En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Sight In Camp

A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital
tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended
lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket,
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious, I halt, and silent stand;
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first,
just lift the blanket:
Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-grey'd hair,
and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you, my dear comrade? 10

Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling?
Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third--a face nor child, nor old, very calm, as of
beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man, I think I know you--I think this face of yours is the face
of the Christ himself;
Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Blanket

( with urban species )
Music is my blanket
Will be music is my ? ?
Emotionless this city lies
Cruel it is, it clouds my eyes
The dark the dark
Shades of my day
I live inside this place
Locked up inside my little cage
Always tense and filled with rage
Above the concrete fields below
With you I wanna go, wanna go
Music is my blanket
Will be music is my ? ?
I see only what I wanna see
Ill be only what I wanna be
My blanket covers me, yes
Yeah, check it
Yeah as a human I was born ? ? ?
Traded my albino (? )
? ? ? gyro
But I ? ? ?
? ? ? consume
All these decent melodies
That keep realities at bay
? ? ?
Start to fade away, fade away
Alone withint myself again
I try to veil away my pain
The dirty grey surrounding me round
And now I hear no sounds...
I feel like ? ? ? from ? ?
As I wonder how I keep from going under
I got trouble on my mind like my name is chuck d
And like marvin gaye it makes me wanna holler
When the music hits me
I feel no pain
Thats why I got to put you on again and again
I take the needle off the deck
? ? ? in my vein
As the rush hits my brain
And the pain goes, trouble down the drain
I see only what I wanna see
I be only who I wanna be
My blanket covers me
Music is my blanket
Will be music is my ? ?
I see only what I wanna see
I be only who I wanna be
My blanket covers me
Music is my blanket
Will be music is my ? ?
You are my living world
You are my living world
You are you are you are my
My only living world....

song performed by by Imogen Heap
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Childhood Days I Pick Lilies In The Marsh

In my childhood days I pick lilies in the marsh,
I pick lilies, the most beautiful that I can find
in colours of red, yellow and white
but now a tar road cuts past.
The highway runs almost to eternity,
I wonder where the dilapidation did start
see no coots, plovers calling
broken lies the marshland that I love
and I have to search into the bright blue
to cling to the untouched
while smoke clouds of white, yellow and grey hang
like a blanket that is folding over everything
while wealth increases, nature becomes distorted,
and the plain has offices that is encroaching it.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Broken child

I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has seen more than his young eyes should.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who would run away from it all if he could.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has been ravished by the likes of you and I.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child with to much pride to cry.
I see the face off a broken child.
a child who fights off anyone who cares.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wishes his mother was there.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wont let his hardships keep him down.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who refuses to give up and reveal a frown.

poem by Joshua Reid
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Under A Blanket Of Blue

Under a blanket of blue
Just you and I beneath the stars.
Wrapped in the arms of sweet romance
The night is ours.
Under a blanket of blue
Let me be thrilled by all your charms
Darling, I know my heart will dance
Within your arms.
A summer nights magic, enthralling me so.
The night would be tragic, if you werent here to shareit my dear,
Covered with heaven above.
Lets dream a dream of love for two,
Wrapped in the arms of sweet romance,
Under a blanket of blue.

song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Faces Of Winter~

Anguish put on it's Winter face-
It's icy story embroidered into the snow
A brocade of cold that chilled to ones bone
A compassionless season where the sorrow just grows;
Falling through it's window pane of time...
Anguish laid down it's blanket of white
No sleet-only the harsh sting of cold
You know-that cutting winter bite?
You'd swear that it was slicing into you...
Through the darkest of the skies Winter grey-
Anguish put on it's Winter face
And brought a blizzard of sheer despair my way! ;

By: Theodora Onken
June 29,2012

poem by Theodora Onken
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Perceptions of Pink

You asked me the other day if I saw in pink.
I wasn’t so much surprised by the question
(because I knew neon was how you saw the world)
as I was caught off-guard by it;
no one ever asked me if I saw in color before.

I gave you the first answer that came to mind–
No. I saw the world in cliches and over-used metaphors.
I told you I love anything average and sappy.
Yet, I started thinking more about pink;
specifically, a handmade, chenille, pastel-pink blanket.

I brought my textured pink close enough to examine,
I saw the threads that were frayed, the ones soft with use,
and the occasional red and white strings not hidden well enough.
I saw the craftsmanship: the passion that moves into forms
and the discipline it takes to create.

