En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Even Your Name To Me...

Even your name to me is contemptible,
But when you blink and squint your eyes,
I hear the howl of a multyfoamy stream,
And from a desert - the rainstorm comes.

The golden and brown eye - is silent,
The thin fingers seek for a throat...
Come. Creep up. I shall strike -
And, as a cat, you shall curve...

poem by A. Blok, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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Sick bed[2}

The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.

My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.

Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.

Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sick bed

The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.

My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.

Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.

Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Old Tunes

When friends are listening round me, Jack, to hear my dying breath,
And I am lying in a sleep they say will end in death,
Don’t notice what the doctor says—and let the nurse complain——
I’ll tell you how to rouse me if I’ll ever wake again.

Just you bring in your fiddle, Jack, and set your heart in tune,
And strike up “Annie Laurie”, or “The Rising of the Moon”;
And if you see no token of a rising in my throat,
You’ll need to brace your mouth, old man—I’m booked by Charon’s boat.

And if you are not satisfied that I am off the scene,
Strike up “The Marseillaise”, or else “The Wearing of the Green”;
And should my fingers tremble not, then I have crossed the line,
But keep your fingers steady, Jack, and strike up “Auld Lang Syne”.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Golden Opportunity

(ian hunter)
The kids are ok
Theyre telling you now
But youre letting them down
Cause you just dont know how
And its a golden opportunity
Im spinning in space
Im laughing away
Your so pathetic
I can just hear them say
Its like a golden opportunity
You better hear it
See hear it
Its a golden opportunity
You better hear it
Get near it
Its a golden opportunity
We reckon theyre rats
Now see how they run
My house is so common
And were dumb were so dumb
And its a golden opportunity
Scream all you suckers
Scream all you can
Im losing my bluff
Its a scam its a scam
And its a golden opportunity
You better hear it
You better hear it hear it
Its like a golden opportunity
You better hear it
You better hear it hear it
Its like a golden opportunity
Alright!
You better hear it hear it
Hear it hear it
Its a golden opportunity
Hear it
Hear it
Its a golden opportunity
You better hear it
You better hear it
Its a golden opportunity
You better hear it
You better hear it
Its a golden opportunity
(fade)

song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost legion for Friend Thad

The earth beneath the desert sun is baked to shades of brown and dun.
A sea of sand which ceaselessly moves with wind uneasily.
The land marks here are far and few but known by those belonging to the nomad bands who freely roam this sea of sand and call it home.
A people fierce and proud and free who guard their secrets ruthlessly.
Intruders are not welcome here; invaders simply disappear.
Their fate is very seldom known, the desert can protect its own
Whole Roman legions were erased their resting place cannot be traced.
The desert knows but will not speak some bones are found by those who seek
to solve the ancient mysteries. Perhaps rewrite the histories.
To validate their theories of how an army disappears.
without a clues as to their fate. A subject open to debate.

The desert sands move constantly, sometimes revealing teasingly
bleached bones and weapons on the sand which scholars strive to understand.
Does it matter anyway? Why do we seek to know today
what happened to the lost legion. Although the legend lingers on.
The desert will not satisfy our burning curiosity
The desert knows but will not share the scholars find this hard to bear.
The desert lands conceal with ease volumes of untold histories.
Which earnest scholars yearn to read, perhaps one day they will succeed.
But until then the burning sun will bake the earth to brown and dun
Maintaining its long secrecy in brooding silent dignity.

30-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Wraith

"Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
That you haunt my door?"
—Surely it is not I she's wanting;
Someone living here before—
"Nobody's in the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."

Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,—
Have you seen her, any of you?—
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
And the garden showing through?

Glimmering eyes,—and silent, mostly,
Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
If you get a sound from her.—

Ever see her, any of you?—
Strangest thing I've ever known,—
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.

"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"

Curious, how she tried the window,—
Odd, the way she tries the door,—
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before . . .

poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Putting a Face on Love

Secretly,
I'd often wonder
what you saw
when you looked
at me...

Did you see silvered
lengths of hair and
time-worn skin

stretched thin
with living,

or did you see youth
dressed in black tresses
with eyes of green
laughing,
softly,

at life's
irony...

and I'd always realize,
if love had a face
it would be yours ~

every contour,
curve, and shadow
searing my memory
with radiant
light ~

burning their imprint
upon my skin
with eyes of
brown.

