Every Jesus Saint
I admire the hearts
Misery bound
In chains of romantic defeats,
Adore the broken souls
Gazing down lonely streets
Upon nothing but the silence
Of their own softly walking feet
Traveling nowhere
Beneath dismal grey skies
Of weeping, unrecognized, discouraged beauty.
I identify with outcast children
Given anxiety drugs
And then placed in a corner
Or swept under the rug,
And the homeless vagabonds
Slowly dying in the cheap wine-bottle night
Pacing a loveless path
In the terrible aftermath
Of the death of the American Dream.
Modern society has learned to transform
Every Jesus saint visiting the current day
Into weed-like annoyances to be uprooted
Or crushed in time by the machinery press of survival
Or the psychological and spiritual despair
Of the calendar cruelly twisting their stay
Into epochs of pointlessness and disregard.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Related quotes
We Identify...
it is in silence
that we identify
sounds as other than noise!
it is in bondage
that we identify freedom
as more than a dream.
it is in lonliness
that we identify love
as both the path and the journey.
it is in anger
that we identify forgiveness
as the release.
it is in despair
that we identify hope
as one foot after the other.
it is in death
that we identify life
and give it meaning!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Homeless Brother
I was walking by the graveyard, late last Friday night,
I heard somebody yelling, it sounded like a fight.
It was just a drunken hobo dancing circles in the night,
Pouring whiskey on the headstones in the blue moonlight.
So often have I wondered where these homeless brothers go,
Down in some hidden valley were their sorrows cannot show,
Where the police cannot find them, where the wanted men can go.
There's freedom when your walking, even though you're walking slow.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brother is my friend.
It's hard to be a pack rat, it's hard to be a 'bo,
but living's so much harder where the heartless people go.
Somewhere the dogs are barking and the children seem to know
That Jesus on the highway was a lost hobo.
And they hear the holy silence of the temples in the hill,
And they see the ragged tatters as another kind of thrill.
And they envy him the sunshine and they pity him the chill,
And they're sad to do their living for some other kind of thrill.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brother is my friend.
Somewhere there was a woman, somewhere there was a child,
Somewhere there was a cottage where the marigolds grew wild.
But some where's just like nowhere when you leave it for a while,
You'll find the broken-hearted when you're travelling jungle-style.
Down the bowels of a broken land where numbers live like men,
Where those who keep their senses have them taken back again,
Where the night stick cracks with crazy rage, where madmen don't
pretend,
Where wealth has no beginning and poverty no end.
Smash your bottle on a gravestone and live while you can,
that homeless brothe
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bottle Of Red Wine
(by bonnie bramlett and eric clapton)
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I cant get up out of bed
With this crazy feeling in my head.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
You hear what I say?
Gonna love you anyway.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I went to an all-night get together
And everyone I knew was there.
Had the love that would last forever.
Everywhere I looked, I saw you standing there.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I cant get up out of bed
With this crazy feeling in my head.
I said get up right now, oh oh.
I said get up right now.
Feel so bad this morning; got a terrible headache in my head.
Do me a favor, baby, do me a favor please.
Please get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up, get up; get your man a big big bottle of red wine.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Of The Romantics
Romanticism is dying away,
Those of us it was bred into are
Being snuffed out of society
The days of practicing propriety have come to an end
So slowly we dwindle away
We are the last petals on the red rose
Drifting away one by one
Our profession, that of the helpless romantic
Is no longer wanted
We are no longer wanted
We are no longer needed
Our deeds were not heeded
Common courting of the day consists of
Getting torn up then tearing that ass up
There is no more wining and dining
Or the holding of doors and pulling out chairs
Candle light dinners, or nights spent under the stars
The era of the “gentleman” has come to an end
Passion and compassion seeped out of society as drugs took their place
So where did all the poets and the playwrights go?
I think we need another Shakespeare or a Frost
And a Romeo and Juliet of the modern age
Another death to wake the world might be what we need
But either way it will be a death, most likely ours
So as the last petal falls this I leave to you,
sad thoughts from a helpless romantic no longer practicing his profession
poem by Christopher Taber
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In too deep
AS TIME FALLS DEEP, DEEP IN THE SLEEP NEVER KNEW WHAT COULD OF BEEN JUST THE LONELY STREETS.
