The Artist
Mr T.
bareheaded
in a soiled undershirt
his hair standing out
on all sides
stood on his toes
heels together
arms gracefully
for the moment
curled above his head.
Then he whirled about
bounded
into the air
and with an entrechat
perfectly achieved
completed the figure.
My mother
taken by surprise
where she sat
in her invalid's chair
was left speechless.
Bravo! she cried at last
and clapped her hands.
The man's wife
came from the kitchen:
What goes on here? she said.
But the show was over.
poem by William Carlos Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Ballerina
The frightened ballerina,
standing on her toes
stood behind the curtain
in a dainty pose.
Having practiced faithfully
hour after hour,
inside her heart was pounding.
Outside her muscled power
overcame her fear.
The overture now playing,
each note was in her ear.
And as the curtain opened
it took away her fear.
The stage, the lights
became her love.
Each pirouette and leap
took her way above
into a different sphere.
The audience, mesmerized,
intent on every motion,
appreciation on their faces
showed deep emotion.
And as the music ended
she took her final bow.
No longer was
she frightened,
in fact emboldened now.
She knew why she was here.
To dance, to dance
at every given chance.
To hear the applause
and hear them call her name.
And so the ballerina
standing on her toes
so graceful and dainty
is awed as she does hear.
'Bravo, bravo,
bravo, my dear.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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New Garden
It has the harmony and similarities blooming in spirit
It is stronger than ever, not seen by the strangers
Dreams of long-awated patience initiated by peace and
truths
post-postmodernised by
informal education of survivor of the oppressed
ration of knowledge and wisdom is clearly built up through time
winner doesn't take all but there are no losers
only mediators of truth-scenario
Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
New Garden is born with the wing of change! Born with the wind of change!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
no one is trying to fly away
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
Life-apart-world apart-road ApART
Who know?
The history of unexpected dawn.
RULE: BUT YOU MUST KEEP ON WATCHING MORALS AND
HUMANITY-INITIATED DIRECTIONS in the world of mis-directed illusions
Overwhelming the realities in the continuam of change
in GOD's hands
In GOD's hands,
In GOD's arms,
That's where you lay
Your head now.
The Day you left,
The Moment you were gone,
Our hearts broke,
Our Souls Cried,
What was our loss,
Was GOD's gain,
That Beautiful smile,
That infectious laugh,
In GOD's hands,
In GOD's arms,
Thats where you run now,
Down here,
On GOD's green earth,
We miss you
Each and every moment,
Each and Every hour
That we breathe,
GOD takes care of you now,
In GOD's arms,
In GOD's hands,
Thats where we will find you
Smiling, Laughing,
And wishing us well,
We love you
Squishy Cheek
poem by Ivan phillip m. llanzana ivan phillip m. llanzana
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Saturday Morning 1961
Jane climbed off
the Saturday bus to town
her black hair ruffled
by the wind
her eyes
looking over at you
her mother close by
you standing by the wall
having climbed from the bus
a few moments before
your mother stood
and spoke to others
you watched as Jane buttoned up
her coat against the winter cold
her fingers turning blue
then she moved over to you
and said
I saw you by the water tower last night
as we drove by
my father visiting
a parishioner in the village
I was watching the sun
moving beyond the Downs
you said
like some giant moving
away to sleep
she smiled
and surreptitiously
she touched your hand
her mother's head
looking the other way
talking to your mother
of her husband's work
of church or of weather
or whatever
you gazed at Jane's eyes
the turn of head
the smile on lips
the way her hands touched
oh to be with her
away from others
to talk and walk
and capture each moment
with her closeness
but then her mother
moved away to shop
and Jane followed
just behind
and as she walked away
you painted her figure
and beauty
in your mind.
