Secondhand Conversation
Like a mephitic, obsidian smoke,
Language billows in impervious stacks.
In that clouded awning do our thoughts soak,
Enceinte and tainted with deep shades of black.
Crowded are we, insidiously sheathed,
In the choke-hold of constant stagnation.
Incessantly deprived of air we've breathed,
We cough up secondhand conversation.
We know not the subterfuge that bellows
Beneath the murmurs we enunciate.
We inhale the pareidolic shadows
That emit only to depreciate.
So, what resides there—in our spoiling lungs?
No fresh air— a song forever unsung.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Related quotes
A[s]ail - Prose Poem
A sail –
brave paling, ailing -
on the dead sea mirror
of man’s anonymity, -
not a pretty picture!
The world is midwife
to its own rebirth
and sexton to its
own interment. A lost
generation spreadeagled
across the pillow of life,
asea, dissarray on the billows
while the bellows roar
and the smoke stacks pour
before that final belch
relieves them of motion.
With a new world still in flux
beneath the mental horizon of the workless masses,
Carpe Diem’s drum attracts
when all else lacks -
save flailing, failing -
a short sale...
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Value Of Having To Write A Poem Or Two
don't you know
that i always feel so alive
after writing
a poem or two?
it is as though
i have not exhaled for years
as though
i have only learned to inhale
at this moment
cool fresh air fills my lungs
a dance song in my heart
aerobics for my veins
a view of the landscape of rivers
and hills and a house beside
with chimney
blowing its smoke for
the breakfast menu
at night the moon is full
and the birds are tightly asleep
all these are in my mind
after a poem or two.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Receipe To Cook The Organ Meats!
Organ meats are laced and tasty,
let us make the dishes, not the pastry,
Cooking of brain, lungs, heart,
Liver, intestine and kidneys,
Soak them in wine for years,
Marinate them in fizzy beer,
Baking is too hot,
So we opt for smoke,
Smoke them throughout,
the Day and night,
Even in between,
Many the numbers,
Faster the organs get smoked,
When the eyes and nose water,
Use the mask and filters,
Weeds can be added,
For a quick fix and flavor,
When the sputum is thickened,
With the bending cough,
When the legs are swollen,
With tiring limps and thoughts,
We can go to the hospitals,
To make sure,
Whether we have cooked proper?
Once the certificate is issued,
That we are the chief chef of our body,
With perfectly imperfect organs,
We can stop marinating and smoking,
As the organs can mature on themselves,
and we can be displayed sooner or later,
to show our relatives and friends,
that we are the great cooks.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Having a ciggi on the wall
Upon the wall of death I scowl,
where the City air is foul,
so what does it matter if I inhale
I'm going to die soon, anyhow.
The local factory joins in too
its chimneys billow smoke anew
that make the locals cough and spew,
while rushing by to catch the tube.
The wall's my death bed, truth be known
not comfortable or soft or warm
as all my lungs fill up with grime,
this city life's a bloody crime.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Bad Brakes
Bad brakes whole car shakes
Looks like Im heading for a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
I must be heading for a breakdown
I pulled up for a mouth of coca-cola
Down at samuels cafe
Saw a little spanish lady coming over
Said lady are you going my way she said o-lay
Bad brakes carburettor shakes
Looks like youre heading for a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
We must be heading for a breakdown
We hit the road at 90 miles an hour
Heading for frisco bay
She said senor you got cop on your shoulder
I said oh now wed better not stay
We got to get away with our
Bad brakes carburettor shakes
Looks like were heading for a breakdown
He was catching up nose right inside our mirror
When the motor blowed
We climbed out and she began to shiver
Oh no sir please let us go
He said dont you know you got
Bad brakes carburettor shakes
Looks like you bought yourself a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
And youve got yourself a breakdown
Bad brakes engine beginning to shake
Looks like weve got ourselves a breakdown
Black smoke engine beginning to choke
We got ourselves a breakdown
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People who share the same language, French or Chinese or whatever, have the same vocal cords and emit sounds which are basically the same, as they come from the same throats and lungs.
quote by Pierre Schaeffer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I breathed enough to learn the trick,
I breathed enough to learn the trick,
And now, removed from air,
I simulate the breath so well,
That one, to be quite sure
The lungs are stirless, must descend
Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
How cool the bellows feels!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Tainted Love
Sometimes i feel i've got to
Run away, i've got to
Get away,
From the pain u drive in the heart of me.
