The Puppeteer Dies
the puppeteer dies
and black sunrise
a single tear falls to her breast
white on white
bonjour tristesse
her fallen hero
twisted strings
their staring eyes
and no bird sings
that day he died
released the world from all it's strings
and under papier-mache skies
with crimsoned cheeks
and wild wide eyes
they did their burn-out promenade
yet only slightly
they delayed the brunches at the smart cafes
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Death of the Puppeteer
the day the puppeteer died
with gloved hands
he thrust the shutters open wide
while out at sea
yachts edge balanced on the roof's red tiles
straggling in single file
and light explodes as he sings
and drags his strings
from the crooked white fingers on the bed
a new world unravelling deep inside his wooden head
somehow down the stairs
across the hall
the hotel dog draws back against the wall
he finds the shade
a slatted chair on the promenade
discovered near the carousel
they hung him up to dry
and there he dances in the wind
with wild and staring eyes
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Puppeteer
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
It is still the cost is on our shoulders.
Leader of nothing.
With words of speeches that have no meaning.
They fell for it hook line and sinker.
Now it is time to pull off the shroud.
Show them the monster I really am.
Satan aint got sh! * on him.
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
They say we love him.
But it was his false claims and ideas.
Given up as soon as he got in.
A solution to a problem we created.
How come now we feel so jaded.
We were once again manipulated.
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
Promise broken, dreams stolen.
All by this man who rides in on a white horse.
He looks promising lets keep him for another term.
Oh where do we sign.
He says there on the dotted lines.
He claims he's the ender of all suffering.
And I say I haven't seen this yet.
I feel so abandon by this master.
Oh master puppeteer
What is it this time.
What's on the agenda today.
Into the fray.
With no delay
Pulling strings that cause so much dismay.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invisible Strings
(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barely Disfigured
Adieu Tristesse
Bonjour Tristesse
Farewell Sadness
Hello Sadness
You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling
You are inscribed in the eyes that I love
You are not poverty absolutely
Since the poorest of lips denounce you
Ah with a smile
Bonjour Tristesse
Love of kind bodies
Power of love
From which kindness rises
Like a bodiless monster
Unattached head
Sadness beautiful face.
poem by Paul Eluard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yearning
Misted the flowers weep as light dies
Moon of white silk sleeplessly cries.
Stilled - Phoenix wings.
Touched - Mandarin strings.
This song tells secrets that no one knows
To far Yenjan on Spring breeze it goes.
To you it flies
Through the night skies.
Sidelong - Eyes. How
White tears fill now!
Heart’s pain? Come see -
In this mirror with me.
Black and White
My world is black and white,
The colors I see is black and white,
Hold me tight,
Don’t let me go,
See the tears I have cried,
Listen to my cry,
Look into my eyes,
My world is black and white,
Cut my wrist,
Black my eyes,
Blacken these thoughts I think of,
Black and white is all I can see,
The tears is all I can feel,
Feel me fading away,
Watching myself falling apart,
Look deep into my eyes,
Can you see me,
Can you feel the pain I feel,
I don’t understand why I am feeling this sad,
All the moments that once we shared has faded away like others have,
I never did tried to see the beyond the black and white clouds,
I need to face what I have become,
I need to find my way back,
The black and white is all I can see and feel,
My world has been black and white.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Sides, One Coin
White bird of peace,
won't you please come save me,
since I'm swallowed by grief and I need sweet release.
Black bird of death,
won't you wrap 'round my neck,
as the ace, king, and queen fall away from the deck.
The caged bird sings,
but the lone bird dies;
Set it free, let it be, let it open your eyes.
poem by William Blake Beckett
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The Rosary
Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings
Shall all men praise the Master of all song.
Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long;
And skilled must be the laureates of kings.
Silent, O lips that utter foolish things!
Rest, awkward fingers striking all notes wrong!
How from your toil shall issue, white and strong,
Music like that God's chosen poet sings?
There is one harp that any hand can play,
And from its strings what harmonies arise!
There is one song that any mouth can say, --
A song that lingers when all singing dies.
When on their beads our Mother's children pray
Immortal music charms the grateful skies.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Margaret's Bridal Eve
I
The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Tall Margaret wept bitterly:
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
II
O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.
Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when I awake in the morn!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:
And the bird sings over the roses.
Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:
There is a rose in the garden;
Poor comfort she had of her comeliness
And the bird sings over the roses.
My mother will sink if this thing be said:
There is a rose in the garden;
That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;
And the bird sings over the roses.
He died on my shoulder the third cold night:
There is a rose in the garden;
I dragged his body all through the moonlight:
And the bird sings over the roses.
But when I came by my father's door:
There is a rose in the garden;
I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:
There is a rose in the garden;
Could I follow the lover I loved so well!
And the bird sings over the roses.
III
The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart:
There is a rose that's ready;
Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
The frill of her nightgown below the left breast:
There is a rose that's ready;
Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O few are the brides with such a sign!
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I went mad the fault was mine:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I must speak to him under this roof to-night:
There is a rose that's ready;
I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound:
There is a rose that's ready;
Than when I scored you red and swooned:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I will stab my honour under his eye:
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!
