Now You Know
You are not with yourself today.
Conversation was stopped, from cloud to cloud.
Now you know what you did not want to know.
No longer the pathless destiny,
comes near you, you go towards the
bushes to collect the ash, the burnt out
remains of a theme, a design, a horizon.
In memory of books, which are not read
by anyone now. Pages lay wounded. Black
stones trying to hear the sounds of dawn.
The tremors were increasing in the swampland.
The wolves were in howling rage. A daring
gift of death, tormenting the spirit, human
flesh, you watch through the twilight,
through the terror of betrayal. Each tear drop
sacrifices the eternity.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Some Day One Day
You never heard my song before the music was too loud
But now I think you hear me well for now we both know how
No star can light our way in this cloud of dark and fear
But some day, one day...
Funny how the pages turn and hold us in between
A misty castle waits for you and you shall be a queen
Today the cloud it hangs over us and all is grey
But some day, one day...
When I was you and you were me and we were very young
Together took us nearly there the rest may not be sung
So still the cloud it hangs over us and were alone
But some day, one day...
Well come home
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clouds By Number
Cloud Nine lived a life of fantasy,
Barely conceding the existence of Cloud Eight,
Who felt jealousy for Cloud Seven's
Silver lining,
Although it was saturnine.
Cloud Six lived a life in a daze,
Dozing in the sun's rays;
While Cloud Five held a bellyful of rain
That it wept onto
The arid plain.
Cloud Four came out of nowhere,
Hugging Cloud Three,
Making way, hurriedly, for Cloud Two,
Who shot lightning and thunder,
And like a magic trick
Became Cloud One.
The Great Funnel Cloud,
Who left nothing after its short reign
But a painful memory and a swollen path to be filled with regrets.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Life of a Cloud
Warming thermals whisper as they rise,
To tell us they are soon to bring to view
In cooler air aloft before your eyes:
A gentle wisp to counterpoint the blue.
Powder puffs emerge to grant her grace
That further bloom as would for stately tree, and
Yield a sight that calls for our embrace:
Another cloud anew above the lea.
Cruising forth, she yearns for ageless life.
O how her hopes will soon be dashed in vain,
For up there in the cold she courts her strife,
To fade away as drops of closing rain.
Scant and lacy speak her living span,
And fair among us could be brought to mourn,
But she was there to populate her clan:
From fallen tears, new daughters will be born.
Copyright © Mark R slaughter 2010
A cloudy sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Cloud 8
(tony martin/byron hill)
I hear em laughing on cloud 9
In a world so happy just above mine
No ones leaving like you left me
They got each other got all they need, but
Here on cloud 8
A lotta nothings going on
Im just drifting day to day
Out here on my own
While up on cloud 9
I hear em party all the time
They dont hear my heart break
Down here on cloud 8
We almost made it up where they are
But losing your love
Brought me down hard
Now Im just hanging, just getting by
Where expectations arent that high, but
Here on cloud 8
A lotta nothings going on
Im just drifting day to day
Out here on my own
While up on cloud 9
I hear em party all the time
They dont hear my heart break
Down here on cloud 8
While up on cloud 9
I hear em party all the time
They dont hear my heart break
Down here on cloud 8
They dont hear my heart break
Down here on cloud 8
song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Codicil
Schizophrenic, wrenched by two styles,
one a hack's hired prose, I earn
me exile. I trudge this sickle, moonlit beach for miles,
tan, burn
to slough off
this live of ocean that's self-love.
To change your language you must change your life.
I cannot right old wrongs.
Waves tire of horizon and return.
Gulls screech with rusty tongues
Above the beached, rotting pirogues,
they were a venomous beaked cloud at Charlotteville.
One I thought love of country was enough,
now, even if I chose, there is no room at the trough.
I watch the best minds rot like dogs
for scraps of flavour.
I am nearing middle
age, burnt skin
peels from my hand like paper, onion-thin,
like Peer Gynt's riddle.
At heart there is nothing, not the dread
of death. I know to many dead.