The love we share
Seems to go no where
And i've lost my life
For i toss and turn i cant sleep at night
Once i ran to you, (i ran)
Now i run from you
This tainted love u've given
I give u all a boy could give you,
Take my tears and that not nearly all
Tainted love ohhh
Tainted love ohhh
Now i know ive got to
Run away, i've got to
Get away
Dont reali want any more form me
To make thisg rite
Need some one to hold u tight,
U think most pray, im sorry i dont right away
Once i ran to you, now i run from you
This tainted love you've given
I give u all a boy could give u
Take my tears and not not nearly all
Tainted love ohhh
Tainted love
Dont touch me please
I cannot stand the way you tease
I know u forever and so
Now im gunna pack my things and go
Touch me baby tainted love
Touch me baby tainted love
Touch me baby tainted love
Touch my baby tainted love
Once i ran to u
Now i run from u
This tanied love uve given
I give u all a boy could give you
Take my tears and thats not nearly all
tainted love
tainted love
tainted love
tainted love
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Be Honest is To Slowly Kill Yourself
Slitting my throat
Listen to me as I choke
Being the fool again
Stop pretending
Why do you lust the one thing you can't have?
Why do I do the right things?
Honesty kills me
I lie on the inside
But on the outside, I'm always true
Slitting my throat
Listen to me as I choke
No holding back no more
The words will hit the floor
Please indulge in my sobriety
Pass it around
Let us stop being angry and violent men
Defend what we hold dear
Sacrifice everything for it
Slitting my throat
Listen to me choke
I'm damned as damned can be
The evil is all around me
It engulfs me
Forever in darkness
Under a moonlit sky
So again I ask why?
Time to step back an pray
Slitting my throat
Listen to me as I choke
This is something I didn't need
It was from falling and hitting to many branches down an old oak tree
This is where it ends for me
Sorry its history and forever it will be
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The whistles of the train
The whistles of the train
In the rains
Puts on a hat of black smoke
At its sight the frogs croak
On the edges of a pond
Where shadows of a banyan tree
Gambol with the shades of a Palmyra tree
And butterflies witness the exciting game
Being on their fragrant wings
The butterflies have drunken deep
In the pollens of dahlia and sunflower
Lotus and water lily
And are dank with sensuousness
A train rushing in the rains
Under the canopy of clouds
Throwing up a cap of smoke
Can open up such phantom worlds
Saturated with smoking and croaking
Fragrant sensuousness
NOTE-
This can of words has been manufactured
On the 5th May 2011
And it will remain fresh cool for 160 days
Provided it is kept in a cold dark cellar of the brain
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of the train
The whistles of the train
In the rains
Puts on a hat of black smoke
At its sight the frogs croak
On the edges of a pond
Where shadows of a banyan tree
Gambol with the shades of a Palmyra tree
And butterflies witness the exciting game
Being on their fragrant wings
The butterflies have drunken deep
In the pollens of dahlia and sunflower
Lotus and water lily
And are dank with sensuousness
A train rushing in the rains
Under the canopy of clouds
Throwing up a cap of smoke
Can open up such phantom worlds
Saturated with smoking and croaking
Fragrant sensuousness
NOTE-
This can of words has been manufactured
On the 5th May 2011
And it will remain fresh cool for 160 days
Provided it is kept in a cold dark cellar of the brain
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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False Hopes
A causeway of light arched supplely
Into the latencies of frittered days
Where I bargain for death obdurately
Sapping putrefaction placidly to decay
And perish from the unrivaled despondency
I muse the furlough of every passing day
But a causeway of light arched supplely
Suspending the black ribbon's sway
Oppressive condoles are salves of the defeated
And these rived my bones and hauled my soul
Out into the risqué nakedness of light to be diluted
Into a transparency of savage cajoles
For your sincerity lacked consistency, instead,
My vanguard and subterfuge you stole
But oppressive condoles are salves of the defeated
And in your ephemeral graze I still conceded
The obsidian horizon feigned resilience
So I stifle my vessels to capture you ever closer
But the impervious distance was too dense
Inundated with your breath's blasé timber
And so we are splintered like dumb oxen by a fence
Gnawing on the grasses of perpetual Decembers
But the obsidian horizon feigned resilience
Without a moment of transition and encounter
The ubiquitous farce convoluted
As I twisted at the feet of the forlorn
That I have woven for myself from deluded
Hopes of exoneration; emancipation from the mourn
The make believe infinity waned and percolated
To unlatch in my eyes the abysmal void
But the ubiquitous farce convoluted
And I remember your faces and the covenant sworn
poem by Norman Santos
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A Haunted Song
Beneath this citadel of broken dreams
The hollow dungeons lie,
Each night you hear the awful screams
While the moon bellows in the sky.
