En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Remembrance

A tribal fear
was lurking,
behind a surge of emotion.
The sun was looking black.

A sexual abuse
of a quaint flower
aborts the fruit.
This year we will go hungry.

A nascent seed
stripped on road-
cries for water.
We hear without listening.

Death by a grave
was a domestic claim.
But you were found dead in a bunker.

Life vows to stand alone
on the burning deck-
of a turbulent ship.
The ocean will find a bloody hand one day.

poem by Satish Verma
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The Ship Of Earth.

'Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold,
I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword
At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!

'The dewdrop morn may fall from off the petal of the sky,
But all the deck is wet with blood and stains the crystal red.
A pilot, GOD, a pilot! for the helm is left awry,
And the best sailors in the ship lie there among the dead!'

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Over With A Revolver

It's already over.
Revolver in hand so steady.
Oh my god I'm so ready.
All I can see a bulls eye right above your head.
Trust me when I say your dead.
Snuff out before you even know what's going on.
An absence of all emotion.

Closure too so many traumatic events.
From the mountain into the great valley is the descent.
The weight is so heavy.
Yet I'm still dragging it.
Sooner or latter we all have let it go.
And this time it is all I know.

It's already over.
Revolver in hand so steady.
Oh my god I'm so ready.
All I can see a bulls eye right above your head.
Trust me when I say your dead.
Snuff out before you even know what's going on.
An absence of all emotion.

Such devotion has been through such a roller coaster ride.
An ocean tells me secrets of making a disposal.
Time to get rid of the time when you made your proposal.
An identity I must hide.
Let smoke and mirrors reflect the biggest lie.
An illusion within the eyes.

It's already over.
It's already over.
Oh my god it's already over.
Revolver in hand so steady.
Oh my god I'm so ready.
All I can see a bulls eye right above your head.
Trust me when I say your dead.
Snuff out before you even know what's going on.
An absence of all emotion.

I blame no one.
I blame everyone.
A fault can not be defined by a single event.
An preposterous idea that it was something that you could prevent.
The poison was already in my system.
It spoke in demon tongues.
A evil energy already breathing among the living.
My heart was already gone.

It's already over.
Revolver in hand so steady.
Oh my god I'm so ready.
All I can see a bulls eye right above your head.
Trust me when I say your dead.
Snuff out before you even know what's going on.
An absence of all emotion.

It's already over.
It's already over.
Oh my god it's already over.
Revolver in hand so steady.
Oh my god I'm so ready.
All I can see a bulls eye right above your head.
Trust me when I say your dead.
Snuff out before you even know what's going on.
An absence of all emotion.
Of all emotion.

The tears will never fall again.
A mother is cradling a already forgotten grave.
The death to the foolish moth willing to enter flame.
A forsaken child of god is one that does not know he has sinned.
A sentence of unknown hurt and pain.
An experience of the insane.
He sits upon the killing fields with bloody hands.
For him this is no game and it will have no easy ending.

It's already over.
It's already over.
Oh my god it's already over.
Revolver in hand so steady.
Oh my god I'm so ready.
All I can see a bulls eye right above your head.
Trust me when I say your dead.
Snuff out before you even know what's going on.
An absence of all emotion.
Of all emotion.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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London's Burning

His eyes reflect the golden fire, his pupils burning bright
As he turns away they feel a sudden, crying urge to fight
Big Old Ben has run away, they always thought it might
London's Burning
London's Burning

The chapels down in Kensington are bursting into flames
The children of the neighbourhood are dancing, gone insane
They hug their parent's knees and try to cry away the shame
London's Burning
London's Burning

Members of the royalty rush in to see the Queen
She's rushed off to a bunker, told to wait and not to scream
But all of London's gone aflame, her bunker traps her here
London's Burning
London's Burning

Teenage gangs are on the prowl, they go from place to place
They need no names or calls or shouts, don't need know their race
Just know that all who wear a hood are filled to burst with rage
London's Burning
London's Burning

2 weeks on, the smoke has gone and rebels rule the streets
No-one walks the road at all for fear of who they'll meet
The dead are marked with crosses red and hid with pale sheets
London's Burning
London's Burning

2 more weeks, rotting flesh is all that you can smell
Water's got infected, and the food's all gone as well
The only people left, they wander in a living hell
London's Burning
London's Burning

poem by Matt Pocock
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Genesis

In the outer world that was before this earth,
That was before all shape or space was born,
Before the blind first hour of time had birth,
Before night knew the moonlight or the morn;

Yea, before any world had any light,
Or anything called God or man drew breath,
Slowly the strong sides of the heaving night
Moved, and brought forth the strength of life and death.

