Whose Truth.
You have no monopoly
on truth, says Daultil.
It wears a many coloured
coat; each one picks out
colours for their own cloth.
We sit like those in Plato’s
cave seeing shadows dance
upon the wall and think those
shadows reality and the fire
giving off flames some god
who cares. Daultil sips his
flask of booze. You watch
him lift it to his lips. His words
hang around your head like
flies about a horse’s eyes.
Glunk glunk goes his flask
lifted by him to take his fill.
He sets it down, wipes his lips
and says, Pilate never knew
the truth, he thought it just a
random choice of this or that
of this sad world’s philosophies;
he could not see beyond his
nose or dull thought’s reach.
You keep your silence, watch
as Daultil undoes the buttons
of his pants and pees, his fingers
having DTs shake the piss upon
his pants but he doesn’t noticed
or if he does he doesn‘t care just
lifts his head like some dozy bull
and looks at you with vacant stare.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sarah
Sarah hangs her head down low.
she won't let them see her cry.
Nobody hears. Nobody cares.
No one's there to watch her die.
Sarah doesn't want to eat.
She starves away her fear.
Thinking if she lost a few more pounds,
She might just disappear.
Sarah starts to hate herself.
she can't bear to exist.
She's not strong. She's not brave.
So she puts a cut on each damned wrist.
Sarah's mind is a disease,
Her heart a hollow cave.
She doesn't fight. She doesn't hope.
She knows she can't be saved.
Sarah just wants to be loved.
She lies down on the floor.
She doesn't try to hide her tears.
She's just not worth it anymore.
Sarah hangs her head down low.
She's too far gone to cry.
Nobody hears. Nobody cares.
No one's there to watch her die.
Ode To Boy
When he moves I watch him from behind
He turns and laughter flickers in his eyes
Intent and direct when he speaks, I watch his lips
And when he drives I love to watch his hand
White and smooth almost feminine, almost american, I have to watch him.
(chorus)
In his face age descends on youth, exaggeration on the truth
He caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgot
And everything he seems to do reflects just another shade of blue
I saw him searching into you and ached a while
I watch his lips caress the glass,
His fingers stroke its stem and pass
To lift a cigarette at last, he dries his eyes
From a shadow by the stair
I watch as he weeps unaware
That Im in awe of his despair, but I am there
(chorus repeat)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To Boy
When he moves I watch him from behind
He turns and laughter flickers in his eyes
Intent and direct when he speaks, I watch his lips
And when he drives I love to watch his hand
White and smooth almost feminine, almost american, I have to watch him.
(chorus)
In his face age descends on youth, exaggeration on the truth
He caught me looking then but soon his eyes forgot
And everything he seems to do reflects just another shade of blue
I saw him searching into you and ached a while
I watch his lips caress the glass,
His fingers stroke its stem and pass
To lift a cigarette at last, he dries his eyes
From a shadow by the stair
I watch as he weeps unaware
That Im in awe of his despair, but I am there
(chorus repeat)
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Void
I've seen so many faces
These hands have lied before
I've kissed so many lips it's blocked my mind
I've whispered bullshit, nothings
I've cried alone in night
I thought I'd found the one a million times
But doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you in my heart?
And doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
I let a stranger love me
I gave away my pride
I bit my lips, so I could block my mind
I've called your name to others
Just like a spinal chord
Severed and broken but the spark still tries
And doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you in my heart?
Doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the noise?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
They don't know you like I do
They don't see the good inside you
They don't lie with you in bed and join you when you're dreaming
They don't see your softer side
Who'll be there to turn your light on?
Who will try to wash away the stain that love has left us?
Doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone kill the place of you in my heart?
Doesn't anyone bring the noise?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
song performed by by Darren Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Pants On
My little sister is talking to me like an Army Commander!
But she has no pants on and i don't know why;
And i am exemplified by nature's care.
It is not easy when you are left alone without car,
So seek to know the truth always;
For she is naked before me and giving me commands,
But i have to let her wear her pants.
It is better to die a Bachelor than to fall into the traps of love,
For there is always a prey to where the eagle flies to;
And i am the easy access in her hand today.
DO grow with time and do learn a lot,
For i have no roses to share with the thief!
But i will try to pick you with my bicycle because,
My sisiter needs to put her pants on
Somebody needs to talk to her because,
She can't stop the rain from falling;
But she has no pants on and i don't know why.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liar, Liar Pants On Fire
Liar, liar we see the fire
coming from your mouth each day.
The fire that burns the truth
as we struggle along our way,
the fire that inflames the heart of those
that are tired of the words you speak.
So many deceptions that come our way
day after day, week after week.
Liar, liar, pants on fire
what will it take to see you on a burning pyre?
Never a trustworthy thought do you keep.
How can you close your eyes and sleep?
It has become your way of living.
You say nothing that's worth forgiving.