If you were to walk by me and my blanket of cliches,
you would say you saw a handmade, chenille, pastel-pink blanket.
I invite you yo look closer, as I have done,
to the red passions, the cool-white of discipline, the interwoven threads,
and you will see that everything is the color pink.

poem by Carrie D'Amato
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Virgil Strange I Kept On The Field

VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night:
When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return'd, with a look I
shall never forget;
One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the
ground;
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle;
Till late in the night reliev'd, to the place at last again I made my
way;
Found you in death so cold, dear comrade--found your body, son of
responding kisses, (never again on earth responding;)
Bared your face in the starlight--curious the scene--cool blew the
moderate night-wind;
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battlefield
spreading;
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet, there in the fragrant silent
night; 10
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh--Long, long I gazed;
Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my
chin in my hands;
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you, dearest
comrade--Not a tear, not a word;
Vigil of silence, love and death--vigil for you my son and my
soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole;
Vigil final for you, brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your
death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living--I think we shall
surely meet again;)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn
appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, and
carefully under feet; 20
And there and then, and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his
grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited;
Ending my vigil strange with that--vigil of night and battlefield
dim;
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth
responding;)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain--vigil I never forget, how as day
brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his
blanket,
And buried him where he fell.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field one Night

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade -- not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Grey World

Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.

Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.

Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.

poem by Leon Gellert
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Footprints

Its beautiful outside, an old hand gathers wood,
Can he see me sitting here? his mind is somewhere else.
His friend have flown away, hes left out in the cold.
He wont sit by my fire, he says he likes it in the snow.
Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow.
Its getting dark outside, the old hands going home,
Has he someone waiting there? or is he living on his own?
Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow...
White blanket, hiding the traces of tears she didnt see,
Oh white blanket covers the memory
Of all that used to be. all that used to be.
But his heart keeps aching in the same old way,
He cant help feeling that she might come back someday.
Its beautiful outside, a magpie looks for food.
The old hand throws a crumb,
Do you think hes found a friend?
Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow...
White blanket, hiding the traces of paths he didnt take
Oh white blanket covers the memory
Of moves he didnt make
Oh white blanket, hiding the traces of tears she didnt see
Snow white blanket simply covers the memory
Of all that used to be.
But his heart keeps aching in the same old way
He cant help feeling that she might come back someday.

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Child, Baby and Doughnut

A penny please,
Slim shaking cold fingers
Stretched through the window
In my face
Oh! Just another one
Me thought, ’a penny here’
‘God bless’ said she
Lying beneath a lamp light
A baby wrapped in an old blanket.
Cold, coughing, trembling,
She, Five to Seven. Age,
Picking and pecking I see
Away our bus is pulling
Lights, colorful lights and souls dancing
In halls, partying.
I see the child eating doughnut
The baby strapped in her back
Our bus, out of city
Back, I see colorful lights
Sick child, baby and doughnut. I think.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Under The Boardwalk

Oh the sun beats down and melts the tar up on the roof
And your shoes get so hot you wish your tired feet were fire-proof
Under the boardwalk, down by the sea
On a blanket with my baby is where Ill be
Chorus:
Under the boardwalk, out of the sun
Under the boardwalk, well be having some fun
Under the boardwalk, people walking above
Under the boardwalk, well be falling in love
Under the board-walk, board-walk
From a park you hear the happy sounds from a carousel
You can almost taste the hotdogs and french fries they sell
Under the boardwalk, down by the sea
On a blanket with my baby is where Ill be
Chorus:
Under the boardwalk, out of the sun
Under the boardwalk, well be having some fun
Under the boardwalk, people walking above
Under the boardwalk, well be falling in love
Under the board-walk, board-walk
Under the boardwalk, down by the sea
On a blanket with my baby is where Ill be
Under the boardwalk, down by the sea
On a blanket with my baby is where Ill be
On a blanket with my baby is where Ill be

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blanket

Let not vanish the oversea service
With wool soft,
As the flash of fire-worms.
On the blue blanket,
‘Made in Korea’ printed,
Made Korean hands immortal,
But ‘SHEEP’ written nowhere.

As December threatened with mist,
Blanket kept me warm.
My soul shuddered a night,
Shaken by the fever storm,
And I crept tired,
Under blanket refugee like,
Then a Paracetamol pill lulled me.

Under the woolly blanket,
Bloom dreams amorous
At silvered fragrant night:
Entangled tender branches,
Then did chit bud fresh,
Within the folds unruly
Of the blanket blue.

Simple sheep on hillock grazed,
Giving wool great,
Eternal changed:
Things simple so changed great.
Evil showers heavily,
Earth is frozen,
And need a blanket to warm up.

poem by Fabiyas M V
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Smile

Like the beautiful pink lotus
that blooms in the lake
Hides the weeds with
its blanket of fragnance.

Like the white soft snow
that falls during winter
Covers the bare ground
with its coat of ice.