TO FALL BACK ON, THERE WAS NO FRIENDS & FAMILY TO BE DISCRETE, NEVER KNEW WHAT GOOD OF BEEN JUSR THE LONELY STREETS
THEY DO EVERYTHING FROM THE DRINKING TO THE DRUGS, KILLED IN THE STREETS OUT OF FEAR JUST NEEDING A HUG. NEVER KNEW WHAT COULD OF BEEN JUST THE LONELY STREETS.
THE DAYS GO BYE AND HE'S SLOWLY FORGOTTON. COULDN'T SEE WHAT WAS BLIND AND NOW SOMEONE ELSE IS DYING. NEVER KNEW WHAT WAS AT THE END OF THE ROAD, ONLY THING HE HAD TO GIVE, WAS THESE LONELY STREETS THAT WAS TO BIG FOR THE KID.
KILLE OVER DOPE, MURDERED OVER MARIJUANA DIDNT GET WHAT THEY WANTED NOW THEY COMING FOR SOMEBODIES MOMMA. NEVER KNEW WHAT COULD OF BEEN JUST THESE LONELY STREETS NOW THEY IN THE CLUB WITH THERE REST IN PEACE TEE'S BECAUSE THEY WERE IN TOO DEEP...
poem by Talema Lawrence
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Coltrane
What was and what could be
The path of jazz
The sun bursts thru clouds
Blues sighing on city streets
Cryptic urban modern idiom
Strained American dream
Awakening on a thin edge
Spiritual like a broken totem pole
Tribal
Respectful
Innovative
Pensive
Cathar tic
Healing
Coltrane blows his sax
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Chains Of Misery
Theres a madman in the corner of your eye
He likes to pry - into the sunlight
He wants to burst into the streets with you and i
A world of shadows and of rain
Hes seen what love is...
He wants to pay back with guilt...
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
Theres a prophet in the gutter in the street
He say youre damned and you believe him...
Hes got a vision but it shines out through your eyes
A world of hatred and fear...
Hes felt what love means...
He wants to pay you back with pain...
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
Its only love that holds the key to our hearts
Its only love...
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
He lies to you he wont let you be
Hes got your chains of misery
He wont be still till hes turned your key
He holds your chains of misery
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sweetest Prostitutes
2AM boulevards
Bathe me in lonely headlights.
My soul is broken
Like the crumbling pavement
Beneath my feet.
Tonight, the homeless
Are hidden out of sight
And the sweetest prostitutes
Have found their johns.
There is nothing left but me
Wandering the same streets
That grew weary of me
Long ago.
Perhaps, I will fall asleep
In a hopeful cemetery
And dream about a time
When I was still alive.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Bring The Beat Back
Black rain falling on me
Black rain is all that I see
Black rain colours the sand
Too fast I don't understand
False prophets talking about our life our destiny
Rain forest still alive sounds like a joke an irony
The air smells dirty we can all see pollution
To heal the world is not a game or an illusion
We see the world hunger not enough to eat
We close our eyes walking through the lonely streets
Strange disease there's nothing there's no cure
Cancer aids and much more we know for sure
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
Sometimes we get angry there's no focus in our life
When people get hungry they gonna learn how to survive
Homeless people concealed in the street
With no hopes and no dreams with no shoes for their feet
How many guns they have to melt they have to burn
Return to good sense when will we ever learn
Fighting this freedom for everyone for you and me
I know that this world is the place for us to be
Black rain made out of steam
Black rain to the extreme
Black rain what can we do
Too fast a nightmare comes true
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
Should we stay or run away
That's the price we have to pay
And then before we fade to grey
The message is love
The message is love
The message is love
They've got drugs for children sniff to be free
They've got so much corruption this is all w
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Poets... In The Night
dead poets visit me in the night....
we walk the darkened hollow streets.
talking softly, or not at all....
listening to the sounds of darkness.
doors closed, curtains pulled;
those who can, sleep....
and lovers wrapped inside each other
talk in a language known only by gods.
while the broken ones stumble by,
the sound of their weeping heavy,
and cold as the night....
clouds race across the moon
leaving scars on the homeless and hungry.
young women cry out giving birth
to the screech of the owl....
churches stand empty and sterile.
the suicides and the penitents
go about their business quickly.
we stand on the corner of doubt and hope,
brothers and sisters in arms.
raise the last bottle, light a smoke....
and wait, shivering, for the endless dawn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Terrible place
There is time to smell the flowers,
There is time to drink the wine,
We have time to sit and think
About the love we left behind.
