En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Biblical Audiology

prophetic verses set like smooth stones
past the camels dry chiseled steps.

next to a parable and a jawbone.
the dead sea testamental tongues
leaflike water the valley of acacia
transposing thier verbal vernacular.

the oral traditions passed down
by the giver of ghost
and imprinted on the skull
bones of martyred saints.

down where bone becomes papris,
the course stones shed thier skin.

and under the fingernails of an old
god the fossils prophesy.

yes the dry bones prophesy...

speaking in ancient acrostic constructs,
verse by verse their biblical audiologies
unfold in an east wind.

poem by Nathan Martin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The New Ezekiel

What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried
By twenty scorching centuries of wrong?
Is this the House of Israel, whose pride
Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song?
Are these ignoble relics all that live
Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can the breath
Of very heaven bid these bones revive,
Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death?

Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said. Again
Say to the wind, Come forth and breathe afresh,
Even that they may live upon these slain,
And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.
The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word,
Where lay dead bones, a host of armed men stand!
I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord,
And I shall place you living in your land.

poem by Emma Lazarus
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Skin

Underneath my skin, is another skin

Underneath my bones some other bones

In which you have walked

And still walk

Underneath this tree grows another tree

In which you have grown

In which your roots have sewn

These shoots that rise up

Carry me nearer to you

I walk into your past

Breathe inside of your days

And your heart holds mine

Each beat

A sign that you are still living

Underneath these stones

Are your living stones

That will not die

I walk into your past

And live always in your presence

I carry you under my skin

Shaped by the dust of your bone

Born from the seed of your love

Carried on the wind

I carry you under my skin

Into the skin of another

Into the flesh and the blood of a lover

And you will live on

In the root of the tree

In the fruit of the flower

On and on

Held in the heart on another

I carry you under my skin

And always you are here, with me

poem by Yvette Smith
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They The People

they the people, united by flashing lights
huddeled alone with sharp words taken flight

they the people, who love things that do not move
and cower before them lest otherwise be proved

they the people, with passion for throwing stones
to hit any target except for their bones

they the people, guarding piles of shells
to rally against neighbor at the ringing of bells

they the people, dumb deaf to distant cries
but the belief that two plus two equals christ

they the people, praying forever for more
tithing thier children to the shadows of war

they the people, they the people, they
choke on thier blood like wolves licking a blade.

poem by David Grant Sinclair
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Diggin Up Bones

Verse 1:
Last night I dug your picture out from my old dresser drawer
I set it on the table and I talked to it til four
I read some old love letters right up til the break of bone
Yeah Ive been settlin alone diggin up bones
Verse 2:
Then I went to the jewelery and I found our wedding rings
Ive put mine on my finger and I gave yours a flame
I crossed this lonely bedroom of our recent broken home
Yeah tonight Im settlin alone diggin up bones
Chorus:
Im diggin up bones,Im diggin up bones
Exhuming things that better left alone
Im resurrecting memories of love thats dead and gone
Yeah tonight Im settlin alone diggin up bones
Verse 3:
And I went to the closet and I found some things in there
Like that pretty neglige that I bought you to wear
And I recall how good you looked each time you had it on
Yeah tonight Im settlin alone diggin up bones
Chorus.
Im resurrecting memories of love thats dead and gone
Yeah tonight Im settlin alone diggin up bones
Chorus (til end).

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stones of Death

I gather the stones of death,
My options are few and a breath;
This I design with my hands
And the feet may be from badlands.

The stones I picked deceived me,
Their large amount was ivory;
I wanted a little pebble or parable
To consist of the wisdom not horrible.

The horror I concerned myself with
Was loved by demons and the gunsmith;
Shooting carried disorder like stones,
Pebbles called bullets fired at bones.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Don't ever prophesy; for if you prophesy wrong, nobody will forget it; and if you prophesy right, nobody will remember it.

quote by Josh Billings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sticks And Stones

Sticks and stones, might break my bones
And words, shall never harm me,
I was told that story, when I was a Boy
Along with the birds and bees, I believe
So I lived my life, through that advice
That was given to me in my youth,
That sticks and stones would break my bones
And words could do no harm was true.
So I stayed away from sticks and stones
And tried never calling anyone names
But the sticks still arrived, in my life
And also the words of hate and pain.
But then I had healed from broken bones
And bruises and all the nasty cuts,
It made me stronger, then I thought longer
About the words of hate and such.
Because the words of hate, I couldn't escape
As I noticed them around everyday
Destroying ones soul, until life they'd let go
Or asking GOD for vengeance as they'd pray.
Sticks and stones had broke my bones
And words of hate had really harmed me,
As I look around, I can still hear the sound
Of hate, and belittlement, and bigotry.
There are still broken bones and nasty cuts,
As I see as I enter every day with a walk,
But doctors heal then, as they are new again
But the words of hatred never balks.
In my life I have made many choices,
And I hope with one I don't stand alone
Never to ever use any word of hate
As I don't mind getting hit with sticks or stones.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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For The Reader

Thier tortured soul will climb into this blind
And thier words will mingle with mine
In thier mind, they'll think of the ideals
A shride of pride for this moment in time,
When our mind's eye do intertwine
And everything clicks for a mild moment
The humor will bring them up, though they're never really down
Smiles pound thier heart from the inside out
They'll pry and try to get inside, behind these battered eyes
This person will read my poem and for a spliced moment,
Realize and get it
The message of feelings underneath
They could be any color, or mind, from any walk of life
But if they give my try some attention
They are not only the reader, but also
The Intention

poem by Lauren Miller
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Temporary Poem Of My Time

Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.

Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?

Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.

Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.

Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav

poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Canto VII — Sad Souvenaunce

What's this?" I pondered. "Have I slept?
Or can I have been drinking?"
But soon a gentler feeling crept
Upon me, and I sat and wept
An hour or so, like winking.

"No need for Bones to hurry so!"
I sobbed. "In fact, I doubt
If it was worth his while to go —
And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know,
To make such work about?

"If Tibbs is anything like me,
It's possible," I said,
"He won't be over-pleased to be
Dropped in upon at half-past three,
After he's snug in bed.

"And if Bones plagues him anyhow —
Squeaking and all the rest of it,
As he was doing here just now —
I prophesy there'll be a row,
And Tibbs will have the best of it!"

Then, as my tears could never bring
The friendly Phantom back,
It seemed to me the proper thing
To mix another glass, and sing
The following Coronach.

'And art thou gone, beloved Ghost?
Best of familiars!
Nay then, farewell, my duckling roast,
Farewell, farewell, my tea and toast,
My meerschaum and cigars!

The hues of life are dull and gray,
The sweets of life insipid,
When thou, my charmer, art away —
Old Brick, or rather, let me say,
Old Parallelepiped!'

Instead of singing Verse the Third,
I ceased — abruptly, rather:
But, after such a splendid word
I felt that it would be absurd
To try it any farther.

So with a yawn I went my way
To seek the welcome downy,
And slept, and dreamed till break of day
Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay
And Leprechaun and Brownie!

For year I've not been visited
By any kind of Sprite;
Yet still they echo in my head,
Those parting words, so kindly said,
"Old Turnip-top, good-night!"

poem by Lewis Carroll from Phantasmagoria
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Religious Table

A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bones Of Angels

Long shadows
Bright light
That falls to the front
From a darkness behind
There is no end
To this mountain top
Inside these stones
Only peace will we find
Inside out
We're all part of the stone
That makes up the mountain
And harbours the bones
The bones of angels
That showed us the way
You can feel them at night
While they sleep through the day
The bones of angels
The bones of angels
Together we will be
Forever we will see
I see you
And I see me
And the bones of angels

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Memoriam

In memoriam

Tribute to Alfred Lord Tennyson

Old Yew, which graspeth at the stones
that name the underlying dead.
Thy fibres net the dreamless head
thy roots are wrapt around the bones.

Old Yew, which graspeth at the stones.
Hale and heart still long after
the aged men and withered crones.
Have ceased their life of love and laughter.

That name the underlying dead.
Fine samples of the mason’s art
in letters finely chisell’ed.
The stones remain though souls depart

Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
the flesh consumed to feed the tree.
Which lives long after they are dead.
Still clothed each year in greenery.

Thy roots are wrapt around the bones
An embrace closer than they knew
when they were wracked by passions moans
and no doubt longer lasting too.

4-Sep-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fury Of Beautiful Bones

Sing me a thrush, bone.
Sing me a nest of cup and pestle.
Sing me a sweetbread fr an old grandfather.
Sing me a foot and a doorknob, for you are my love.
Oh sing, bone bag man, sing.
Your head is what I remember that August
you were in love with another woman but
that didn't matter. I was the guy of your
bones, your fingers long and nubby, your
forehead a beacon, bare as marble and I worried
you like an odor because you had not quite forgotten,
bone bag man, garlic in the North End,
the book you dedicated, naked as a fish,
naked as someone drowning into his own mouth.
I wonder, Mr. Bone man, what you're thinking
of your fury now, gone sour as a sinking whale,
crawling up the alphabet on her own bones.
Am I in your ear still singing songs in the rain,
me of the death rattle, me of the magnolias,
me of the sawdust tavern at the city's edge.
Women have lovely bones, arms, neck, thigh
and I admire them also, but your bones
supersede loveliness. They are the tough
ones that get broken and reset. I just can't
answer for you, only for your bones,
round rulers, round nudgers, round poles,
numb nubkins, the sword of sugar.
I feel the skull, Mr. Skeleton, living its
own life in its own skin.

poem by Anne Sexton
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Phantasmagoria CANTO VII ( Sad Souvenaunce )

"WHAT'S this?" I pondered. "Have I slept?
Or can I have been drinking?"
But soon a gentler feeling crept
Upon me, and I sat and wept
An hour or so, like winking.

"No need for Bones to hurry so!"
I sobbed. "In fact, I doubt
If it was worth his while to go -
And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know,
To make such work about?