There is a rose that's ready;
Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean:
There is a rose that's ready;
You carry no mark of what has been!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
IV
An hour before the chilly beam:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The bridegroom started out of a dream:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and there espied:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The figure of his silent bride:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and let her in:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Whiter looked she than a child of sin:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She looked so white, she looked so sweet:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She looked so pure he fell at her feet:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He fell at her feet with love and awe:
Red rose and white in the garden;
A stainless body of light he saw:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!
Red rose and white in the garden;
My bride! by the angels at night are you led?
And the bird sings over the roses.
I am not led by the angels about:
Red rose and white in the garden;
But I have a devil within to let out:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret! my bride and saint!
Red rose and white in the garden;
There is on you no earthly taint:
And the bird sings over the roses.
I am no saint, and no bride can I be:
Red rose and while in the garden;
Until I have opened my bosom to thee:
And the bird sings over the roses.
To catch at her heart she laid one hand:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She told the tale where she did stand:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She stood before him pale and tall:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Her eyes between his, she told him all:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.
With never a quiver her mouth did speak:
Red rose and white in the garden;
O when she had done she stood so meek!
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He did but waken a little smile:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom raged and called her foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He muttered a name full bitter and sore:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:
Red rose and white in the garden;
When through the household flew the tale:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The old grey mother she dressed the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
With a shivering chin and never a tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you but done as I bade you, my child!
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not have died and been reviled:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you been false as the women who stray:
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not be now with the Angels of Day!
And the bird sings over the roses.
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pulling My Strings
Again I feel it. Some one holding me back, Someone pulling my string. The more I move the more I feel your presence. An Outsider, Anonymous Onlooker. So Tell Me Did You Get Want. Do I Satisfy In Your Dark Deceitful Eyes. Hide Behind The Sunrise, That Fine But I Still Know Your There Pulling My Strings Like You Can Control Me. Avoid Me, Deny Me, I Don't Really Care Cause I Know You Are Still. Watching And Waiting. For What I Don't Really Know. If Your Waiting For An Invitation Here It Is Please Speak And I Will Listen. Again I feel it. Chills Right Up Spine. Someone Is Holding Me Back, Someone Is Pulling My Strings. She Wont Go Away Why I Just Don't Know But Yet She Wont Let Her Presence Truly Known. Like A Ghost Theirs A Glimpse Then Its Gone. Fading In To Just Fade Out. I'm Not Crazy, She There. Again I Feel It. Like What See, Come In The Open Get Better Look. A picture last forever. A glance cant even be etched into memory. But Still Your Pulling my strings oh Pulling My Strings
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Plainte Eternelle
The sun sinks down, the tremulous daylight dies.
(Down their long shafts the weary sunbeams glide.)
The white-winged ships drift with the falling tide,
Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes!
The tall white ships drift with the falling tide.
(Far, far away I hear the seamews' cries.)
Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes !
There is no room now in my heart for pride.
Come back, come back ! with pity in your eyes.
(The night is dark, the sea is fierce and wide.)
There is no room now in my heart for pride,
Though I become the scorn of all the wise.
I have no place now in my heart for pride.
(The moon and stars have fallen from the skies.)
Though I become the scorn of all the wise,
Thrust, if you will, sharp arrows in my side.
Let me become the scorn of all the wise.
(Out of the East I see the morning ride.)
Thrust, if you will, sharp arrows in my side,
Play with my tears and feed upon my sighs.
Wound me with swords, put arrows in my side.
(On the white sea the haze of noon-day lies.)
Play with my tears and feed upon my sighs,
But come, my love, before my heart has died.
Drink my salt tears and feed upon my sighs.
(Westward the evening goes with one red stride.)
Come back, my love, before my heart has died,
Down sinks the sun, the tremulous daylight dies.
Come back ! my love, before my heart has died.
(Out of the South I see the pale moon rise.)
Down sinks the sun, the tremulous daylight dies,
The white-winged ships drift with the falling tide.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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Doubt
Heat & say it.
at the chock deer
Let her go.
Trade, the horse
heads, running wild,
in black-and-white
Swallow the crown
The crowned fair
Burn, clean light
The doubt
Once I loved the memories of the mirrors.
Twist on the faith -deep in the caves
Insane, they don't know,
Lips, and words, blind forget.
Like a tra- la- la song
I drifted & dust
Burn your eyes
Deep, tremble
Your sight
Death mess your mind,
afraid condensed, deep inside
It trumpets your feel.
Spit and stand,
Inside me juggle.
He was you,
The hungry lion,
hunted and buried.
Like Puppets tied at strings,
crawling, like tangled wings
where there is not stood.
I see you holding the scissors.
Cutting the strings,
Turn you apart
Curdle your lips.
Red sour kiss
Medicine incurable
Tied up on my bed
With you, my baby
Melt like thunder,
between storm and forms
Talk to the lord
The eyes are the place.
The moon high temple crystal closet
out of the ocean, on the highest mountain, deep on the sea
Cold, as hard, wishes pass by.