There is time to be romantic,
There is time to say goodbye,
We have time to hear the music
Of the babies when they sigh.
There is time to feel remorseful,
There is time to heal old wounds,
We have time to learn the lessons
From the wars that brought us gloom.
There is time to feel excitement,
There is time to trust a friend,
We have time to love each other
In this world that we must tend.
There is time to watch the sunset,
There is time to sit and stare,
We have time to whisper softly
To the ones we find most fair.
There is time to see the heavens,
There is time to praise the Lord,
We have time to take slow walks
Across the fields that we adore.
Please let this be a lesson learned
Treasure each and every trice,
For time holds no one to itself
It’s lost at a terrible price……
poem by Char Pattrick
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If The Lord Wasnt Walking By My Side
(words & music by henry slaughter)
I dont know just what Id do
If the lord wasnt walking by my side
When I was drifting (when I was drifting on the sea of a despair)
And I was wandering (I was wandering if jehovahs up there)
When jesus found me,(jesus found me in my sinful life)
He heard me praying (he heard me praying on my knees at night)
Now Im singing (now Im singing this happy song)
Because Im happy (because Im happy as I go along)
And I dont know (I dont know) just what Id do
If the lord wasnt walking by my side
What would I do, (what would I do when a tear fills my eyes)
What would I do (what would I do when its my time to die)
Well Id be lonely, discouraged
Burdened on the way
If the lord wasnt walking by my side every day
Id be so friendless (Id be friendless all alone and blue)
And Id be helpless (Id be helpless, wouldnt know what to do)
And I dont know (I dont know) just what Id do
If the lord wasnt walking by my side
(what would I do) what would I do when the tears fill my eyes
(what would I do) what would I do when its my time to die
(Id be lonely, discouraged, burdened on the way)
If the lord wasnt walking by my side every day
Id be so friendless, (Id be friendless all alone and blue)
Id be so helpless (Id be helpless, wouldnt know what to do)
And I dont know (I dont know) just what Id do
If the lord wasnt walking by my side every day
If the lord (wasnt walking) wasnt walking by my side
(wasnt walking by my side)
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Children Of Poverty Street
At least spare a thought for the children the children of Poverty Street
They are homeless as young teenagers and against the odds they must compete
Their parents serving time for robbery and narcotic offences and most of their role models in jail
Their circumstance of birth is a huge mark against them the poor young people destined to fail.
They steal for to buy food, drugs and alcohol on Poverty Street life is tough
Too young much too young to be homeless without shelter and sleeping rough
They are pushed to the social fringes the young people society disown
Ignored by the Government Bureaucracies and to the Police only known.
Who could envy them their existence those born into cruel circumstance
The Gods are completely against them of success they do not stand a chance
For them life is such a great battle they must battle their ghosts of despair
They don't even dream of the good life to them life is very unfair.
You who waffle on of life's choices with you talk is always so cheap
Bet you were not homeless at thirteen and on a park bench had to sleep
You would not talk of life's choices if you had to steal for to eat
If you felt alone and abandoned like the children of Poverty Street.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Wailing Wall
The holy city breathed
Like a dying man
It moved with hopeful tears
With the tears of the blind
And on and on as the night drew in
Through broken streets
That sucked me in
My feet were bare and cut with stones
With walking to the promised land
I pushed through crowds
Through seas of prayer
Through twisting hands and choking air
A vulture at the wailing wall
I circled
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wailing Wall
The holy city breathed
Like a dying man
It moved with hopeful tears
With the tears of the blind
And on and on as the night drew in
Through broken streets
That sucked me in
My feet were bare and cut with stones
With walking to the promised land
I pushed through crowds
Through seas of prayer
Through twisting hands and choking air
A vulture at the wailing wall
I circled...
Waiting
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas 2007 Song – 13
O Star of Bethlehem!
Take us to the manger
Where Jesus Christ was born on, Christmas night!
Come and behold Him,
Son of God, the Father:
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him, Jesus Lord.
O sing all ye faithful,
Hymns praising Almighty;
Sing hosanna to the new-born king!
Come see the baby,
Asleep on the bed of hay!
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him, Jesus Lord.
O hear the angels sing,
Praises to the Savior-
Redeemer of sinners and human race!
Come offer your hearts
To the new-born Jesus:
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him, Jesus Lord.
poem by John Celes
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When the Parents Refuse to Come Home
When the parents refuse to come home
The children sleep beneath the babysitter’s skirt.
She will eat you out of house and home.