And the sad shapeless horror increate
That was all things and one thing, without fruit,
Limit, or law; where love was none, nor hate,
Where no leaf came to blossom from no root;

The very darkness that time knew not of,
Nor God laid hand on, nor was man found there,
Ceased, and was cloven in several shapes; above
Light, and night under, and fire, earth, water, and air.

Sunbeams and starbeams, and all coloured things,
All forms and all similitudes began;
And death, the shadow cast by life's wide wings,
And God, the shade cast by the soul of man.

Then between shadow and substance, night and light,
Then between birth and death, and deeds and days,
The illimitable embrace and the amorous fight
That of itself begets, bears, rears, and slays,

The immortal war of mortal things that is
Labour and life and growth and good and ill,
The mild antiphonies that melt and kiss,
The violent symphonies that meet and kill,

All nature of all things began to be.
But chiefliest in the spirit (beast or man,
Planet of heaven or blossom of earth or sea)
The divine contraries of life began.

For the great labour of growth, being many, is one;
One thing the white death and the ruddy birth;
The invisible air and the all-beholden sun,
And barren water and many-childed earth.

And these things are made manifest in men
From the beginning forth unto this day:
Time writes and life records them, and again
Death seals them lest the record pass away.

For if death were not, then should growth not be,
Change, nor the life of good nor evil things;
Nor were there night at all nor light to see,
Nor water of sweet nor water of bitter springs.

For in each man and each year that is born
Are sown the twin seeds of the strong twin powers;
The white seed of the fruitful helpful morn,
The black seed of the barren hurtful hours.

And he that of the black seed eateth fruit,
To him the savour as honey shall be sweet;
And he in whom the white seed hath struck root,
He shall have sorrow and trouble and tears for meat.

And him whose lips the sweet fruit hath made red
In the end men loathe and make his name a rod;
And him whose mouth on the unsweet fruit hath fed
In the end men follow and know for very God.

And of these twain, the black seed and the white,
All things come forth, endured of men and done;
And still the day is great with child of night,
And still the black night labours with the sun.

And each man and each year that lives on earth
Turns hither or thither, and hence or thence is fed;
And as a man before was from his birth,
So shall a man be after among the dead.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Second of Evil

Second of Evil

Battle bee, you are second of evil
Why so much whispering with flower?
Flower comes of flower
Seed comes of fruit
Are all these your deeds?
Affection of soil installs life at road towards Tamarisk tree.
Love of season causes the fair of flower.
If sun does not rises tomorrow
Then what will be done of battle bee?
Battle bee what you whisper with flower?
Only god knows which came first the tree or the seed.

poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Casabianca

Love's the boy stood on the burning deck
trying to recite `The boy stood on
the burning deck.' Love's the son
stood stammering elocution
while the poor ship in flames went down.

Love's the obstinate boy, the ship,
even the swimming sailors, who
would like a schoolroom platform, too,
or an excuse to stay
on deck. And love's the burning boy.

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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A Dream Of Evolution....

shall a seed be
a seed forever?

do you not dream
someday that it shall
be planted
so that it can sprout
and grow
and then finally see
its flower
and fruit?

must the flower and fruit
be just the same
like the rest of the histories of
the other seeds
of their own form and kind?

must i hope
for an evolution
a seed turning
into a bee
a bee into
a butterfly into wind
into star?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Turkish Song Of The Damned

I come old friend from hell tonight
Across the rotting sea
Nor the nails of the cross
Nor the blood of christ
Can bring you help this eve
The dead have come to claim a debt from thee
They stand outside your door
Four score and three
Did you keep a watch for the dead mans wind
Did you see the woman with the comb in her hand
Wailing away on the wall on the strand
As you danced to the turkish song of the damned
You remember when the ship went down
You left me on the deck
The captains corpse jumped up
And threw his arms around my neck
For all these years Ive had him on my back
This debt cannot be paid with all your jack
And as I sit and talk to you I see your face go white
This shadow hanging over me
Is no trick of the light
The spectre on my back will soon be free
The dead have come to claim a debt from thee

song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dead Leaf

between these two shores
i float like a dead leaf
am not dead either..
if i was i will not feel the pain

budded flowered and became a fruit
on one shore
eaten and as a bare stray seed laid
at the other shore

as a seed i did germinate
the mother root grew into a tree
an off spring flower and fruit came by
all along as a seed i thought i was the tree itself

