Pledging Support
You throw the berries in the river
to stun the fish.
A mannequin wants to go nude.
The tormentor holes up
in a bunker.
You undertake a fast
to clean the dirty plumes of
a swan who will not take a flight
in blackening dawn.
The curse was on the hooks
who will bite only the plastic
dolls. O moonless night, I
want to disappear in the silk
of queer crowds.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
When I remember the fish
When I remember the fish,
The river longed me to go,
Wriggling and meandering, slippery in this
Imaginary waters of my world,
I become a fish.
When eye sea them eat the fish;
They cast their nets for a random catch, they
Drop their hooks for a strangling pull, then,
I become a fish no more.
When them fail to catch the fish;
As the fish wriggles an escape,
Then eye long to be like one as eye
Wonder whether or not am a fish.
©1998
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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Moonless Night
The air is cold in this moonless night
its so beautiful
this moonless night
the night for an eclipse
three years of waiting for this night is so wonderfull
the beauty of this world
you never want to end this moment
of joy
this moonless night is wonderful
with you here
i will never forgett this night
with the cool waves and the beautiful moonless night sky.....
poem by Aurora Lockwood
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Survial.
Water comes from the river origin is clean,
I wash my head.
Water comes from the river branch is dirty,
I wash my feet.
Oh sure, when water in the pool is clean,
I jump in to swim.
But, when the pool is dirty, I leave at once,
And quit my job.
Oh who’s the original source not let me clean?
Keep my head and body clean without water?
How can I keep my head clean in the river?
How can I keep my body clean in a pool?
What is going on about the water?
How could I live in this world?
poem by Albert Wong
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Plastic Passion
Plastic passion is a hard to handle
Plastic passion is a sold out scandal
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is the ladies lover
Plastic passion is the marble mother
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a diamond delight
Plastic passion is the nadir of night
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a hycoscine heart
Plastic passion is a transparent tart
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a gold guarantee
The plastic passion is murdering me
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proud River
The river flows through the inner city estate
in it I see beer cans, trolleys, and a milk crate.
Two coots sit on top of a mini fridge
a burnt out car lies under the bridge.
A beautiful Swan glides around an old pushchair
in the reeds lie a child's doll and teddy bear.
An electric cooker lies on the river bed
a family of ducks wait around hoping for bread.
In the dirty water swim little fish and a vole
a big fat rat shoots down a hole.
On a branch a Kingfisher sits ready to dive
Amongst this squalor they somehow manage to survive.
I imagine this stream was once clean and clear
Sadly now used as a dustbin year after year.
But flowing through all this waste and decay
this proud river meanders gently on it's way.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Song for the river
after the rain the swollen river
so much to pamper the ears and sights.
the fishes splash, the river rushes,
the cold breeze blows against
the willows bringing
an endearing rustling sound.
a breakaway waterlily
sits on a slide to a new habitat
an empty corked plastic bottle floating down
effortless a ballet dancer,
a patch of watercresses swarm along
bidding each other goodbye with
some caught by tree branches.
nearby a group of boys in jovial mood
try their luck with their hooks,
sharing jokes about
which will be the lucky hook
to get the first fish
and who will eat the unlucky fish
the wind ruffles their lovely hair
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Song of the River
after the rain
the swollen river
so much to pamper
the ears and sights.
the fishes splash,
the river rushes,
the cold breeze
plays with the willows
only those who long
to know more of god
emphatises with the sound
of the denial they belt out
a breakaway waterlily
sits on a slide to a new habitat
an empty corked plastic bottle float down
effortless a ballet dancer,
a patch of watercresses swarm along
bidding each other goodbye
with some caught by fallen branches.
nearby a group of boys in jovial mood
try their luck with their hooks,
sharing jokes about
which will be the lucky hook
to get the first fish
and who will eat the unlucky fish
the wind combs their lovely hair
rewritten from
after the rain the swollen river
so much to pamper the ears and sights.
the fishes splash, the river rushes,
the cold breeze blows against
the willows bringing
a steady rustling sound
a breakaway waterlily
sits on a slide to a new habitat
an empty corked plastic bottle floating down
effortless a ballet dancer,
a patch of watercresses swarm along
bidding each other goodbye with
some caught by tree branches.
nearby a group of boys in jovial mood
try their luck with their hooks,
sharing jokes about
which will be the lucky hook
to get the first fish
and who will eat the unlucky fish
the wind ruffles their lovely hair
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The River, Grace
Lift me up,
Take me down
From my rack.
Suspended on meat hooks
Just under my shoulder blades,
The weight of me hangs.
The river comes to me.
The river flows on.
Grace wakes up,
Says, “I will watch with you
We will be watchers
Together.”
Take me down.
Let the river run
Through my wounds;
Cleanse;
Heal.
The river comes.
The river flows.
Wash out all the refuse;
Toxic trash flushed away
Forever from me
Clear
Free
The river comes.
The river flows.
Fill me up with goodness.
Purity, rush into these holes;
Saturate in light, then
Stop up the access,
Make me whole.
River, come to me.
River, flow on.
And the river is God’s Gift.
And the river is Grace.
Lay me new baptized
In the tall grass
On the bank
Let me hear
Talking light
Beat back the night.
They sing of your source,
Your redemption renowned.
Now I join the chorus.
And the river, God’s gift,
Lift me up.
And the river, Grace
Carry me on.
poem by Lee Ann Schaffer
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The darkness of my soul
My soul is dark.
Darker than the night sky on a moonless night.
Darker than my room on a moonless night.
If I shall die on this moonless night.
My soul shall rise nor fall within the darkness of the night.