poem by Terry Collett
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Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing To Gein
Cold and silent, soiled face I will wash it all away,
With my love,
Thats all shes ever needed, from me
Its my time, to mother,
One of my own in my life,
I am so alone, left with no one
In my life, Im so alone
Life submissiveness,
Hypnotizing the ignorant a little boys best friends always his mother,
At least thats what she said,
Life of a simple man,
Taught that everyone else is dirty,
And their love is meaningless,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Sheltered life innocence,
Insulated memories, spark reflections of my head,
Duality in my consciousness,
Caught in the war of hemispheres,
Between the love lost in my head,
Mommy do you still live inside of me,
Im so lost in my life without any guiding,
Protected me my whole life from everything,
Nailed shut the doors to the shrine,
To screen your dead eyes from me and my sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Deliver the remains from her womb of earth,
Prep the rack and tie up for new loves rebirth,
Covert understanding of novice surgery,
Ill focus concentration and only take just what I need
For sickness Im masticating,
Dancing and masturbating,
Celebrate in fields of night with skin upon my face
If I soak my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I wash my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I drench myself in others blood am I sick,
If I bathe myself in others blood
Blame mother for the sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Dance and masturbate in night light by myself..
Nothing is left for me to gain theyre coming to take me far away,
Chorus
Life of a simple man taught that everyone else is dirty and love is meaningless
Im so soiled
Soiled
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Mother Combed My Hair
When Memory, with gentle hand,
Has led me to that foreign land
Of childhood days, I long to be
Again the boy on bended knee,
With head a-bow, and drowsy smile
Hid in a mother's lap the while,
With tender touch and kindly care,
She bends above and combs my hair.
Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares
Had paled it to the hue it wears,
Its tangled threads of amber light
Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white,
That only knew the light caress
Of loving hands, or sudden press
Of kisses that were sifted there
The times when mother combed my hair.
But its last gleams of gold have slipped
Away; and Sorrow's manuscript
Is fashioned of the snowy brow--
So lined and underscored now
That you, to see it, scarce would guess
It e'er had felt the fond caress
Of loving lips, or known the care
Of those dear hands that combed my hair.
. . . . . . . .
I am so tired! Let me be
A moment at my mother's knee;
One moment--that I may forget
The trials waiting for me yet:
One moment free from every pain--
O! Mother! Comb my hair again!
And I will, oh, so humbly bow,
For I've a wife that combs it now.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me
at the moment when i put my head
on my left hand
my left cheek on my left palm
feeling the warmth
of myself to myself
i may say without shame that
here i am again
thinking of you
my mustache is untrimmed
i have not shaved for day
my hair needs a cut badly
i smell i stink like a skunk
my coat has dust and dirt
my underwear has not been
changed
my undershirt has dried sweat
i feel so low these days
i have this discomfort of my soul
this pierce of the pins of my conscience
the furies are attacking me
day and night
with the possible weight of disgrace
and ripping grips of my regrets
perhaps because to you i have always
lied.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Day That Time Would Stop!
The passageway was longer than he thought
He would have said,
It seemed to go forever,
But the words stayed in his head.
That drumming in his ears was surely
Just the lack of sound,
And could it be, he floated,
With his feet just off the ground?
The ambulance had called for him at just
On half past three,
He'd told his wife: ‘Don't bother,
It will go away, you'll see! '
His wife was more determined than she'd
Ever been before,
She dialled up on her mobile
And she waved him, at the door.
‘It's all just fuss and bother, this, ' he thought,
And flushed quite red,
The fellow in the ambulance
Looked grim, and shook his head.
He tried to give him oxygen, then
Called out to his mate:
‘You'd better put your foot down,
Or we might be there too late! '
He felt the lurch of speed, and heard the
Sirens start to wail,
He only felt embarrassment,
‘Such fuss! Beyond the pale! '
But then the light had faded in the
Middle of the day,
And that was when he found himself
Deep in that passageway!
The light became much brighter, at the end
He saw a door,
It slowly started opening,
He couldn't see much more,
But then he floated through it, standing
Stark within this room
Filled wall to wall with flowers that
Had just begun to bloom!
He stood there for a moment, he could not
Believe his eyes,
A crowd of happy people jumped
On out, and yelled: ‘Surprise! '
Then streamers and balloons appeared
And tangled round his feet,
He stared at them in wonder as
His heart had ceased to beat!