I NEVER THOUGHT I WILL LOOSE
MY IDENTITY AS A SEED
CAN A TREE SHOW ITS SEED
EVEN IF IT WANTS TO

ALL ALONG...

I thought i was the tree itself
may be i was a part of each part
the stem to hold, the leaf to nourish
till fate wind blew me down as a dead leaf

today as a dead leaf i float
wanting a living from one shore
wanting relationship from the other
as a dead leaf i float..am not dead with pain

ALL ALONG....
I DID THINK I WAS THE TREE ITSELF
BEING JUST A SEED

poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.

poem by Dylan Thomas
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A seed of love

I stand here with a dying
flower in my hand
It's our love
It's petals lie at my feet
along with the pieces of my heart
All twisted and black
But deep in the dark corner
of your heart
Theres a seed
a seed of love
Being kept from the light
I know cause i planted it there
And when your mind feels free
to let the light in and let it grow
It will overcome you and burst into flower
I will be there to hold that flower
And we together will nurture
that flower
And from it make a garden of love
to live in forever

poem by Paul Larmour
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An ocean of Love

Have you ever sailed on vast ocean,
With no island to see, and things are out of reach?
With dreams and mysteries filled this ocean,
And a never ending faith that someone would teach?

Have you ever felt that feeling,
Of a deep calmness within you that's hard to fight?
And no one could help you believing,
That you're striving for the right?

Did you ever sailed on an ocean,
That further placed upon your heart?
For deeply below this ocean,
Lies a silent whisper, where love starts.

An ocean of Love, the ocean of dreams
Where you can find solace and exceptional truth
Though pain resides even if you don't dream
As the existence of love bears its fruit.

The fruit of harmony, bliss, and wonder
Without the seed that's buried down below
Like a pearl that lies down under
The ocean of love they call, starts hello.

Upon this vast ocean, two souls were me and you
Over the waves and across the surface
I have found a love so true
The ocean of love was then the wondrous place.

poem by Lovelyn Layon
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Lifes Only Guarantee

Death is the only thing guaranteed in this life.
we all come in to this world naked of all emotion
and fear.from cradle to crib from cot to bed we grow
our eyes open to the big world an at times cold
and dark place.soon we are old enough to know
what fear and emotion is getting older and wiser
we fear our emotion and the ways of the world
And what we know as we grow older the only
emotion we come to fear with a tear in our eye
is the only guarantee that life gives us that of death.

poem by Andrew Gemmell
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To The Daisy (fourth poem)

Sweet Flower! belike one day to have
A place upon thy Poet's grave,
I welcome thee once more:
But He, who was on land, at sea,
My Brother, too, in loving thee,
Although he loved more silently,
Sleeps by his native shore.

Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day
When to that Ship he bent his way,
To govern and to guide:
His wish was gained: a little time
Would bring him back in manhood's prime
And free for life, these hills to climb;
With all his wants supplied.

And full of hope day followed day
While that stout Ship at anchor lay
Beside the shores of Wight;
The May had then made all things green;
And, floating there, in pomp serene,
That Ship was goodly to be seen,
His pride and his delight!

Yet then, when called ashore, he sought
The tender peace of rural thought:
In more than happy mood
To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers!
He then would steal at leisure hours,
And loved you glittering in your bowers
A starry multitude.

But hark the word!--the ship is gone;--
Returns from her long course:--anon
Sets sail:--in season due,
Once more on English earth they stand:
But, when a third time from the land
They parted, sorrow was at hand
For Him and for his crew.

Ill-fated Vessel!--ghastly shock!
--At length delivered from the rock,
The deep she hath regained;
And through the stormy night they steer;
Labouring for life, in hope and fear,
To reach a safer shore--how near,
Yet not to be attained!