Treat me, try me, one more time.
poem by Luca Menin
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The puppet
I am not your puppet
You can’t pull my strings
I will only dance
To the tunes that I play
Arms and legs sometimes freeze
I can’t pull my own strings
Paralysed by fear
I am the puppet
And the puppeteer
So I take a knife
And I cut those strings
They were holding me back
But now my spirit soars free
I lose myself in the rhythm
Of the up tempo beat
As I clap my hands
And stamp my feet
Anne Deborah Morgan
October 2009
poem by Anne Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black & White
I am one with the world tonight
I am proud to be this far from you
You say that you have no regrets
But I know that you do
You told me someone stole the eye
I know him too
Ive come to the conclusion - yes, I know
That between black and white, there is no room for two
The scale might be wide, but there's no need to be blind
Cause between black and white, there is no room for two
I leave all of the grey behind
I see clear, I know that Ill find
You claim that you are innocent
But tell me who isnt
You think that youre going to be saved
Theres no such thing as a saint
Ive come to the conclusion - yes, I know
That between black and white, there is no room for two
The scale might be wide, but there is no need to be blind
Cause between black and white, there is no room for two
I've come to the conclusion - yes I know
That between black and white, there is no room for two
The scale might be wide, but there is no need to be blind
Cause between black and white, there is no room for two
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fitzsimmons Returns
The mirror never lies,
Your mother said.
You look in it now,
The mirror reflects
You in the midst
Of half way dressing.
You hold the green
Corset strings, waiting
For the maid Fitzsimmons.
You’ve rung for her twice.
No sight of her or sound.
Been busy, she’ll say,
Have other things to do
Other than run around
After you. And she’ll say it
In that Irish tongue of hers,
With her deep blue eyes
Peering into your eyes
As if she sought your soul.
You fidget. Pull the strings.
Stare in the large mirror.
She’s done your hair
Nice enough as she can
And does, then ran off
To the ring of some bell
From some other quarter.
You pull the strings tighter.
Breath in, pull even tighter.
She even laid out the clothes,
Neatly as she does; shoes
Polished to a bright shine.
You stiffen and listen.
A loud voice bellows
Down the passage;
The canaries in the cage,
Take flight in fright.
Fitzsimmons returns,
The passage vibrates.
Your thin fingers hold
The green corsets strings,
They visibly shake,
The maid is coming,
She sings, the swish
Of her stiff black dress,
You gaze in the mirror,
See eyes and hair
And a touch of fear
Burning there.
poem by Terry Collett
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One Day You Dissolve Into Whiteness...
a white car waits for you
at the white side of the road
you are in your white suit
white socks and white shoes
you are white yourself
pale lips and snowy face
dusty eyes, clear tears
falling down to your cheeks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My sad eyes
My sad eyes
blurred by tears
heart broken
by the world they now see
My sad eyes
now look down
afraid to look upon
all thats black
My sad eyes
full of aqua blue
the whitest of white
so wonderess
yet so pained
My sad eyes
the all seeing
the all feeling
the all knowing
My sad eyes
one tear holds
a hundred diffrent reasons for there saddness
My sad eyes
please someone wipe away the hurt
poem by Vincent Armone
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The Young Lieutenant
The young lieutenant's face was grey.
As came the day.
The watchers saw it lifting white
And ghostlike from the pool of night.
His eyes were wide and strangely lit.
Each thought in that unhallowed pit:
“I, too, may seem like one who dies
With wide, set eyes.”
He stood so still we thought it death,
For through the breath
Of reeking shell we came, and fire,
To hell, unlit, of blood and mire.
Tianced in a chill delirium
We wondered, though our lips were dumb
What precious thing his fingers pressed
Against his breast.
His left hand clutched so lovingly
What none might see.
All bloodless were his lips beneath
The straight, white, rigid clip of teeth.
His eyes turned to the distance dim;
Our sleepless eyes were all on him.
He stirred; we aped a phantom cheer.
The hour was here!
The young lieutenant blew his call.
“God keep us all!”
He whispered softly. Out he led;
And over the vale of twisted dead,
Close holding that dear thing, he went.
On through the storm we followed, bent
To pelt of iron and the rain
Of flame and pain.
His wan face like a lodestar glowed
Down that black road,
And deep among the torn and slain
We drove, and twenty times again
He squared us to the charging hordes.
His word was like a hundred swords.
And still a hand the treasure pressed
Against his breast.
Our gain we held. Up flamed the sun.
“The ridge is won,”
He calmly said, and, with a sigh,
“Thank God, a man is free to die!”
He smiled at this, and so he passed.
His secret prize we knew at last,
For through his hand the jewel's red,
Fierce lustre bled.
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Cau Sloncek
Little white lines will take your life
You smoke some stuff and try to ease your mind
Drown in booze your gonna lose
The stakes are your life when you try to pay those dues
You've got him breathing down your neck
And soon you'll see your just a marionette
Who pulls the strings
Who makes you do those things
Who pulls the strings
Who makes you do those things
You think your free but these chains you cannot see
They're wrapped tight on you and they never let you be
Sins desire will take you down to the fire
But God's the only one who can stop the twisted liar
song performed by by Zmelkoow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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