For you're a liar, liar
with your pants on fire.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shadows On The Wall
When the fantasy we live in
Lies in pieces on the ground
And there is no false illusion
That can turn your heart around
Nothing can change the way I feel
Nothing can take your love from me
If only I didnt worry
If only I could see
If only I could see
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they dance on the floor
Chasing dreams that were forever young
Now Im on my own
Chasing shadows on the wall
Shadows on the wall
On the sea of mediocrity
Drifting from a distant shore
No goodbyes no celebration
No-one there to close the door
Only the silence that I feel
Only the lonely road is real
If only I didnt loose you
If only we could be
If only we could be
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they dance on the floor
Chasing dreams that were forever young
Now Im on my own
Chasing shadows on the wall
Shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they start to fall
Chasing dreams that were forever young
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they dance on the floor
Chasing shadows on the wall
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Prince Charming
I'm looking for a man, a prince of a man. He
doesn't have to be knockout gorgeous like
the one who bedazzled Cinderella, nor does
he have to be as tall, dark or handsome as
any typical fairy-tale man.
He doesn't necessarily have to be athletic,
there will be no need for him to climb a tall
tower on braided hair, swing from vines tree
to tree, nor fight his way through briars to kiss
me on the lips.
He doesn't have to be a giant but he must be
a few feet taller than the tallest seventh dwarf,
or at least as tall as two of them combined.
I'm looking for a man, one who's as hot as a
gingerbread man fresh out of the oven. He
must possess more fashion sense than
Robin Hood yet have his good aim, especially
in bed. And while in bed, he can howl like a
wolf if he wants to, but I better never find him
dressed up in my grandmother's clothes.
It would be okay if he chose to live life a
little dangerously, but he must possess
enough sense to know when not to sit on a
wall and fall and break his head.
In all instances he must be able to look me
in the eye and tell me the truth and not
make me have to chant, Liar, liar, pants on
fire while his nose grows longer inch by inch.
If he eats my bowl of porridge he has to be
able to fess up and I never want to have to
ask him, Who's been sleeping in my bed?
He must have his wits about him and have
enough common sense to know whether he's
wearing a new set of clothes or is in fact,
butt naked.
It's okay if he lets off a little steam now and
then, but he can't be a bully and must never
huff and puff, cigarettes.
If you meet the above qualifications, give me a
call. Who knows, if we hit it off, we just might
have the chance to live happily ever after.
The End.
poem by Betty Bleen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mirror
Who is that person,
that keeps staring at me,
whenever I go to look,
in a mirror?
I don't know her,
for who she's become,
I only know her,
for who she was.
She was so kind,
and thoughtful before,
but now she hides,
within the deeps shadows.
She's not who I thought,
she would become,
if anything she's,
the exact opposite.
She has thoughts,
and does things,
that she knows she shouldn't.
But it seems as though,
she really doesn't care,
about me who just stands,
seeing all she's done.
She doesn't care,
that's really it,
she has not a,
care in the world.
poem by Katherine Bryce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dance in the shadows
do you ever think your not good enough,
and that you dont fit in
do you ever think you weak and not tough
and that you cant ever win
So dance in the shadows so no one can see
dance in the shadows and you'll be free
dance in the shadows just to be you
dance in the shadows so your not blue
do you think your always alone
and you want someone there
do you think all your chances have been blown
and that no one cares
So dance in the shadows to let it all out
dance it the shoadows and mess about
dance in the shadows to show that you dont care
dance in the to show you can bear
let them see the real you
prove to them you fine and let it be
show them that your not blue
because you dance in the shadows and you became free
poem by Paige Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Britches
(words & music by wayne - edwards)
Beware of a gal in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o
Never trust no gal in britches
No-di-o-di-o
If you had a sense of this here horse
You would have known it by now of course
Who wears the britches is the boss
Thats a gal, thats a gal in britches
Dont mess with a gal in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o
No feminine gal wears britches
No-di-o-di-o
Shell beg you to come to the country dance
You ride twenty miles for the big romance
She shows up in her brothers pants
Whatd you expect from a girl in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o-i-ay, its none of my misfortune
Yo-di-o-di-o-di-ay, just thought youd like to know
Dont marry no gal in britches
Yo-di-o-di-o
Youll never know which is whichs
No-di-o-di-o
Shell put a halter through your nose
Have you cooking and washing clothes
While she goes chasing them buffaloes
Bet your boots, thats a gal in britches.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Which Is Which
> To beware of the truth.
> Is truth...it, self?
> So, what is truth?
>
> Is truth, true love?
> Or...just a reality?
> To be a man...is that truth?
>
> A man...is reality.
> A woman...is reality.
> To be woman...is that truth?
>
> To have more then one partner
> Is a reality of the world.
>
> Which this world agrees.
> Truth is; in my point of view
> Is what one claims to be truth.
>
> But, the truth is whatever you
> Are doing as I speak.
> A woman is good for the soul.
>
> That truth is very bold.
> A man lives for his manhood
> So I am told.