His father stood there grinning, he had died
Before his time
While his mother wiped a tear away,
She'd left when he was nine,
And all the aunts and uncles from
His distant memories,
Now stood and charged a glass to him,
And smiled, and shouted: ‘Cheers! '
‘He doesn't know what's happened, give him time, '
Said Uncle Ron,
‘We're just so glad to see you - My!
The weight that you've put on!
You must have seen it coming, all
That pain before you drop;
It's common to us all, you know,
The Day that Time would Stop! '
He paused to think about his wife, and
Wondered if she cried,
Or simply shrugged her shoulders when
She heard that he had died,
The heart that he no longer had
He knew would never mend;
He stood erect and dignified -
A funeral to attend!
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Man Who Discovered The Use Of A Chair
The man who discovered the use of a chair,
_Odds--bobs--
What a wonderful man!_
He used to sit down on it, tearing his hair,
Till he thought of a highly original plan.
For years he had sat on his chair, like you,
_Quite--still!
But his looks were grim_
For he wished to be famous (as great men do)
And nobody ever would listen to him.
Now he went one night to a dinner of state
_Hear! hear!
In the proud Guildhall!_
And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;
But nobody heard his opinions at all;
There were ten fat aldermen down for a speech
(_Grouse! Grouse!
What a dreary bird!_)
With five fair minutes allotted to each,
But never a moment for him to be heard.
But, each being ready to talk, I suppose,
_Order! Order!_
They cried, _for the Chair!_
And, much to their wonder, our friend arose
And fastened his eye on the eye of the Mayor.
'We have come,' he said, 'to the fourteenth course!
'_High--time,
for the Chair_,' he said.
Then, with both of his hands, and with all of his force,
He hurled his chair at the Lord Mayor's head.
It missed that head by the width of a hair.
_Gee--whizz!
What a horrible squeak!_
But it crashed through the big bay-window there
And smashed a bus into Wednesday week.
And the very next day, in the decorous Times
(_Great--Guns--
How the headlines ran!_)
In spite of the kings and the wars and the crimes,
There were five full columns about that man.
ENVOI
Oh, if you get dizzy when authors write
(_My stars!
And you very well may!_)
That white is black and that black is white,
You should sit, quite still, in your chair and say:
It is easy enough to be famous now,
(_Puff--Puff!
How the trumpets blare!_)
Provided, of course, that you don't care how,
Like the man who discovered the use of a chair.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Mutatis Mutandis
Soiled, Soiled, Soiled
Soiled, Soiled, Soiled
Soiled, Soiled...
...Of ordinary...Chemistry
There is a suggestion there, that uh, manipulation of no
Humal, compounds, brain-neuro transmitters
And that sort of thing
May in fact, open the door, to uh, untapped areas of
Human contortion
Lead us to our team...
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Head Over Heels
Late at night in the park
I saw her slipping in the dark
For heaven's sake, what's going on?
It's like someone is here
Got to follow now
Like beeing in trance for me
The silence here
More than all the noise
Whispering in the dark head over heels
Overheated heart head over heels
Treating it so hard the spurting feels every day, every night
Whispering in the dark head over heels
Overheated heart head over heels
Treating it so hard the spurting feels, oh yeah!
Down on my knees, God help me please
Gotta know who's out in the dark
I've stopped my breath, can feel the hands
Could hear the sound of people making love
I surrender right now!
I've to be touched
I feel so much...
Whispering in the dark head over heels
Overheated heart head over heels
Treating it so hard the spurting feels every day, every night
Whispering in the dark head over heels
Overheated heart head over heels
Treating it so hard the spurting feels, oh yeah!
[Instrumental verse]
Whispering in the dark head over heels
Overheated heart head over heels
Treating it so hard the spurting feels every day, every night
Whispering in the dark head over heels
Overheated heart head over heels
Treating it so hard the spurting feels every day, every night!
Head over heels, head over heels
Head over heels every day, every night
Head over heels, head over heels
Head over heels every day, every night!
Head over heels!
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home
Favourite chair by the fire,
daily paper in your hand.