They're all familiar, all in character,
even how they died. On fire,
the flesh no longer fears that furnace mouth
of earth,
that kiln or ashpit of the sun,
nor this clouding, unclouding sickle moon
withering this beach again like a blank page.
All its indifference is a different rage.
poem by Derek Walcott
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Get Off Of My Cloud
(mick jagger and keith richards)
I live in an apartment on the ninety-ninth floor of my block
And I sit at home looking out the window
Imagining the world has stopped
Then in flies a guy whos all dressed up like a union jack
And says, Ive won five pounds if I have his kind of detergent pack
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud baby
The telephone is ringing,
I say, hi, its me. who is it there on the line?
A voice says, hi, hello, how are you?
Well, I guess Im doin fine
He says, its three a.m., theres too much noise
Dont you people ever wanna go to bed?
Just cause you feel so good, do you have
To drive me out of my head?
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud baby
I was sick and tired, fed up with this,
And decided to take a drive downtown
It was so very quiet and peaceful
There was nobody, not a soul around
I laid myself out, I was so tired and I started to dream
In the morning the parking tickets were just like
A flag stuck on my window screen
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mad Wolves
Wolves running wild
Beast and beauty,
Howling full moon instigates
The dead to rise above
And watch us as to
Try and cause some
Paranoid state so we
Don’t disturb their eternal
Bliss.
These wolves,
Mad wolves, brute in
Nature.
Howling at full moon they
Are transformed in beauty and
Beastly eloquent hunting manner,
The calling of the dead to rise.
These wolves, dead wolves
And humans too kill to
Survive.
Then sleep
When the sun rises over Atlantic
Coast.
poem by Randy Briggs
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Silence
Go, my sun go.
Collect all your golden leaves
and leave me with pink wounds.
Go, my son go.
Collect all your lies
and leave me with bare bones.
Lying in bed with saddened eyes
I count the mistakes, eternities
and chew the years.
It had been a long journey
from cloud to cloud,
time to dropp on dew again.
I return to silence
feed it my body.
poem by Satish Verma
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Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama
Gnashing enemy tanks are coming on
while the Ratel-90 stands still
and many things
goes through my mind.
The shot sounds thundering
and for a moment I am blinded
by smoke, dust and giant flames
that devours things.
The redneck is still shooting
through branches and bushes
with the front machinegun
and it can cost his life
but he shoots on like a machine
and feeds the ammunition belt
and I let the driver pull him in
and he’s again aboard
locked behind armoured steel
where he curses and takes out his rage
and shoot from within
and he speaks a foreign tongue:
“Ac her forþ beraò;
fugelas singaò,
gylleò grœghama”
We drive away with speed
and stop and shoot and drive again
and let projectiles
find their targets deadly
and so we continue for hours
that drag into days
and around us the enemy is shot out
and what is not burning,
is already junk
or just left behind.
Enemy soldiers of Fapla,
Cuba and a few from Russia
lie shot to pieces,
some half burnt
and whole brigades are wiped out
and in the distance I hear jackals howling
and the air is full of vultures
turning in it
while the stench of death,
phosphorous and gunpowder almost suffocates me
and some more dust or maybe emotions
makes my eyes tear.