"Silence!" the brave Commander cried:
To that calm word a shriek replied,
It was the last death-shriek.
--A few (my soul oft sees that sight)
Survive upon the tall mast's height;
But one dear remnant of the night--
For Him in vain I seek.

Six weeks beneath the moving sea
He lay in slumber quietly;
Unforced by wind or wave
To quit the Ship for which he died,
(All claims of duty satisfied;)
And there they found him at her side;
And bore him to the grave.

Vain service! yet not vainly done
For this, if other end were none,
That He, who had been cast
Upon a way of life unmeet
For such a gentle Soul and sweet,
Should find an undisturbed retreat
Near what he loved, at last--

That neighbourhood of grove and field
To Him a resting-place should yield,
A meek man and a brave!
The birds shall sing and ocean make
A mournful murmur for 'his' sake;
And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake
Upon his senseless grave.

poem by William Wordsworth
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Plynth

(hopkins, wood, stewart)
I've woken up on mornings such as this
And thought exactly the same as i'm thinking now
Every night for a year i've slept alone
My cold damp room looks worse than me.
I got a fear of death that creeps on every night
I know i won't die soon but then again i might
Just like water down the drain i'm wasting away
And oh, doctors can't help. a ghost of a man, that's me.
I'm going far
Ah, ah, ah
And oh, water down the drain flows to the sea
The pattern of my life keeps a-hauntin' me
Like moisture from the ocean fills the sky
Comes on down to the ground as time goes by.
Ah, ah, ah
Please don't weep for me when i'm gone
Ah, ah, ah
I got a fear of death that creeps on every night
I know i won't die soon but then again i might
Please don't weep for me when i'm gone
Ah, ah, ah
A fear of death that creeps on every night

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market

Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.

All around you
were lettuces,
sea foam
of the earth,
carrots,
grapes,
but
of the ocean
truth,
of the unknown,
of the
unfathomable
shadow, the
depths
of the sea,
the abyss,
only you had survived,
a pitch-black, varnished
witness
to deepest night.

Only you, well-aimed
dark bullet
from the abyss,
mangled
at one tip,
but constantly
reborn,
at anchor in the current,
winged fins
windmilling
in the swift
flight
of
the
marine
shadow,
a mourning arrow,
dart of the sea,
olive, oily fish.
I saw you dead,
a deceased king
of my own ocean,
green
assault, silver
submarine fir,
seed
of seaquakes,
now
only dead remains,
yet
in all the market
yours
was the only
purposeful form
amid
the bewildering rout
of nature;
amid the fragile greens
you were
a solitary ship,
armed
among the vegetables
fin and prow black and oiled,
as if you were still
the vessel of the wind,
the one and only
pure
ocean
machine:
unflawed, navigating
the waters of death.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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Where Does It Go?

As I watch the
Night Sky
I think of you.
The one I grew
Up with,
The one I always
Talked to,
The one I never left.
I watched the sky
On theanniversary
Of you death.
I feel that in times
Nature atunes to
Our emotions.
I watched the
Night sky.
Your death
Was so abrupt
Everyone was
Shocked.
I watch the
Night sky
As all the
Stars cry.
I stand over the
Grave marked as mine.

The sky bleeds
It's crystal
Tears.
Dead in the winter
A death had
Occured,
People cry for
The lost,
They cry for
The pain.
Now they weep
For my soul
For it is lost.
I can't join
The dead for
It wasn't my
Time, but
I can't be
Alive for my
Body is dead.
I'm lost between
Worlds.
I want to
Sleep.
As I stand over the
Grave marked as mine.
The night of the anniversary
Replays every year.

When I return to the
Scene where I wept
Crimson tears
Every night of the anniversary
The story replays,
But no living soul
Can see it.
Wrong conclusions
Drawn by human thoughts
And yet if they could
See what I do,
Then all will be
Explained
As the night of the anniversary
Replays every year.

As I watch the
Night sky
And all the stars
Cry,
As I stand over the
Grave marked as mine,
The night of the anniversary
Replays every year.

I live on.

poem by Sans Serif
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Automation

a seed that falls to the ground
from a dead, rotten fruit
cracks its covering and
sprouts

a tight bud soon
from a stalk opens up to become
a full blooming flower
with petals proud and
dignified

and so must you girl
be the seed and the bud
and be the full flower that you can be
in full automation

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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