En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Trampling

It was happening.
It was a perverse state,
one by one we were tearing apart,
our wholeness, our human heritage.

A distorted image of beautiful order.
We went assembling the torn limbs.
Each desire was sutured
like a wound, to become a scar.
It was a collective grief of history.

Abrasion of ‘me’, grotesquely
disfigures the face
of soft weightless peace.
Love has never been the same.
The little things have become
enormous ghosts trampling our senses.
Ugly scrawls are scaring.

poem by Satish Verma
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The Answer

Then what is the answer?- Not to be deluded by dreams.
To know that great civilizations have broken down into violence,
and their tyrants come, many times before.
When open violence appears, to avoid it with honor or choose
the least ugly faction; these evils are essential.
To keep one's own integrity, be merciful and uncorrupted
and not wish for evil; and not be duped
By dreams of universal justice or happiness. These dreams will
not be fulfilled.
To know this, and know that however ugly the parts appear
the whole remains beautiful. A severed hand
Is an ugly thing and man dissevered from the earth and stars
and his history... for contemplation or in fact...
Often appears atrociously ugly. Integrity is wholeness,
the greatest beauty is
Organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine beauty
of the universe. Love that, not man
Apart from that, or else you will share man's pitiful confusions,
or drown in despair when his days darken.

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The ugly human face

Wailing with tears and
Helplessly in commotion,
All of you’re telling to write
The history of hatred, enmity, killings,
The history of human ugly face.

My pen is dried up,
Tell me in which medium,
And language should I write.
Where to begin and
Where to end
Such history of human ugly face.

Oh! Betrayer
You’re telling me to wipe out from the history
Of such human ugly face,
That shattered and shook human conscience,
That haunts the face of those innocent people,
Killed and hurt; widows and orphans.
That hums: that reminds.

Telling me just to close my eyes.
But I’m not blind.
Telling me not to speak,
But I’m not dumb.
Telling me not to write the truth,
But I cannot write anything but the truth.
How can I deceive the history where I belong?

Human memory is short,
Tears would dry up,
The blood would be washed away with time
But the silent words, written in the heart of each human ugly face
Imbedded forever and immortal.

Let me dip the pen in the smeared blood,
The blood of all religions, caste, creed and colour, poor and rich,
The thick blood of those innocent persons.

poem by Dr.bhagya Chandra Rajkumar
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Send forth the child and childish man together, and blush for the pride that libels our own old happy state, and gives its title to an ugly and distorted image.

quote by Charles Dickens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forever Tomorrow

beautiful yet ugly
the jellyfish stings until you die
ugly animals turn adorable
beautiful peace,
turns to dreadful hell
clean is made dirty
growing up is faster then ever here
sugar drops float and swim
molecules rush through the water
ugly old gray man monsters come to pray
life is just a hope
because the ribbons are here
ugly strings filled with beautiful nets
and the puffy disgusting mushroom looking things lurk too near us
beautiful and gorgeous when combined,
but ugly, deadly and disgusting when alone

poem by Lola Smith
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Distorted Angel

Strange things seem to occur, somewhere behind the nursery door
Though I was just a bit of a kid, it was the bit that she was looking for
Now I dont know where to begin confessing
The way shes making me feel it cant be a sin
I was taught to believe you were looking down on everyone
And your benevolent face is beautiful to gaze upon
Now I just dont know who to tell to go to hell
Who put the old devil in the distorted angel?
Distorted angel
Pure illuminated sweetness
Frightening small children is just about your only weakness
I thought that you would tell me what Im living for
But I cant see you anymore
I dont know what we did but Im sorry if it made you cry
And if theres any justice at all Id be punished for it Id surmise
It will mark the spot very well where I fell
Under the shadow of the distorted angel
Beneath the shadow of the distorted angel
Below the shadow of the distorted angel
Angel
Beneath the shadow of the distorted angel
Below the shadow of the distorted angel
Angel

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pieces And Peace

if everyone
has his or her own
piece,
shelter,
food,
and every piece of drive
is
satisfied,
sleeping,
napping,
or dormant;

bingo!
a classical
peace,

an
oracle
that does not last.

but,
peace
is not only
a simple
drive,
a hormone,
a piece of chemistry,
a piece of history or geography, or
a piece of culture or a nano-culture.

piece is simply
moving from
threshold
to threshold

without awaken
the sleeping giant
of an ugly war.

war!
I mean
fight,
clashes,
fire,
words,
and all stirred in one boll.

so, choose
or gather
your piece,
pieces, and
peace,
for a beautiful
or an ugly war.