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Further he lies silent

When with his long fur coat
he comes and lies on my lap
and look at me with golden eyes
with black pupils,
his front paws tread softly
while he makes a nest for himself.

There’s a purr sound
coming from his throat
and further he lies silent
while my fingers
stroke his head
and woolly ginger stomach
and two paws
gather my hand at times
like only my serval can

[Reference: Ginger persian cat here referred to as a serval.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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My Chocolate Brown

My chocolate brown I'd dip you in honey's hive
give you the shades of brown aligned in your skin
even there
even then
We fade in the highest air
I want us to be particles known only to us
My chocolate brown
you curve the windows of me at 17
17 could not i resist
You linger on me skin
I smell you when I
out
in
breathe
When thinking of you I winced in between
I 17
not been had but you had me
every way but physically
Dark eyes
I exchange you the moon
every encounter
Chocolate brown
Chocolate brown
It's me you woo
melodic notes
I sing
I pronounce you the key
I fall for you
irresponsibly

poem by Urshula Davis
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Wolf's Eyes

Wolves eyes...
are the most beautiful eyes
to look into.
What do you see
when you look
in those shimmering eyes
filled with fright?
You will see eyes
filled with fright and pain
for her little one's death.
What do you hear
in her sweet howl?
You will hear her howling
in pain because
her little one is gone forever.
If you look...
in her eyes filled
with fright and pain
you will see a wolf
who needs our desperate help.
If you listen...
to her howl
you will hear
her desperate cry for help
that will never come
her way again.

poem by Jinx Natta
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Deadmans Curve

The street was desserted late friday night
We were buggin each other while we sat out the light
We both popped our clutch when the light turned green
You should have heard the wine from my screamin machine
I flew past la brea, down to crescent heights
And all the jag could see were my six tail lights
He passed me at doheny and I started to swerve
But I pulled her out and there we were at deadmans curve
Deadmans curve is no place to play
Deadmans curve
Well, the last thing I remember doc.
I started to swerve, and then I saw the jag slide into the curb
I know Ill never forget that horrible sight
I found out for myself, that everyone was right
Wont come back from deadmans curve
Deadmans curve is no place to play
Deadmans curve you best keep away
Deadmans curve I can hear them say
Wont come back from deadmans curve

song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfect Murder

Move inside my daydream
Like fingers in a glove
Twisting round and round and round
Round and round and round with love!
The meeker sleeker circle girls dressed in docile white
Spinning on a hill they follow the dracula kite
The first idea flew thin and uninvited from the sky
I reached out my hands and held the knife of ice
Very thin red water flowed underneath my skin
I turned their eyes blue children
The perfect murder
Wait until the darkest coldest summer nights
Thats when it starts
But if you blink you'll miss the fun
You'll lose their pretty hearts

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Curved Eyelash

I could feel the vibration of your screams in the air.
I could perceive your sight touching this vibration, by curving the time.

I could understand this vibrating touch.
I could realize the sense of curve

And the sight of the second curve, the sigmoid curve.

The air would be very much compressed, it would beget the sound..

The twinkle in your eye would be aslant
Through an opening and it would reach the ground,
By gliding rapidly along your very long, curved eyelash...

You would re-enter your own world, deep inside you,
You would become the curve in itself.

Love would become an unstable point of equilibrium...

A grey cloud would form when the air would be heated by the sun
And a sphere of incumbency would engrave your insular thinking.

I wouldn’t be able to keep that second anymore.

The second would glide between my fingers

My praying fingers.

The horizon by the sea
Would be photoengraved with corals and shells..

The eye horizon would receive this for comprehensiveness....

That would shiver the universe...

