Your Waking Head
Your impressionist,
rift, comes through
uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake
was shedding the skin.
Not walking,
flying like a rage
discharging the burns
in the river of blood.
I shudder,
in the cleft of a grain.
Hymns were howering over the book.
One by one
the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of
unvoiced grief of earth.
A thin faith crumbles
unfinding the lost shroud
of a messiah.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Her legs are like earrings…
Her legs are like earrings, I've never worn.
There something to be dangled,
Before the electrical storm,
Like a fig-vine she snakes through my mind.
Clad in jingling charms these veils fall…
Shedding her skin of fear
Shedding her gilt, she burns to the core.
All scales removed; she wriggles,
Curled like a frond, moist in every pore.
The jugnle has abducted her senses…
A great winding river enters her falls…
Her kisses like big sticky date's tremble.
As she slivers aside, dawns dewy-wet morn.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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I'll Just Start Walking
So much time spent seeking
Not enough time for faith.
If I don’t stop looking
I’ll never find the way.
I’ll just start walking
And trust that I won’t fall.
His promises aren’t conditional,
I’m not saved by my call.
I’ll just start walking
By faith and faith alone,
For earth is merely fleeting,
Heaven is my home.
I don’t know what to do
Or where on earth to go.
I’ll just start walking,
Faith doesn’t have to know.
I won’t just sit here,
Gnawing nails and moaning
Because I don’t have a crystal ball
That tells me just what’s coming.
I’ll just start walking
As best as I know how,
It’s no use waiting any longer
Or wallowing in doubt.
I’ll just start walking,
Yes, I’ll just start walking.
Is that not faith, anyway?
I’ll just start walking.
poem by Sophia White
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Blood Becomes!
black and white,
brown and yellow,
hands disappearing
into hands...
we leaves the sites
of graves untended,
walking towards life,
with both grief and joy!
the smoke still lingers,
and the smell of wet ashes.
but we are more,
we choose to be more!
faces long lost
gather purpose, and names,
as blood becomes,
our peace and our striving!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Snake
life is covered by a layers of skins-meaning, culture, conversational skills, talks, established education, certificates, friends, neighbours, dignity, concepts conditioned, sociality and liberty
When these skins fall off, one cannot even touch the softest metaphors of communication-light itself for success in life
A snake of life
Poisonous thin layers of knowledge of the world
Ancient wisdom comes back as a river of lost footsteps
In the forest of mindscape
A snake
Layers of skins taking off the airports of body
Now you are a man but not a human installing the humanity you yourself are longing for
A snake losing its tracking lines on earth
Snake Skin
I shed my past hurts away
Like a snake
Shedding its old skin
To relish the new shiny skin
I sloughed off some double-tongued associates
Those with slithering words of abuse
which slips in tongue without constraints
their venom more deadly than that of a poisonous snake
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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Lost My Faith
Lost my faith
Lost my faith
This month of October
Strange mood overcomes
Black birds teasing
Nothing seems easy
Lost my faith
Where is the breeze
Fill me with hope
Emptiness grows
As well as sorrow
Lost my faith
Somewhere I’ll go
Find path of happiness
Throw grief and tears
But feel hunting fear
Lost my faith
Thought was a friend
Another painful blow
Nothing is real
Such a painful waste
Lost my faith
As my feelings were true
Now have to go on
Try to forget you
Even so I am hopelessly blue
Lost my faith …..in mankind
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Yeshua is Raised!
If Yeshua the messiah is not raised
My faith is but a lie
Let me eat, drink and be merry
For tomorrow I may as well die.
If Yeshua the messiah be not raised
I earn pity from all of mankind
My faith has no sound foundation
I grope in the dark as the blind.
But Yeshua the messiah IS risen indeed
And he was seen by not a few men
Upward of five hundred at once
Plus those twelve in the upper den.
So, my faith stands firm in the Gospel
That Yeshua came and he died;
That he rose again the third day
On the Holy One of Israel I've relied.
Now, my faith is not founded on fables
Nor on tales that the old women tell,
But on the risen Lord Yeshua the messiah
Who has saved me and keeps me from hell
1 Corinthians 15
poem by Richard Merrell
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Oh My Splendour
You bring me back,
oh my young splendor,
the springs I lost
And echo in my ears
the sweet melodies
of cuckoos I heard last
In my dream garden
new leaves sprout,
Exotic hues blossom
On a floral ramp of roses,
jasmines and chrysanthemums
I see you walking with a beam
clad in a white silk sari
That is flying and fluttering
in air carelessly
With all airs about
caressing your silkier skin
When you sashay towards me,
like Vana Devatha
Like Sakuntala,
on my knees I genuflect with awe;
My eyes eying your secrets,
my lips vying brazenly
With the buzzing honey bees
for your scents heavenly;
My both hands stretched
and palms full with flowers
I bow to your beauty
and with all my senses stammering
I utter, “Hi Sweetie, here is my tender offering! ! ! ”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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As Mother Ganges spoke to me...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Sitting one starlit night on the terrace,
On hill above river in my cottage,
On a chilly December, cosy in a blanket
Around my head, hugging it close to my chest.