I still have my peace
in one piece,
in one word, and
in one hand,
no matter
how ugly or beautiful
your theatrical piece of war.

this is

poem by Atef Ayadi
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Garden Of Peace

Written by dewey bunnel and gerry beckley, 1994
Found on hourglass.
I look inside at the scarlet room
Places to hide in the dusty gloom
A noisy clock and a silver spoon
A china cup on the mantlepiece
Gathering dust as it did in the east
And just outside lies the garden of peace
Oh, tell me is this really true
Can it be, peace has come to me and you
Tell me over, over and over
Tell me is this really happening
Inside this world its beautiful
Peace in this garden has come true
A mirror pond reflects the dawn
Over the banks, cross the emerald lawn
A breeze has come and Im carried along
So follow the path through the knowing trees
And each time you laugh, it is love you release
That love will come back in the garden of peace
So, tell me is this really true
Can it be, peace has come to me and you
Tell me over, over and over
Tell me is this really happening
Inside this world its beautiful
Peace in the garden has come true
Oh, tell me is this really true
Can it be, peace has come to me and you
Tell me over, over and over
Tell me is this really happening
Inside this world its beautiful
Peace in the garden has come true ...

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tattered & Torn

Tattered and torn
Tattered and torn
Thats where my soul is worn
Tattered and torn
Thats when I was born
Tattered and torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and torn
Tearing myself apart from the
Things that make me hurt

song performed by by Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oklahoma Heritage Center

I wish you could have been with us
When we went on a trip the other day
Our tour guide did a great job
With the Heritage Center on display

The building was renovated
And done with such style and grace
Housing historical pieces
It’s a very exceptional place

The furniture is extraordinary
And you should see the glass chairs
The history just seeps into your mind
And done with wonderful flair

You learn about Oklahomans
That founded this wonderful state
Going way back to the beginning
We can’t even begin to relate

We’re so proud of our heritage
And I know you would love to enter
A special place of past history
Called Oklahoma Heritage Center!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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Tattered and Torn

Tattered and Torn
That's where my soul is worn
Tattered and Torn
That's when I was born
Tattered and Torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and Torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and Torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and Torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and Torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and Torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and Torn
Tearing myself apart from the
things that make me hurt

song performed by by Slipknot from Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shahid, Come And Witness

Shahid,
Come and WITNESS,
The illusions of peace;
Under the serene shades of Naseem Bagh
Everything puts up a sober show,
And i'm forced to forget
The blood on the streets (of Lal Chowk)
The broken glasses(of the ''Dignity'Showroom)
The blurb of the new books on Kashmir
(by eminent''squalors'') ,
resting on the shelves of The Atlantic Book Shop.

Oh! the complacent lilies,
Growing beside the graveyard;
Sheer white, untouched by grief.

Well-clad and pompous,
Speaking;
But not our own lanuage,
Discussing,
But not our own culture,
Our history, our heritage,
Living,
A life haunted by death,
A life of begged 'dignity'.

Oh! the complacent lilies,
The children of graveyard,
Sheer white, untouched by grief.

Are not the gallons of gore,
Enough to paint your petals red! !

And dont you feel to piece together
A mothers heart torn apart,
The pieces of broken glass! ! !

Said tell them,
About the burden of Other's narrative,
About the natives;
The best writers of their own history.

Oh! the hiers of generational corruption,
Come out of these phelegmatic ghettos,
Come out with your eyes wide-open,
With your hearts human! ! ! ! !