Without any light in the sky of this moonless night.
poem by Charles Howard
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One Night Stand
Listen, you silk-hearted bastard,
I said in the bar last night,
You wear those dream clothes
Like a swan out of water.
Listen, you wool-feathered bastard,
My name, just for the record, is Leda.
I can remember pretending
That your red silk tie is a real heart
That your raw wool suit is real flesh
That you could float beside me with a swan’s touch
Of casual satisfaction.
But not the swan’s blood.
Waking tomorrow, I remember only
Somebody’s feathers and his wrinkled heart
Draped loosely in my bed.
poem by Jack Spicer
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Mannequin
Hes the mannequin of your dreams
You designed him
Nothing will stand in your way
A punch in the heart
Wont tear him apart
Neither will the things they say
Cause hes a beggar lover believer
You are just an innocent reader
Hes the mannequin of your dreams
Step inside him
Look at the world his way
Laughter is loud
From the fool in the crowd
Youll crack his smile one day
Every dream must follow where we go
Dont let them shatter your ego
Mannequin, lover mannequin, lover mannequin (x2)
I gave you evey bit of my time
You lied and you committed a crime
To present my feelings
With shallow meanings
How could you tear me apart?
Hes the mannequin of your dreams
You denied him
Laughter and political sway
People are sweet
But the primitive beat
Is always getting in my way
I can give you nothing but me though
It isnt what you want to see oh
Mannequin
song performed by by Culture Club
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pain Within Pain
A golden bullet will bite
the adolescence for the sake of
prudence. Inebriated
everybody wanted to go in a state of bliss.
It was a targeted killing
of a dream. Redolent of a prophet
who will not answer the call
of a burning dune.
The holy moonless night will wash
the sins of a city today. I am not
going to meet the death tonight.
I am the eye and I am the nude.
Like truth on the other side of
exhibits. Pure beak was ready
to eat a virgin lie. Again we are
sitting to solve the mystery of adultery.
poem by Satish Verma
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Plastic Concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
These are the facts of life
I m a nightmare child
Stuck on my own knife
I m glad my mother loved me
I m sick & paranoid
The hotel generater
Hums into the void
Of plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
I gotta learn to slow down
Somethin new from chemistry
Is jackin my brain around
I have got the plastic
And I have got the stone
Out there in the suburbs
I learned to be alone
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete sandwich
You d like to eat me, but
Later you ll reiect me
I m too much to bite off
The salad on my outside
Is made of suicide
The guy who squirts my mayonnaise
Is on a one-way ride
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plastic & Concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
These are the facts of life
I 'm a nightmare child
Stuck on my own knife
I' m glad my mother loved me
I' m sick & paranoid
The hotel generater
Hums into the void
Of plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
I gotta learn to slow down
Somethin new from chemistry
Is jackin my brain around
I have got the plastic
And i have got the stone
Out there in the suburbs
I learned to be alone
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete sandwich
You 'd like to eat me, but
Later you 'll reiect me
I' m too much to bite off
The salad on my outside
Is made of suicide
The guy who squirts my mayonnaise
Is on a one-way ride
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirty Jim
THERE was one little Jim,
'Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.
His friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often they made him quite clean;
But all was in vain,
He got dirty again,
And not at all fit to be seen.
It gave him no pain
To hear them complain,
Nor his own dirty clothes to survey:
His indolent mind
No pleasure could find
In tidy and wholesome array.
The idle and bad,
Like this little lad,
May love dirty ways, to be sure;
But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Dirty Jim
THERE was one little Jim,
'Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face. . . .
His friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often they made him quite clean;
But all was in vain,
He got dirty again,
And not at all fit to be seen.
It gave him no pain
To hear them complain,
Nor his own dirty clothes to survey:
His indolent mind
No pleasure could find
In tidy and wholesome array.
The idle and bad,
Like this little lad,
May love dirty ways, to be sure;
But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.
poem by Jane Taylor
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Can't touch this
bite the bit
bite the heart
say that's it
our life our art
bite the lip
bite the word
quickly slip
in holes unheard
we both know
we'll be amiss
'cos we can't
can't touch this
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Fist Pt2
a fish a fish
can anyone be a fish?
swimming this way and that way
what a glee that would be
watch out for sharks they bite,
dont fancy being a bite do you
under millions of miles of water
oh dear not for me
i'll just stay me..
poem by Christina McIntosh
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Anim
I was born by the river and l live by this river,
For at the age of five i fell in love to the river.
I was married at the age of fifteen to a fisherman,
And i've never been to school before;
But my only education is with this river.
The name of my husband is Anim and,
We live by this river;
For my birth and life are all based by this river!
But today, i am old with my children born on this river.
At dawn i go out with my canoe to catch some fish,
And i have a hook to catch some fish at daylight as well;
For this river had been my life ever since.
My husband is a fisherman and,
I was married to him at fifiteen;
And we've lived all our lives on this river.
This is my home and homw of my children,
This is my way of life and of the people around me,
For this river is all that i know in this world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Our biggest fish
When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke,
I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like;
And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught
When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught!
And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display
When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away!
Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines,
And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs;
But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame,
I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same--
I never lost a little fish--yes, I am free to say
It always was the biggest fish I caught that got away.
And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass
From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass;
I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite
And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night,
To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay
How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away.
And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're
caught--
When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut,
When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat
And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat!
Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say
That it always is the biggest fish you catch that gets away!
'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes
The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize;
We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life--
Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife;
And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray,
We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away.
I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be
Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea;
For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game--
May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same;
Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say
That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away.
poem by Eugene Field
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