When the parents refuse to come home
The children shall set the house on fire,
And the babysitter shall save the family pet
That is content to be hand fed at the breast.
This night the parents are outside the loop,
They are out for a night on the town to renew their bound without the incessant want of children who shall burn the house down for attention.
The babysitter is watching TV under the blaze of the burning house where the family pet snicks beneath the smoke colleted by the ceiling.
When the parents stay out all night the children are discontented with the babysitter who have no time for children, she rather babysat the TV.
The babysitter refuse to pay taxes on her earning, she have parked the children in their beds where they learn the art of conversation from the TV.
The parents are having fun while the children are safe in the dream shatter of the right brain telling midnight stories of the day’s doings and the babysitter has invited her boy friend over for the night and he will eat you out of house and home while in their dream the children are buring the house down.
When the parents dance the night away in the night club the children are dreaming of the violent of the babysitter who eat the last of the pot roast left over from dinner.
When the parents refuse to come home the babysitter is contemplating the meaning of death and dying in the burning house.
The babysitter will grow up to become a parent and she will hire a babysitter when she go out to dance the night away as her children burn the house down.
poem by David E. Patton
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Philadelphia Revised
The sad images of Philadelphia popped out of my eyes today
And I could see the streets of Philadelphia where the homeless sleeps
And freeze to death
While Politicians, doctors, Dentists, lawyers, teachers, and nurses get rich
Day by day
But the homeless freeze to death in the streets of Philadelphia and even die
But I have to ask all of you fellow americans where is your heart?
And doesn't charity starts at home first?
Don't you have anything at home that you could give away to the Homeless so they could have something either to wear or to eat?
Why can't we feed the homeless?
I can't understand you fellow Americans?
Please put yourself in their shoes for a day and try to picture what do they Have to go throw everyday
Is it right for the homeless to sleep in the streets and freeze and eventualy Die in the streets of Philadelphia?
Would you fellow Americans go few days without eating?
I don't think so
Why should the homeless that lives in the streets of Philadelphia starve?
Fellow Americans it is time to think about others and not just yourself Because others live In America just like you
Fellow Americans do you have a heart?
Fellow Americans did you ever learned to share what you have with Others?
Fellow Americans America is a sad world because we waste 98% of our Food at home, restaurants, and supermarkets
And all that wasted food ends up in the dump
It is so ashame and so sad at the same time
But the truth is that we are running out of food
And there is not enough food to feed anyone in America
But the cost of food keeps going up
Because we have to pay the American farmers who plants the food and Transport the food to the supermarkets
poem by Aldo Kraas
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When I'll Have My Dream
I read about MLK junior
His dreams in Birmingham and on the streets
I followed the words and tone clear
Still I hear his cry for a just society I his s[speeches
He fought for the proletariat with his life
Took a bullet for people he knew
Not in person but for problems shared
A great man who’ll live forever
Should have been his epitaph
But as for me and my house- me myself and I
Shall bid time waiting for my dream
Up in the mountains in skies blue
My dream shall come from
I beg it be released
So that I can change destiny
Of Kenya, my Africa
I’m not Obama getting a dream from his father
Not a freedom fighter forty years ago
Dreaming for a free Kenya, Africa
By their blood freedom was recaptured
But lo! The betrayal that is the aftermath
Impotent post-independence ashes are about
Kenya my Kenya please forgive me your son
Africa my Africa inspire me
I need a dream now to save all
Children dying hungry learning not ABC
poem by Kelvin Karani
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Spirit Revealed (Number Two)
in every touch almost in passing,
every word spoken without thought.
in every thought that no one can see,
in every darkened corner.
in every sign held up in protest.
in every picket line that
shuts down traffic.
in every stolen car,
every empty house broke into.
in the bag of groceries that will not last.
in the gun put down,
in honest revelations.
in the prayer prayed beneath the bridge,
in the pair of boots worn and wise.
in the job walked away from,
in every stranger helped.
in the fugitive hidden,
and in the hiding place!
in every family on the road,
lifetimes piled inside old cars.
in graveyards swept by silence,
in every piece of wood cut and stacked.
in the rising swell,
and in the dying moan.
in the murmur of freedom,
spilling over the edges.
in the earth tainted by blood,
and in the orphan rose.
in the song of the mockingbird,
in the sunset,
and the untended fire.
spirit revealed...
tongues on hearts.
broken fingers, broken feet,
eyes walking as if the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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