Children’s voices from the hall.
Cat curled up on your lap.
Wife in the kitchen cooking tea.
Home, the place you always want to be.
Eye lids are heavy,
after a long days work.
Relaxation is only a substitute for sleep.
The wistful words of your wife,
penetrate your drowsy mind.
Home is where the heart is,
a place of peace of mind.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Show Me Your Heart
You always ask for flowers and candy, baby,
Never knowing I was your chocolate rose.
You always tell me that you like what Im wearing,
But you think I look better here without any clothes.
Get out of my head. show me your heart.
Get out of my head. show me your heart.
You play a game of attack and surrender.
Always leaving me halfway there.
Well Ive got something that you should remember.
Until you draw blood, baby, nobody cares.
Get out of my head. show me your heart.
Get out of my head. show me your heart.
Sometimes Id swear you were from venus, now, oh.
If I didnt already know your type.
Youd rather tell me youre an angel, darling,
Then show me by floating gracefully by.
Get out of my head. show me your heart.
Get out of my head, oh. and, show me your heart.
Get out, get out, get out of my head.
Yeah, and show me your heart.
Show me your, oh.
Get out of my head. and, show me your heart.
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Show Me How To Live
In with the early dawn
Moving right along
I couldnt buy an eye of sleep
And in the aching night
Under satellite
I was not recieved
With the stolen parts
A telephone in my heart
Someone get me a priest
To put my mind to bed
This ringing in my head
Is this a cure is or is this a disease
Hey hey I said
Near as I can figure
You gave me life now
Show me how to live
Hey hey I said
Near as I can figure
You gave me life now
Show me how to live
In the afterbirth
On the quiet earth
Let this things remind me
You thought you made amend
You better think again
Before my row defines you
Hey hey I said
Near as I an figure
You gave me life now show me how to live
Hey hey I said
Near as I can figure
You gave me life now
Show me how to live
And in your waiting hands
I will land
And roll out of my skin
And in your final hours I will stand
Ready to begin
Ready to begin
Ready to begin
Ready to begin
Hey hey I said
Near as I can figure
You gave me life now
Show me how to live
Hey hey I said
Near as I can figure
You gave me life now
Show me how to live
Show me how to live
Show me how to live
Show me how to live
Show me how to live
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Banu’s son has had no water for days
Banu’s son has had no water for days
His pulse is weak and his mother prays
No hope in sight of getting water or milk
Helpless, she lingers by his cradle in a daze
“Pray tell me, what shall I do now Ya Husain?
The baby’s eyes now roll back in pain”
“Oh Ya Ali, Ya Ali where can I go?
I cannot watch my baby suffer so
How do I find a way to make him live?
Ya Ali he needs water, which I cannot give”
“Last night I saw him open his eyes
But today he lays still, doesn’t move, doesn’t cry”
Then everyone said, “Lets call the Imam
For God’s sake somebody, go get the Imam
The baby is dying, go tell the Imam
His face is blue, his body calm”
“Taking Akber’s body to lay it to rest
The Imam’s on his way, with grief beset “
Face stained with the blood of His eighteen year old
The Imam entered, his head bowed
And everyone led Him to the baby’s crib
And showed Him the baby’s still fingers and toes
“He barely breathes Oh Noble Prince” they cried
“Its seems as though he has already died”
At the head of the crib, the Prince knelt down
In the baby’s ear He whispered, head bowed
Hearing the Prince’s voice, the baby smiled
Toward Husain he extended his arms and glowed
“It is indeed a miracle” Sakina cried
“Oh mother, my brother has opened his eyes”
The baby in His arms, the Prince left the camp
And death followed, eyeing them askance
To shelter her baby from the midday sun
The mother draped a sheet over the Imam’s arms
Holding Asgher close, Husain walked, head bowed
In the arms of the heavens, a snow white cloud
As He neared the lowly enemy, Husain stood silent in pause
Couldn’t ask for water, couldn’t utter the words
With embarrassment He paled, He bowed His head
He uncovered the baby, to the army He showed
Head bowed, he said, “I’ve brought my son to you
Seeking water Asgher now has come to you”
Then He kissed the baby’s parched lips and mouth