[References: Redneck=>Englishman. “Ac her forþ beraò; fugelas singaò, gylleò grœghama” => Gaelic for: “For here starts war; carrion birds sing, and grey wolves howl.” From: “The Fight at Finnsburh.” Jackal => a African fox.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cremation - Ashes To Ashes
Well the coal-black sea waits for me-me-me
The coal-black sea waits forever
The waves hit the shore, crying more-more-more
But the coal-black sea waits forever
The tornados come up the coast they run
Hurricanes rip the sky forever
Through the weathers change, the sea remains the same
The coal-black sea waits forever
There are ashes split through collective guilt
People rest at sea forever
Since they burnt you up, collect you in a cup
For you the coal-black sea has no terror
Will your ashes float like some foreign boat
Or will they sink absorbed forever
Will the atlantic coast, have its final boast
Nothing else contained you ever
Now the coal-black sea waits for me-me-me
The coal-black sea waits forever
When I leave this joint at some further point
The same coal-black sea will it be waiting
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cremation
Well the coal black sea waits for me me me
The coal black sea waits forever
The waves hit the shore
Crying more more more
But the coal black sea waits forever
The tornados come up the coast they run
Hurricanes rip the sky forever
Through the weathers change
the sea remains the same
The coal black sea waits forever
There are ashes split through collective guilt
People rest at sea forever
Since they burnt you up
Collect you in a cup
For you the coal black sea has no terror
Will your ashes float like some foreign boat
or will they sink absorbed forever
Will the Atlantic Coast
have its final boast
Nothing else contained you ever
Now the coal black sea waits for me me me
The coal black sea waits forever
When I leave this joint
at some further point
The same coal black sea will it be waiting
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memory Metaphor Original 03 13 2010
Ruthlessly search memory -yesterday’s not so very
Memorable deposits put unaccountably in the black
Stashed in banks written in poetry books
Today’s gift to think a spirit full -goodness drained
Through clogged senses substance penetrates
Deeper thought - run of the mill think faithfully
Surmises indelibly written fancies personas in
Haute party dress -labels pinned onto
Poly-psychic monetary disguises –the very
Thought of you -I think -remembers deep fathoms
Each to depths of metaphor –to rules of grammar
Neither temper nor philter languages of love
But savor good to taste honey and milk in the
Sop of kisses lick of tongues to the lip sink in pitch
With love song -the smile wide eyed -opened
When done gift kiss liquor forgot new spiritual savor
Memory intrudes on awareness to sleep tossing
And turning spasms recede to blinking at flickering
streams of extra-dimensional Dural membranes
-Gift upon gifted dream -improvising on theme
–Go there…?
Ruthlessly
Searching situational memory beyond spirit metaphor.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Reproduce with permission only.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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Get Off My Cloud
originally by Rolling Stones
I live in an apartment on the ninety ninth foor of my block
And I sit at home lookin' out the window imaginin' the world has stopped
Then in flies a guy that's all dressed up like a Union Jack
He says I've won five pounds if I have this kind ogf detergent pack
I said, hey you get off my cloud, hey you get off my cloud
Hey you get off my cloud, don't hang around
'Cause two's a crowd on my cloud baby
The telephone is ringin', I say hi it's me, who's there on the line
A voice says hi hullo how are you, well I guess I'm doing fine
He says it's three a.m. and there's too much noise, don't you people ever want
To go bed, just 'cause you feel so good, so you have to drive me out of my head
I was sick and tired, fed up with this and decided to take a drive downtown
It was so very quiet and peaceful, there was nobody, not a soul around
I laid myself out, I was so tired and I started to dream
In the mornin' the parkin' tickets were just like flags stuck on my wind screen
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You've Got to Notice...
You've got to notice...
Something's wrong about these times.
You've got to notice...
People clearly out of their minds.
You've got to watch.Your back.
And every little step you take.
You can not stop.To drop...
A point of view someone will take,
And hate...you!
You've got to notice...
Something's wrong about these times.
You've got to notice...
People clearly out of their minds.
You can not smile. Or nod. Or say hello,
'Have a good day! '
You may regret.Someone you've met.
Then get upset.
When they just turn, and walk away!
That's how it is today.
You've got to notice...
Something's wrong about these times.
You've got to notice...
People clearly out of their minds.
You've got to watch.Your back.
And every little step you take.
You can not stop.To drop...
A point of view someone will take,
And hate with such rage....displayed.
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are quick to rage.
And getting crazier...
Every day.
Today...
People are quick to rage.
And getting crazier...
Every day.
Don't stop. Don't stop!
Pat your feet to the beat...
Repeat!
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are quick to rage.
And getting crazier...
Every day.
You've got to notice...
Something's wrong about these times.
You've got to notice...
People clearly out of their minds.
You've got to watch.Your back.
And every little step you take.
You can not stop.To drop...
A point of view someone will take,
And hate...you!
You can not smile. Or nod. Or say hello,
'Have a good day! '
You'll be hated anyway...
Today.
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are quick to rage.
And getting crazier...
Each and every day.
Today...