Enough is enough,
The cynical answer is Hitler;
I've watched you Romano on BBC,
And gone with you to Auswich,
The bare brute of power,
The pair of your ageing eyes
The irrevocable human losses,
The ugliness of history,
Commiseration and heart-felt sympathy.

Yet, Hitler has his appeals,
You are silent,
Silently murdering our cause,
Your complacency, your brutality because,
Your hearts beat without
The music of revolution.

Can't you come out.....
Can't you come out.....

The vicious cycle of history goes on,
Among the rosy illusions of peace.

poem by Feroz Rather
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Love Kills

I came here for you.
I've watched you for days.
You're everything a man could ever want.
It's not just your face, your figure or your voice.
It's all the things I see in your eyes.
I see a crazy calm.
You're ready to face what you have to face.
But you don't want to face it alone.
She's soft and warm and almost weightless.
Her perfume a sweet promise
that brings tears to my eyes.
I tell her that I'll save her from whatever
she's scared of and take her far, far away.
I tell her I love her.

The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot.

poem by Paddy Jansen
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The Artists.....

the role of a true artist
is to put order to the messy state of things
chopped lines are interconnected again
colors are categorized to a harmonious blending
a room of scattered old and dirty clothes
bedsheets in disarray
pillows on the floor
paper scratches and pens and ink spilled
the artist picks them all up
and puts them properly back to the places
where they must be

for at the beginning there was an order of perfection
but then this universe bangs itself against a black space of a wall
and goes into an accelerated entropy
a scattering, a chaos pursuing upon another chaos
expanding litters of planets and stars

and God the Artist gathers them all into One
Harmony, the Silenced Storm, the Wellness and Wholeness
of These All

We are all these Artists, God's Children looking for Peace.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Long Song of Celebration (pt.I)

Beautiful celebration and tribute to the ageless muse
gift of flowering poesy is a gem delivered to us
from the collective source,
powers of the mind and human will, realization of human potential
Peace Love Humanity Best Wishes always forever
Lucid, loving and intelligent and Beautiful

My senses say, the poem takes on a life of its own and all a poet can do is keep up and listen
my instinct says, just live, just live,
follow what flows in the blood and live.

A tremendous celebration, intimate bond with life and land from which the inspiration sprouts
go outside, just breathe and inhale the earth!
retreating into the depths of the outdoors
great work of Beautiful wisdom speaks to the heart of all

wise ageless souls, young voices
Pure beings of enlightenment!
a bright future, What depth, an ageless gem!

I stress myself for hours trying to convey the same age old message!
Pure Simple Truth, This is all that any poem need say

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Face In The Sky

They said it was seen in the early hours
After heavy rains and morning showers.
A face that appeared in the sky
Behind a colored rainbow way up high.

The face seemed to be looking down
At the destruction on the ground.
Peoples homes torn and shattered
And the cries of help was all that mattered.

People asking ' why is this happening dear lord'
What have we done that 'thou has forsaken us'

Then a voice was heard from up above
' it will not be like NOAH'S ARK
If you change the paths on which you've embarked'

I am putting your future in your hands
What's not to understand.
You think only of the material things that you can hold
Such as money, silver, and bits of gold.

You can not take this with you when it's
Your time to go
for when death comes you will never know.

If you seek me you will see
that I will change the course of history.
It will not show that the earth was
Destroyed by the human hand
Because you opened your eyes- and took a stand.

What is so difficult to accept GOD into your life
When he sent his only begotten son as the sacrifice.
He gave his life so that we could live
How much more would he have to give.
Look at all your rivers and streams
At the green grass and all the trees
At the sun, the moon above
All this was done because his love.

All the conceivable foods to eat
And it was laid at your feet.
What more does he have to do
To show -'his love for you'.

So that face that you see in the sky
Is the reflection of your face
As he passes you by.

poem by Louis Rams
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An Image

An image made by man's design and skills,
What home will you build for me?
An image made by man's imaginations,
An image is what you are;
I was trained with an 'iron-hand' so,
Your 'soft-hands' will not bend me.
Once bitten by a snake,
Twice being afraid of an earthworm;
What kind of love will you share with me?