You would be awake, you would be able to be revived.....

poem by Marieta Maglas
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Love In The Sunlight

we lie on the grass
in the late afternoon sunlight
the breeze rustles the leaves
of a scorched palm tree
hair sprawl on the grass
brown eyes look into blue eyes
blue eyes look into brown eyes
her fingers run though my hair
I close my eyes
I feel the warmth of the sun
I feel the sweetness of her fingers
running through my hair
it feels good
it feels right
our loves meet

poem by Georgios Andritsos
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Take This Body

Take this body, my love,
my body, my love,
feel my knees and my arms,
feel my fingers on your hair,
cold fingers, sad fingers,
kiss my mouth, my love,
ever so gently
caressing my chest and stroking my hair,
play with it-whatever is left of it-
I'm sad, my love,
and as I hear you laugh,
I feel the water around my eyes,
my brown eyes, the eyes of a poet,
the eyes of a stranger-
I'm a stranger, my love,
I'm a stranger in a strange land
of secret kisses and lovelorn faces,
of cold bodies huddled together,
hiding behind stiff dresses
and tightly fitting jeans,
I'm a stranger to a kiss,
I'm a stranger to a moist mouth
and a playful tongue,
I'm a stranger to a warm breast,
I stand here bespectacled and confused,
scratching my scraggly beard,
forcing a faint smile-
there is so much pain, my love,
right here in the palm of my hand,
right here in the lump of my throat,
right here in the tightness of my chest,
I'm strung like an instrument
with shrunken testicles
and immobilized toes-
see me tremble, my love,
see me shed a tear
onto this dusty world-
I'm with you, my love,
I'm with you alone,
I'm with you in embrace
of tender passion,
I'm in love with you
and that's why
I'm full of
tears.

poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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My Desert Serenade

(words & music by stan gelber)
Come here my serenade, my desert serenade
A lovers melody, to bring you close to me
Its a tender lullaby, born of golden sand and sky
The song is new, and its calling you
Tonight beside the desert palms
Come let me take you in my arms
Come here my serenade, my desert serenade
Wherever lovers dwell, it weaves its magic spell
Soon a thousand dreams will start,
And romance will fill your heart
My lips conceal, love thats warm and real
Give me a chance to hold you near
Youll see a brand new world appear
So come and hear, my desert serenade, my desert serenade,
My desert serenade

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost souls...

Sad angry eyes tearing at my throat.
staring deep into my minds recesses....
retreat in pain...
do you see what i see?
and does it look as flower raped by raging winds.
Sad angry eyes tearing at my spirit,
hauntingly admire my aching heart....
surrendering in pain....
can you hear what i hear?
and do you die at that sound that lies the other side of silence?
sad angry eyes tearing at my veins
do you feel what i feel?
and does it creep over you as a pull on an arrow swallowed by the soul.
sad angry eyes tearing at my being,
do you taste what I taste?
and does it smell of blood that washes over you,
filling your mind with desire.

poem by Crybaby Clark
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Snow wolves

I can hear the wolves
Howl in the distance
The howl is suddenly
Dampened by the falling snow
In a clearing
I see the wolves howl
Perched on the slanted rock
They cry to the moon
The moon cries back
It cries with agony
It cries because of death
Death witnessed beneath it's glow
The wolves turn and howl
The snow doesn't let up
But blows harder
Through blind panic
i run
I hear the wolves howl
Only it isn't in the distance

poem by Eric Ripley
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Silent Eyes

Words & music by paul simon
Silent eyes
Watching jerusalem
Make her bed of stones
Silent eyes
No one will comfort her
Jerusalem
Weeps alone
She is sorrow, sorrow
She burns like a flame
And she calls my name
Silent eyes
Burning in the desert sun
Halfway to jerusalem
And we shall all be called as witnesses
Each and evryone
To stand before the eyes of god
And speak what was done

song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Happen To The Angel?

There are times when
your brain goes in reverse.
This is the time when
you want a good nurse.
One that has the looks of an angel,
with long golden hair,
and eyes like deep pools of blue.
The ones that you could swim
around in them forever.

Suddenly the brain
kicks into forward drive.
You blink and blink again
at the vision stand there.
A grumpy face
that is weathered fine.
Black spots for eyes,
hands callused and ruff
married in with a voice gruff.

What happen to the angel,
the one with the long golden hair?
She is gone in the dream
and you’re left with an angel in reverse.
Your brain now tries
to think of a resolution.
However, I’m going to leave it here
for you to make up your own conclusion.

poem by David Harris
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