Deliriously happy like a child
Perhaps, was that moment truly alive?
River roared and rose to dizzying heights;
Kicked by paeans and hymns sung at twilight.
My heart did a somersault with delight.
In the periphery, saw soft temple lights.
It told me some of her secrets aloud.
And bounced on journey, northward bound.
Today there is a nip in September air;
Somehow overcome with acute despair.
Suddenly heard the secrets and the hymns,
And tears haven’t stopped falling since.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Loving Our Bodies But Only For A Time
i shudder on a possible answer
on the question of
what is it that really makes me desire you?
the temporary and quick answer of course
is your body,
those hands, that hair, those legs, that skin,
i have touched you and it is so good,
but i am worried for how long shall this answer satisfy me
time is staring at me and gives me that quizzical look
of fading and waving
that undulating shape of existence that soon surrenders
to reality
this reality of passing, this change,
this moving away, those leaves that fall and rot and become nothing
but another layer of insignificant ground,
and i shudder again to the next question, as i prepare for the shudder
of my next answer,
i am terrified at last, finding out
that there is nothing in you that is worth loving at all,
that i am but trapped in my body, trapped also into your own body
and we are in this same prison for quite a time
the seasons give us keys of awakening
there is finally nothing in us that is lovable at all
and we see it now, as we glimpse upon the veiled face of
the incoming death
we were fooled, we know that,
but it does not matter now, we have learned and by all means
we are ready to go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Avoiding History
avoiding history is a family tradition,
draft dodging, missing wars, as far
back as my fathers go, I find
no soldiers, no warriors and also
no lovers. we don't write
in my family, we withdraw
our stories on objection, stop
telling them. we keep secrets.
I keep my own secrets and rarely
tell them, keep my truth
from coming back to hurt me.
I learn slowly but I learn well,
to keep my secrets, avoid history.
I avoided history by protesting war
and by refusing to marry.
I learned late, but I learned well.
your eyes tell your history, your belly,
in its soft geography, hints at mine.
I don't enlist, I avoid being drafted,
my bridges burn behind me.
I read history in the slope of her breasts,
her silence uses me in my telling.
I have many ways to lie,
using a sharp knife to separate
flesh from nerve, bone and tendon.
how many times have I undressed you,
hearing you tell me that I don't care
about anything, until you turn
away from me, turn on me, turn
to stone. I turn you over, exploring
history in the cleft of your ass,
touching with my hands but never
touching you, feeling alone finally,
shedding uniforms and telling stories.
lies return in the secrets I keep, hints
I cover with long explanations.
you come to me, naked, asking questions
and feel betrayed, telling me finally
that I don't matter and never
was real to you. I tell you
I was a soldier, that I fought,
and you lie to me by undressing yourself,
nakedness concealing your aims.
I read history in the curve of your thighs,
my tongue seeking your skin, seeking
you in your skin, tasting
beneath your skin. I find
your secrets, I tell your history
and turn my back to you. in sleep,
you back away, waking,
you dismiss me and I write a secret
history, full of lies and silences.
poem by Jesse Weiner
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See The Snake In Her Eyes
Look into the wind, your empty thoughts wrapped up and thrown out in the bin, the igloo was cold, you should have been told, life can be good if you don't have no soul. The pictures that fall from your marshmallow walls, keep reminding me of times, out on the street, no skin on my feet, the blood opens up from hands and thighs, and yet I remember, yet I remember.
See the snake in her eye’s.
The dentist he smiles with a toothless reply, neon lights like a hawk, they gazed down, sodden, brazen only to frown. I'm fumbling around, lost and stupid around on the ground. I've come to the end, the sound of waves crashing a remarkable friend. But long distant pier, and some more frothy beer, curled up in comfort before she dies, and yet I remember, yet I remember.
See the snake in her eye’s.
The world, she's looking in, but I have to remember, she's just made of tin, she smiles as she crawls, up and down my marshmallow walls, sucking the sweet, caressing my feet, but they have no skin, extra blood is an added treat. Sense the tingle, even the needle. She sends me high, yet I remember, yet I remember.
See the snake in her eye’s.
So now, I cried by the walls, of Jerusalem walls, wish to climb and linger and I long to fall. I talk to the tree’s, for they talk to me, just make a nonsense of it all. I dance with the crows, for they are so bold, so black and so very old. Temptation calls, they point to a cross that makes me look so small and dross, I find my own nails, dipped them in such a holy Grail, the Grail has no time and throws me back to rhyme and rhyme. So I must seek the way back to the street, where my love I trusted to blue skies, yet I remember, must always remember.
See the snake in her eye’s.
poem by Fergus Michael Condron
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Under A Stagnant Sky
Under a stagnant sky,
Gloom out of gloom uncoiling into gloom,
The River, jaded and forlorn,
Welters and wanders wearily--wretchedly--on;
Yet in and out among the ribs
Of the old skeleton bridge, as in the piles
Of some dead lake-built city, full of skulls,
Worm-worn, rat-riddled, mouldy with memories,
Lingers to babble to a broken tune
(Once, O, the unvoiced music of my heart!)