All lawful things are clean,
A meesage from Candace the Queen of Ethiopia;
Peace is the right choice than war,
Love is the right choice than hate,
All lawful things are truly clean.
When the saints sit among you,
You will know them by their works;
LIke 'MS Columbus',
LIke 'Queen Mary 1',
Like 'MS Aidaaura',
Like 'MS Deutschland',
LIke 'Queen Mary 2',
Like 'Sedov',
Like 'MS Astor',
But light travels faster than sound;
And, all lawful things are clean.

Peace is better than war,
Love is better than hate,
And you don't need whitewashed walls.
When the saints sit among you,
You will know them by their fruits;
Like the land of the singers,
Like the land of the artists,
Like the land of the writers,
Like the land of the mathematicians,
Like the land of the cities at fifty;
All lawful things are really clean.
An image is what you are and,
This world is full of them;
Like the image made from a man's hand,
Of which we are all part of it.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Business of Poetry

The business of poetry

is the image of a young man

making music and love

to a girl whose interest

in love and music coincides

with an enormous despair in both

their inner selves like a plucked

guitar in the dry hot sun of

hope where savage and brutal men

are tearing life like a page

from a very ancient

and yellow

book

poem by Harold Norse
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Tearing And Breaking

Tearing and breaking down
Tearing my heart
Tearing and breaking down
Tearing my heart
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
There goes my heart again
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
Watch my heart fly away
All the love that I have ever known
Came from the sweetest of hearts
Every time I was looking for love
I found it in you
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
There goes my heart again
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
Watch my heart fly away
All the tears you found in your eyes
I know that they were mine
All the love you were trying to disguise
I never could desert
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
There goes my heart again
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
Watch my heart fly away
Saw that look in the eyes and I felt so sorry for myself
I could've cried
Heard you saying goodbye and you know it felt so strange
Cause I know we'd tried
(With all the tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
There goes my heart again
(Tearing and breaking down)
(Tearing my heart)
I can watch it fly away
Tearing and breaking down
Tearing my heart
All the tearing and breaking down
(Tearing my heart)
There goes my heart again
Tearing and breaking down
Tearing my heart
Tearing and breaking down
(Tearing my heart)
Watch my heart fly away, fly away, fly again
Tearing and breaking down
Tearing my heart

song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oyinkansola

Love so strong, love so great
Comes in different forms, style and taste.
Try to love, so much in a haste
so pure is my love for her, a feeling so great.

She brought joy to my household,
giving peace, joy and hope.
I sat on top of the world,
thinking about the sweet words she said to me like a storm.

She has captured my heart,
tearing me apart.
I'm incomplete, waitin for her to fill my heart.
Ugly yet beautiful, such is life
i'm in love chanting your name so high;
OYINKANSOLA! OYINKANSOLA! ! OYINKANSOLA! ! ! .

poem by Randy Micheal
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Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body

How can we find? how can we rest? how can
We, being gods, win joy, or peace, being man?
We, the gaunt zanies of a witless Fate,
Who love the unloving and lover hate,
Forget the moment ere the moment slips,
Kiss with blind lips that seek beyond the lips,
Who want, and know not what we want, and cry
With crooked mouths for Heaven, and throw it by.
Love's for completeness! No perfection grows
'Twixt leg, and arm, elbow, and ear, and nose,
And joint, and socket; but unsatisfied
Sprawling desires, shapeless, perverse, denied.
Finger with finger wreathes; we love, and gape,
Fantastic shape to mazed fantastic shape,
Straggling, irregular, perplexed, embossed,
Grotesquely twined, extravagantly lost
By crescive paths and strange protuberant ways
From sanity and from wholeness and from grace.
How can love triumph, how can solace be,
Where fever turns toward fever, knee toward knee?
Could we but fill to harmony, and dwell
Simple as our thought and as perfectible,
Rise disentangled from humanity
Strange whole and new into simplicity,
Grow to a radiant round love, and bear
Unfluctuant passion for some perfect sphere,
Love moon to moon unquestioning, and be
Like the star Lunisequa, steadfastly
Following the round clear orb of her delight,
Patiently ever, through the eternal night!

poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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