And whispered “My son I’ve said what I could
There are no words to describe your pain my son
So maybe you can show them your dry, parched tongue”
In response the baby licked his lips parched and dry
And Husain shuddered and looked up to the skies
And as Husain looked to the heavens so
The cursed Hurmula strung an arrow in his bow
And aimed the arrow at Asgher’s throat
Pulling taut the bow, let the arrow go
As the tiny neck the arrow gashed
Asgher lurched and clung to his dad
A six month old baby and an arrow’s force
Blood poured from the tiny, thirsty throat
Once more he lurched and then went still
His cap fell to the ground and he breathed his last
Tiny fists curled over his chest, body numb
A minute ago he was sucking his thumbs
And the desolate Father, watched His son
Saw the devastation the arrow had done
And watched the baby in the throes of death
The tiny hands groping at the injured neck
The lifeless eyes rolling back in the head
Blood gushing forth from the battered neck
Gently pulling out the arrow from the baby’s neck
Husain lifted His son toward the heaven and said
“My God please accept my last sacrifice
For your cause, in your path, my son is now dead”
“Little in age but magnanimous in deeds
Thus are the children of Allah’s creed”
poem by Mir Babar Ali Anees
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So Much Worrying As To What Happens To My Inheritance When I Die....
what i like
for the moment
for the moment
is this
favorite dog of mine
curling under my
feet
soft brown hair
touching
my toes
do i have really to
worry about the
future
mother?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song Of The Violin
SHE stood in the curtains played over by light —
The tinted curtains — a tired, sweet girl,
With exquisite arms under laces of white
Like an ivory figure in mother-of-pearl.
I entered; she saw me, but made no move;
To some I nodded, to some replied;
(A violin somewhere was singing of love)
She blushed and paled, and I stood at her side.
I asked for a dance — she shook her head
And laughed like a petted, petulant queen;
She had promised them all to others, she said,
'And you are so late — and where have you been?'
They were talking low in the long, bright room,
And I answered her, moving the blind aside —
'Out there on the lawn in the velvet gloom,
Wooing a woman to make her my bride.'
She suddenly shook like a startled dove;
Ruffled and paled and hung her head
(A violin somewhere was singing of love,
And bitter-sweet were the things it said).
'This heat is stifling!' — she moved away.
'Out here,' I whispered, 'and hark to the tide!'
'The woman — where is she?' I heard her say;
'Now show me the woman you wooed for a bride.'
'Here on the land — and there on the sea,
Her feet among roses, her head in the skies;
And now do you see her?' She whispered 'I see,'
Her hand on my shoulder, a laugh in her eyes.
'Do you love her — this lady so mystical, fine?
I dwindle before her, a plain little miss;
She has stars in her hair — only roses in mine;
But the Night has no heart, and the Night cannot kiss.'
'Not now, if you please, sir!' — a moment she strove —
The curve of my arm softly circled her head . . .
A violin somewhere was singing of love,
And sweet beyond all were the things it said.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Air is a Root
The air is a root.
The stones are filled with tenderness. bravo.
bravo. the stones are filled with air.
the stones are watery branches.
on the stones replacing the mouth
grows the skeleton of a leaf. bravo.
A stone voice face to face and foot to foot
with a stone glance.
the stones are tormented like flesh
the stones are clouds for their second
nature dances to them on their third nose.
bravo. bravo.
when the stones scratch themselves, nails grow
on the roots. bravo. bravo.
the stones woke to eat the exact
hour
Soiled Hands
Wash and clean your hands
My lesson teacher taught me
That it brings personal hygiene
I abide by this instruction
But as I traversed the land
As I looked around me
I amazingly see soiled hands.
Elders hands are dirty.
Kings finger tips
Are putrefied with red oil.
Servants hands are dipped
Into the forbidden pots.
Horrid and foul smells
Oozes into the air space
Floods of dirts overflow
Our dear mother land
Our treasures are vanished
Via our soiled hands
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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