People are in a rage.
Today...
People are quick to rage.
And getting crazier...
Every day.
Don't stop. Don't stop!
Pat your feet to the beat...
Repeat!
Snap or pop your fingers,
As you hip hop down the streets.
Today!
People display such a craze!
And it seems to be 'okay',
This way!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Red Sky Warning
I saw the cloud in the morning sky
So I turned to go back inside,
And I said to my wife, ‘It’s a shepherd’s dawn,
Or the red sky early warning, torn
By the man with the evil eye.’
The silence hung in a leaden pall
As she turned her face away,
And I said: ‘I’m only the man behind,
I’m not to account for all mankind
Or a cloud at the break of day.’
She looked again and she pulled the blind
And the house was dark and still.
‘I’ve looked my last on the works of man
Through whispered tears on a trembling hand,
Or the cloud beyond the hill.’
So she sat herself where she sits today
By the glow of the ash-wood fire,
But she sees and hears and tells me nought
While the devil inside her can’t be bought,
Or ever be made to tire.
So whenever a cloud in the early dawn
Glows red in the morning sky,
I say to my wife: ‘It’s a shepherd’s dawn,
Or the red sky early warning, torn
By the man with the evil eye.’
9 June 1972
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Heritage
Cry out on Time that he may take away
Your cold philosophies that give no hint
Of spirit-quickened flesh; fall down and pray
That Death come never with a face of flint:
Death is our heritage; with Life we share
The sunlight that must own his darkening hour:
Within his very presence yet we dare
To gather gladness like a fading flower.
For even as this, our joy not long may live
Perfect; and most in change the heart can trace
The miracle of life and human things:
All we have held to destiny we give;
Dawn glimmers on the soul-forsaken face;
Not we, but others, hear the bird that sings.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Art
Indulging in self-obsessed navel watch for greedy eyes
like a cloud of saliva around the amygdale, they
walk on sands fudging, seizing contradictions,
smelling of raw flesh and salt, an extinction spring.
The seeds are floating an parachutes between the
burnt-out lures. Everything splits into sparks
charging the air. The guilt looms large, arches
like an octopus, riveting before an artful design.
Just one lump of sugar on peripheral fields to
dilate the pupils in dark baking the bones.
Let us swim up to the wall, wild in our groins
tie up the shoelaces and climb the portrait.
poem by Satish Verma
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My Love Is Too Much
My love is too much-
it embarrasses you-
blood, poems, babies,
red needs that telephone
from foreign countries,
black needs that spatter
the pages
of your white papery heart.
You would rather have a girl
with simpler needs:
lunch, sex, undemanding
loving,
dinner, wine, bed,
the occasional blow-job
& needs that are never
red as gaping wounds
but cool & blue
as television screens
in tract houses.
Oh my love,
those simple girls
with simple needs
read my books too.
They tell me they feel
the same as I do.
They tell me I transcribe
the language of their hearts.
They tell me I translate
their mute, unspoken pain
into the white light
of language.
Oh love,
no love
is ever wholly undemanding.
It can pretend coolness
until the pain comes,
until the first baby comes,
howling her own infant need
into a universe
that never summoned her.
The love you seek
cannot be found
except in the white pages
of recipe books.
It is cooking you seek,
not love,
cooking with sex coming after,
cool sex
that speaks to the penis alone,
& not the howling chaos
of the heart.
poem by Erica Jong
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I Pray To Have Your Memory Linger
What we had yesterday...
From me,
Just will not go away.
I would get up at dawn,
And think about you.
I would sit to witness the Sunset.
Until from the horizon,
It was gone from view.
What we had yesterday...
From me,
Just will not go away.
Each face I'd see smiling...
I'd see you smiling too!
Each couple I'd see holding hands as they walked...
I'd remember your voice,
With a wish to hear you again to me talk.
I would get up at dawn,
And think about you.
I would sit to witness the Sunset.
Until from the horizon,
It was gone from view.
What we had yesterday...
From me,
Just will not go away.
Even today,
I pray to have your memory linger.
Even today,
I pray the thought of you...
Never goes away!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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