There is no hope for Maud and me,
We know we're going to die,
No saint will come and set us free
While the moon bellows in the sky.
We've spent our love and shed our tears
And heard the angels sigh,
No-one will ever count our years
While the moon bellows in the sky.
So now you know why old men weep
And little children cry,
They block their ears and cannot sleep
While the moon bellows in the sky.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Voice Of The Heart
(j.t.stanley/john bettis/b.roberts)
Sometimes when your world seems so big and real
You may run to the shelter of walls
Sometimes you may wish
You could be like your shadow
It fits wherever it falls
Whenever the nights too deep to find
And the morning is too far away
Wherever you are
Theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Tonight if a dream should come to your sleep
With a picture you dont wanna see
Go where it leads, from secret to secret
You are what you want to be
Whenever the sun refuses to shine
And you cant chase the storm clouds away
Wherever you are theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Living in a private world
There are times when its hard to break through
So dont give up
Each time you hurt youve got nothing to lose
Theres a voice inside of you
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(listen)
If you dream it strong enough
(dream it)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find the answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(long enough)
If you dream it strong enough
(strong enough)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
In the voice
In the voice of the heart
We will find the answer
Like a song too long unsung
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cry of the Dreamer
I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.
I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavour,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.
I can feel no pride, but pity
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!
No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Exit Music
Wake from your sleep
The drying of your tears, today we escape, we escape
Pack and get dressed, before your father hears us, before, all hell breaks loose
Breathe, keep breathing, don't lose your nerve, breathe, keep breathing
I can't do this alone
Sing us a song, a song to keep us warm, there's such a chill, such a chill
You can laugh a spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you now we are one in everlasting peace
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Lost Youth
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sense of Honesty
I just need to breathe
Feeling free to inhale
Not disturb by
The smoke, the tense
Or even my own heart beat
I just need to hear
What it’s all meaning
Not closed by
The fear, the lie
Or confusing memory
I just need to touch
And burning in love
Not distant by
The pride, coldness
Or unsupported destiny
I just need to see
Deep inside of me
Not clouded by
The failure, denial
Or even complimentary
I just need to taste
The sweetness of dream
Not sour by
Reality, misery
Or some shallow controversy
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hope and Sorrow
Though my hopes have been dashed by this rope
I will not choke
I was away my fears with my tears
And my sorrow clouded by smoke
Weak and weary, my life I hold so dearly
With a smile, I glance upon my captors
Though the sky is dreary, I see very clearly
With my visit to the captor's raptor
With the perching of the raven, I now see heaven
At its golden glorious gates, I'm free to roam
Dancing and prancing my heart needs saving
For today is the day I go home
poem by Solomon Crane
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Gathering In the Presence of the Light
When we smoke we gather together
in the presence of the light
entering a buoyant state of enlightened mind
all is love, all is laughter when we gather
in the presence of the green goodwill ambassador
Music possesses the body with a mind of its own
colors reveal secret depth and stark sensuality
thoughts becoming a vivid vision mirroring reality
Lungs replete mind drifting aboard crystalline
green goddess ganja wings
smoke clouds carrying musing mental magic
flavored conversation fueling
a deep appreciation for all of God's creation
well spring of ever growing eternal love
when properly used unabused
nature's perfect drug
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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