"If Tibbs is anything like me,
It's POSSIBLE," I said,
"He won't be over-pleased to be
Dropped in upon at half-past three,
After he's snug in bed.

"And if Bones plagues him anyhow -
Squeaking and all the rest of it,
As he was doing here just now -
I prophesy there'll be a row,
And Tibbs will have the best of it!"

Then, as my tears could never bring
The friendly Phantom back,
It seemed to me the proper thing
To mix another glass, and sing
The following Coronach.

'AND ART THOU GONE, BELOVED GHOST?
BEST OF FAMILIARS!
NAY THEN, FAREWELL, MY DUCKLING ROAST,
FAREWELL, FAREWELL, MY TEA AND TOAST,
MY MEERSCHAUM AND CIGARS!

THE HUES OF LIFE ARE DULL AND GRAY,
THE SWEETS OF LIFE INSIPID,
WHEN thou, MY CHARMER, ART AWAY -
OLD BRICK, OR RATHER, LET ME SAY,
OLD PARALLELEPIPED!'

Instead of singing Verse the Third,
I ceased - abruptly, rather:
But, after such a splendid word
I felt that it would be absurd
To try it any farther.

So with a yawn I went my way
To seek the welcome downy,
And slept, and dreamed till break of day
Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay
And Leprechaun and Brownie!

For year I've not been visited
By any kind of Sprite;
Yet still they echo in my head,
Those parting words, so kindly said,
"Old Turnip-top, good-night!"

poem by Lewis Carroll
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Language In Our Lungs

There is no language in our lungs
To tell the world just how we feel
No bridge of thought
No mental link
No letting out just what you think
There is no language in our lungs
There is no muscle in our tongues
To tell the world whats in our hearts
No were leaving nothing
Just chiselled stones
No chance to speak before were bones
There is no muscle in our tongues
I thought I had the whole world in my mouth
I thought I could say what I wanted to say
For a second that thought became a sword in my hand
I could slay any problem that would stand in my way
I felt just like a crusader
Lionheart, a holy land invader
But nobody can say what they really mean to say and
The impotency of speech came up and hit me that day and
I would have made this instrumental
But the words got in the way
There is no language in our...
There is no language in our lungs
To tell the world whats in our hearts
No were leaving nothing behind
Just chiselled stones
No chance to speak before were bones
There is no language in our lungs.

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Party In My Bones

party in my bones
I'm shuffling down on the street
this cold night laid me bare
I'm going down with the stream
into the city's blare
Passing by the hooker's row tempting lips,
oh burning curse
Hey babe save yourself for tomorrow
keep your passion in your purse
Came on! I can hear those crazy tones
If I can't find a party,
I'll have a party in my bones
I'm spinning round and round
around my tattooed bones
The dreams are razed to the ground
and covered with heavy stones
Passing by the junky's square
it feels so dizzy, feels so gay
A giddy sniff from the air
and I'm dating fairies right away
Come on! I can hear those crazy tones
If I can't find a party,
I'll have a party in my bones
I'm falling outta my skin
into the midnight glass
The shade of human sin
is walking on magic grass
Bright morning makes me sober
twilight's gone it seems so dull
I fall prey to the brandy soaked suburb
Hey, pour some brandy in my skull!
Come on! I can hear those crazy tones
If I can't find a party,
I'll have a party in my bones

song performed by by Quimby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Skeleton Dance

The moon is on the graveyard,
The night is cool and still,
The wind blows gently,
Yes it blows where it will,
And the slightest sound,
From a place that's unknown,
Come do the skeleton dance,
And rattle my bones.

Do the skeleton dance
Jingle jangle bones,
Do the skeleton dance
All the way back home,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're all alone,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're done with your bones.

See the eyes of a werewolf,
Staring back at you,
A dozen or two skeletons,
Make up the rest of the crew,
The zombies stumble around,
Looking for their brains,
Ghost float like a mist,
And its about to rain.

Do the skeleton dance
Jingle jangle bones,
Do the skeleton dance
All the way back home,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're all alone,
Do the skeleton dance
When you're done with your bones.

The devil takes off his skin,
And plays the xylophone,
God plays the piano,
On a stool made of bone,
Jesus lights a lantern,
Buddha counts to three,
They all form a circle,
To do the skeleton dance with me.

poem by Blaine McCanless
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Alunan 5

Poet travelling over water

befriend the wind
let it ride easy
in the hollows
of your bones
open your bosom
for wind to go through
storm rising
fron the abyss
could pitch your
on the rocks
blow the skull apart
for darkness and sun
coldness and heat
to flow in without staying

salt-caked and split
your tongue will breed
secret words
of the wind's singing

now then
will the wind
command the billows
to bear you
the tide to lay your bones
under the moon
to bleach wothout rancor
without bliss everything forgiven
your name that wind spells
on water the syllables

so very kindly
very gently leave
where it will

posted by merlie alunan @ 12: 18 AM

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dead Or Alive

There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)

song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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