A smile on the face
hides the sadness of life
From the eyes that stare
for a glimpse of your face.

poem by Sowkoor Nischal Shetty
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Into the Shadow

Come; let us walk towards the water's edge
through soft green grass, adorned with wild flowers.
Sheltered on a blanket spread, we will stretch
beneath the shadow of the Alder's boughs.

I shall lean sure against your beating heart
as setting sun dips towards ev'ning sky.
While long fingers creep silently across
the day, in knowledge of you, I shall lie.

When darkness moves into the dim of night
and we must fold the blanket of our dreams
into the ending of our grateful lives
closing our way along the bright white beam

may dominion keep our two hands entwined
and keep them thus until the end of time.

poem by Diana Rosser
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A Cat Called 'Society

A bucketful of mutiny and I can argue myself to sleep
You my love can be dirty, you my love can be sweet
You my love can be faithful, you my love can be closed
You my love can be homespun
That’s just the way it goes I suppose
Blanket upon filthy blanket
They warm me just the same
This carpet collects the teardrops but nothing else is retained
Our steps do seem uncertain
Our vision is somewhat unclear
Your speech today is mumbled
As we take this walk in nuclear
My menthol mentor aids me
To breathe on from day to day
He tells me
He ensures me
The sky won’t always be this grey
Are you sitting comfortably?
Good, then I’ll begin my tale
I was once a wicked whisper who walked a wicked dale
But now I long to see you standing in all your silk
I knew a cat called society but she wouldn’t take my milk

poem by Neil Solan
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Under The Stars

A blanket thrown over the sky
Stars come out to the night
Lighting a way to a dream
Its all beautiful to the eye
What a world we live in
Under the stars we sleep
Watching over each other
We are all in this together
And we will always be
But a call to a friend away
Sleepless or dreaming
Beneath the sky blanket
The star lit night
We all lay almost together
Looking at the beautiful
World we live in

poem by Matthew Holloway
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A White Blanket

a white blanket
covers your face
but not your body
so how would you
think about what
i really think?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dead Bodies and Cardboard

Born beneath a dying sun
Mourn for them the dying young.
Lament for those whose song
By siren chords has long since been sung.

Lament for those, skinned and hung from the city gates.
We pray for them this nightmare shall prove easy enough to shake
As the sky bakes slow in furnace fumes, igniting the skies in fury.
There, low and behold the addict merchant selling his soul.

I dreamt last night of a girl I have not seen in years
Years which can not match the tears nor fears in number.
Little did I know that she slept, slumbering numb beneath the mountain.
Dreaming of Pan, of ancient scented night.

King of Hedgerows, Prince of Circus Shows
Queens of the Flow gather in flowering
Embrace the bloom, the pinnacle of the chase.
Race the moon to see her face.

How long have you been guardian to this shell?

Your hell is cold.
Your heaven warm.

I was never told
I was never warned

Of eggshell time within fragmented dimensions
I’m left with no path and no hope of redemption.

Was it the promise of salvation
That woke you every Sunday morn?
Show me your scars, your crown of thorns.
Show me the Christ child in the eyes of the new born.

The youth are crowded in the shade
Digging there with diamond spades
Fading in the shadows cast and fast enlisting.
Cringing at media portrayed portraits of their generation,
Supposed portrait of a nation.
A nation underground unfound
Here no one makes a sound.

How is it these fools, these ministers of schools
Can keep it all so cool as they push for blanket death?

A blanket to cover the Death of the soul
A blanket to cover the Death of the mind
A blanket to cover the Death of the body
A blanket to cover the Death of the blind.

I see children torn from the playground
Force fed knowledge and left to suffer no wisdom
Taught to regurgitate for the hand that would beat them.
Beat them if only they could.

Show me the skins on the leash of the freaks
Show me the bold worship the meek.
Show me the snowflake cold in the sun
Show me the restless, the new guns, the young.

Three birds sitting
Watching
Cold eye on warm life decaying
Maggot child of a million unseen eyes
How long can you last?
The children will not fast forever.

Dead bodies and cardboard surround
A pony dead upon the ground
Scorched earth, broken earth
No survivors found.

No one made a sound.

poem by David Lacey
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Morning Song

this is the song of
the pillow and the blanket
when you splash them
in the air and then
you fold the blanket
and put it on top
of each other and you
set them gently aside

this is the song of the
yellow green venetian blinds
when you pull the strings up
and you let in the light

this is the song of the doors
and the windows when you
unlock the knobs and open
them to let all the sounds of the
day enter your house

this is the whistle that comes
out from your throat when
you shape your lips like
a pout where good thoughts
are let in and then the notes
begin to fly like some birds
on a clear early morning sky

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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