment Between..
the split moment between, when the tide comes in, and the tide goes out... that is god! the split moment between, the tears of a child, and the body of the old man being buried, that is god! the split moment between, the firing of the big guns, and the laying down of weapons, that is god! the split moment between, the firing of the revolver, and the prison door clanging shut, that is god! the split moment between, ejaculation and childbirth, that is god! the split moment between, the rise of a civilization, and its downfall, that is god! the split moment between, remorse, repentence, responsibility, and prayer, that is god! the split moment between, falling in love, and saying goodbye, that is god! the split moment between, nakedness and truth, that is god! the split moment between, loss and giving, that is god! the split moment between, darkness and dawn.... well you know!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Zimbabwean asks a question
O Great Spirit,
You who in Your form of the Chapungu,
the great eagle with sharper eye than any aeroplane,
watches over us and knows all things;
who even descends from your great circles of flight
over our beautiful land of stone and earth and tree
to show a child lost in the bush
the way back to the village and to home,
please show us, too, the way back home, to You.
You know I talk to you each day in my heart,
but today a man has asked me to speak some words
that many people may hear.
So I speak for Zimbabwe, and for the Africa
of which we are so proud:
for we in Africa are proud; and proud for You:
that in a mad and busy world, we have not forgotten
that every blade of grass and flower,
lizard, singing bird, lion, elephant,
are You in all your great disguises
and that all that we see around us
is You in the spirits of our ancestors
who listen to us and guide us;
and so we know that we must listen
to every creature to hear news of You...
and in the evening of each day
(which, we cannot now forget, may be our last)
as the men come home from work
and the women and children back from the fields,
and the smoke from the evening fires
rises above the huts,
and the smells of cooking fill the air,
we tell all our children round the fire
the truth about You
in all the tales our fathers and grandfathers have told us -
told to these children who have so recently come from You;
by those grandparents who will so soon come back to You;
they have so much to share and listen to,
about You!
And would you not agree, O Great Spirit,
that the smile of an African child
is the biggest thing you ever saw - or made?
It reminds every mother and father of Your smile,
and tells every grandparent what is in store for them...
So we rejoice to think, O Great Spirit,
that we are still your children,
and that You know what is best for us -
And so I ask you, especially today, O Great Spirit,
for all who may read this:
Are the spirits angry with us?
If they are, please tell me why?
And so, what can we do to stay close to You?
Many men have many answers to these questions
in the reasoning of men;
but nothing from men quite seems to 'do the trick';
so now, I'm simply asking You
to speak in Your own way;
since nothing from men quite seems to 'do the trick';
and, O Great Spirit,
Chapungu,
it is Your world, which we look after, and not ours...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Revolving (Nafaka)
There's a reason for joy
consider the circumstance of life
there's a reason to remember
the circumstance of life
there's a reason to understand
the circumstance of life
revolvong revolving
in the shade of reasonong
the circumstance of life
a bitter taste of captivity
consider the circumstance of life
the breath widens the freedom
consider the circumstance of life
the feet can move the hands can touch
finally
consider the circumstance of life
revolving revolving
in the shade of feelings
the circumstance of life
pulling the trees
down the roads of darkness
killing the pain
in the shade of a cage
revolving revolving revolving
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aint It Just Like You
Girl your bags are packed
And you aint coming back is written on them
Take these memories with you
Theyre just sad, and theyre blue and I dont want them
Oh youre not so sure that youre in love anymore
And I aint gonna beg you to stay
Aint it just like you to leave
Aint it just like me to let you walk away
I hold a tender place in my heart for you and you know it
Ive never said it out loud
Guess I was too proud to ever show it
We always thought some night that we might get it right
But that aint going to happen today
Aint it just like you to leave
Aint it just like me to let you walk away
Honey you must think my heart is a revolving door
The way you come and go as you please
I dont know if I should give up or try
Or get down on my knees
Aint it just like me to pray
Aint it just like you to turn and walk away
Here you are at my door
Youre wanting in, youre wanting more and its open
You win me over with that grin
So I let you on in, and Im hopin
That this time you might stay forever
But baby that just aint your style
Aint it just like you to smile
Aint it just like me to let you stay awhile
Oh you must think my heart is a revolving door
The way you come and go as you please
And I dont know if I should give up or try
Or get down on my knees
Aint it just like me to pray
Aint it just like you to make me feel this way
Aint it just like you to smile
Aint it just like me to let you stay awhile
Girl your bags are packed
And you aint coming back is written on them
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Know What You Know
I know what you know
I am not inferior to you.
Do not look down on me
We are all homosapiens.
Divinely created as God's image
God rates us all equally.
I have sights like you
I walk like you
I think like you.
I may be black,
I may be white,
I may be coloured,
I may even be red
I am God's creation
My senses are the same like
Differences in skin pigmention
Does not make me inferior
We are the same
So, deal with me on what I know
So, deal with jewels inside me
Relate with me on my knowledge
Deal with me according to my capacity
I will reciprocate the same
We are bound to respect each other
I am not cursed
My generation is not cursed
My land is not cursed
I am endowed like you
My ancestors land is blessed
I know what you know
I am not inferior to you
poem by Babatunde Aremu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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