>
> Is it truth or reality?
> Respect is in the middle of the spectrum.
> Male vs. Female
>
>
> That is truth.
> Man being woman
> A reality.
>
> Woman being man...
> She tries.
> Respect cover both the unreal and the wise.
>
> Truth or reality...we never really
> Give it much thought.
> Maybe it was the way we are taught.
>
> Truth or reality...
> Which is Which?
>
>
> whisperkwane
>
> [email protected]
>
>
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never Too Old
You’re never too old to pop plastic bubbles
Never too old to have a twinkle in your eye
Never too old to stir up some trouble
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never to old to sneak a few cookies
Never too old to give someone the ‘eye’
Never too old to like ‘Star Wars and Wookies’
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never too old to enjoy a good dirty joke
Never too old to still wish you could fly
Never too old to think you could croak
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never too old to splash thru a puddle
Never too old to watch a fire truck scream by
Never to old for tag football and to huddle
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never too old to get a bean stuck in your nose
Never too old to like a big slice of pizza pie
Never too old to toss away your support hose
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never to old to be young at heart
And if you ever let that thought enter your head
if you ever start thinking that way you ol’ f*#t
You’re not young at heart…you’re just dead
In another poem I said “sing a little song,
And “Do a little dance, ” was another part.
To “Spritch a little seltzer down your pants” is never wrong
You’re never too old to be young at heart
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smooth With Curves
She dances smooth with curves
Or could it be the ocean
I never could tell them apart
Until the jazz steps set in
But he asks her not to
Politely, or so she seems
Maintains that her spirit’s smothered
And then the bad days set in
Chorus:
Baby, step back
Just a second
Look at your feet with me
Don’t hold your head so high
When you look at me
And remember where
We used to be
Baby moves on
Don’t step back
We know we’re left
Baby step right
Take a breath
Take a turn on your dime
And dance
Don’t do this dance with me
She his him smooth in schemes
With words on some small ocean
That stands gently waving between
Good days they’ve seen in motion
It doesn’t keep her hands
Off the lips that she’s used to
And another love stands smothered
He tells her with his own moves
Chorus
She’s losing her breath with it
He sets the black guitar down
The walls and pillows turn lone’ blue
And the waves splash out the sound
Baby, she is sorry
If he grows deeper the ocean
So will she, the song’s never good
And she wipes salt from his eyes
Chorus
And dance
Put your hands on me
Just dance
Put yourself on me
And dance
Splash your tears on me
Just rest
Spill your lips on me
Just dance
poem by Frankie Renae
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over Her
Over her
I thought I was
I thought I knew
Just because
I dried my eyes
From crying nights
And made a vow
I wont allow
My heart again
To sink that low
Although I know
Inside I feel
She's there
Aware
I'm not
Over her
And she
Doesn't care
What was in my head
Still is there
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cave Principle
I crawl across the floor never see the light
Only shadows on the wall
Somebody said there's reality behind
But I'm afraid to turn and fall - oh no
Set me free - for eternity
And now they talk about my destiny again
I hear their footsteps in the dark
But then again there was the silence and the pain
Uh lord that made me feel so lost
Heal me - get out of here
Save me - my world's an illusion
I'm still inside the cave imprisoned in on mind
And silhouettes on the wall
I have to turn around to see what's goin' on
Cause what I saw was never all!
Just a move is the solution
it's not enough to stand and stare
Leave the cave and find the reason
For the cross you have to bear
Never
song performed by by Gamma Ray
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Sonnet: Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,-behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it-he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Amateur Rider
Him goin' to ride for us! Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
Amateur! don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall.
Boss must be gone off his head to be sending out steeplechase crack
Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back.
Ride! Don't tell me he can ride. With his pants just as loose as balloons,
How can he sit on a horse? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons;
Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course.
Fall! why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse.
* *
Yessir! the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before;
Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore;
Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun --
Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun.
Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff --
Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off --
Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail,
Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail.
All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes,
Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes;
Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race --
Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace.
Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread,
Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head,
Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall,
And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall.
* *
Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat,
Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat --
They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown!
Good for the new chum! he's over, and two of the others are down!
Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all;
Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them! He hasn't much fear of a fall.
Who in the world would have thought it? And aren't they just going a pace?
Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race.
Lord! but they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head,
Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead.
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! By the Lord, he's got most of 'em beat --
Ho! did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat?
Second time round, and, by Jingo! he's holding his lead of 'em well;
Hark to him clouting the timber! It don't seem to trouble the swell.
Now for the wall -- let him rush it. A thirty-foot leap, I declare --
Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare.
What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay!
Sit down and ride for your life now! Oh, good, that's the style -- come away!
Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip,
Sit down and rub in the whalebone -- now give him the spurs and the whip!
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown;
Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down.
Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins;
Now! the last fence, and he's over it! Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins!
* *
Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride.
Some of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like this a' one side:
Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman -- the saddle is where he was bred.
Weight! you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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