So melancholy a soliloquy
It sounds as it might tell
The secret of the unending grief-in-grain,
The terror of Time and Change and Death,
That wastes this floating, transitory world.
What of the incantation
That forced the huddled shapes on yonder shore
To take and wear the night
Like a material majesty?
That touched the shafts of wavering fire
About this miserable welter and wash -
(River, O River of Journeys, River of Dreams!) -
Into long, shining signals from the panes
Of an enchanted pleasure-house,
Where life and life might live life lost in life
For ever and evermore?
O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O, the insuperable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
These fatuous, ineffectual Yesterdays!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The River of Blood
It’s the river of blood
Initiated by the enemies of God
And when advised too or told to stop
They just give you the nod
The nod of ignorance and cruelty
The nod of no life and no feel
As they are told about they’re evilness
They believe that none of it is real
It’s the river of blood
That flows down a dark and red stream
And as I dip my hand in, it feels like sour, bitter cream
It’s the river of blood
The river of cruelty and pain
The river of blood
The river that flows in vain
The river that will never end
The river full of the dead
The river where they remain silently hopeless
The river where the majority of them bled
It’s this river of blood where I inject my power and strength from
It’s this river full of blood where my victory will soon come
The river of blood, the river that will soon contain me
It’s this river where my blood has long sought to be
The river of blood that shall soon end with an atrocious fight
The river of blood, the river that will no longer stay at sight.
poem by Marria Attar
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Lost My Faith
We both know
That the harder we try
Can't understand it
We're so caught up in the reasons why
Station to station
And we couldn't even say their names
I realized it
Was just a game
I had lost my faith
Long ago
I had lost my faith
Long ago
I can see
That if I stay close to your side
All of my pressures now
I know they will subside
If ever you need me
All you gotta do is fall
I hear you sayin'
That you got it all
I had lost my faith
Long ago
I had lost my faith
Long ago
A stranger so it seems
I lie here for you touch
But what I'd like to know
Is why do I want you so much
You say that's all the same
All through my life
I have
Waited for you
And
Have you waited too
are you feeling what I'm feeling
Ohhhh.... I
I had lost my faith
Long ago
I had lost my faith long ago
I had lost my faith
Long ago
I had lost my faith
Long ago
I lost my faith
I lost my faith
I lost my faith
Ohh love
song performed by by Seal from Human Beings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Weeping So!
Lying under the violin tree,
I hear the song of sorrow.
And wait for a better and
Happier good morrow!
I get the smell of the burning heart,
I feel getting away far, and far…
Where there is no, painful tune,
Will be chasing me ever!
You know, how blessed am I with,
My joyful home and hearth!
Still, I lack the world for all,
And a peaceful good earth….
The leaves of the tree fall,
Upon me, I can not count,
How many they could be in all!
I'm lying there on leaves' mount.
Who plays his finger on my
Sad full heart, I don't even know!
The grief is shedding,
Tear on me, I'm weeping so!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Snake Eyes
She dances in the shadow of rhythm
Lost to my kindred sprit upon the southern wild,
Lost to me is she who rose in freedom upon
The dark romance of the velvet underground,
Lost to me is she kissed so well the moment
With her embrace of an Indian summer.
Snake eyed she turns
Alive she burns with grace
Known only to the spirited
Dancers of the warm and fragment night.
Snake eyes of a natural faith
Beckon wisdom beyond her years,
In her arms may the fears of the
World decay know life anew
Throughout the most scared
Acts of creation divine.
poem by David Lacey
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Secrets Of Life
Mysteries
once
pondered
unknown
nowapparent.
When the
threads
of life
begin to
unravel.
Time has
a way
of letting
it's secrets
be
revealed.
poem by Heather Burns
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It's The Messiah
It must have been something
Being born in a manger
With the sheep from the feilds
And stars shining over your head.
It must have been something
Seeing three wise men
On their knees before a newborn
With their eyes all aglow.
'Cause in their hearts they know
Chours:
It's the Messiah
He's come at last
It's the Messiah
He's come at last.
It must have been something
Speaking the word of your Father
With the promise of life
And peace forever.
It must have been something
Walking the streets of Jeruselem
With the sins of the world
The innosence of a lamb.
But soon everone will know.
Chorus.
It's the Messiah
He's come at last
It's the Messiah
He's with us at last...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conversations With Hune (Part Two)
does rain fall,
or does the earth rise?
is the moon the mistress of the sun?
do trees mourn when leaves fall?
do mountains dance when the earth is sleeping?
do wars express man's heart?
are they blood sacrifices to man's fears?
are the gods men worship
merely extensions of their selves...
be the self the disease,
or the cure?
does love always demand crucifixion?
and who is it that we crucify?
is the darkness of night
any different than the light of day?
who wrote the book
before there were words?
the more alike we are
the more we hate!
do we worship birth by killing?
are we then fools to define the wind?
much less try to hold it!
hands were made to be open,
yet we always grasp.
we are born to die,
yet we are afraid!
of what?
time itself much like sand...
always shifting,
and hiding footprints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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