Black Velvety Sheet
Red velvety sheet for fun
Blue Velvety sheet for love
Pink velvety sheet for fun
Black sheet for stealing love
poem by Doris Dzameshie
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For You, My Dear, When You Are So Blank
white sheet. a paper. like you.
iwant to write something
just to fill this white sheet a little bit
some words. i can utter them.
but i like writing them
just to make this white sheet looking
full. like
'i love you'.
the rest need not be written.
i know you know and you know that i know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yad Mordechai
Yad Mordechai. Those who fell here
still look out the windows like sick children
who are not allowed outside to play.
And on the hillside, the battle is reenacted
for the benefit of hikers and tourists. Soldiers of thin sheet iron
rise and fall and rise again. Sheet iron dead and a sheet iron life
and the voices all—sheet iron. And the resurrection of the dead,
sheet iron that clangs and clangs.
And I said to myself: Everyone is attached to his own lament
as to a parachute. Slowly he descends and slowly hovers
until he touches the hard place.
Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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And then the paper is dirty
You start with a clean sheet of paper
Write some words, scribble, draw some lines
Some curves, sharp lines, tangent to bold
Lines, and rough sketches of faces and
Bodies, thin lines that get crooked from
End to end of this limited space,
You doodle, you get wild with so
Many lines unimaginable, senseless,
The paper finally looks dirty,
And you do not like it, you crumple
It and throw it in a waste basket,
You get another clean sheet,
And this time, you think what is
It really that you want to make
Out of this new clean sheet of paper.
You think, you ponder, and you need
More time this time not to waste
This clean, glossy sheet of paper.
I think you are doing well with your life.
You see you are supposed to be careful
Every word is delicate and every paper
Is actually accounted.
Never mind guilt, set it aside for a while.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wish Life Were Like It
when i was a child
mama would give me a blank sheet
of paper where i can draw lines and circles
where my imagination runs
unstopped like it were the wind
blowing anywhere
all colors swirl and figures of angels
and fairies and castles and horses are drawn &
after a while all these become too
crowded inside the four corners
of the large white sheet
and then tired of such figures and lines and
circles and colors crowding on that large white sheet
i decided to take it away and
crumple it and throw it on the waste basket
and i would tell mama that i am taking
another blank sheet for my use
and she says 'It's alright'
I wish my life were like it. Something that i can
change the moment i do not like it.
Something to crumple and throw when
necessity dictates it.
And then i take another for good start.
I wish it were like that. But simply said,
it isn't.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New Year Snow
THE white snow falls on hill and dale,
The snow falls white by square and street,
Falls on the town, a bridal veil,
And on the fields a winding-sheet.
A winding-sheet for last year's flowers,
For last year's love, and last year's tear,
A bridal veil for the New Hours,
For the New Love and the New Year.
Soft snow, spread out his winding-sheet!
Spin fine her veil, O bridal snow!
Cover the print of her dancing feet,
And the place where he lies low.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Blank Sheet Of Paper
I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2010/05/16 Outlawed
Psychologically preparing for returning to
work tomorrow, making lists, Production
Sheet of everything I did during the month
Month Sheet for everything we ALL did
during the month
Work-On-Hand, a list of work to be done by
me in the coming week, another list of work
to be done by the whole Section during the
coming week, sheet upon sheet, a list of
lists to be listed
By the time we are finished listing I will have
done so much soul-searching, seeking out
shortcomings in my conscience, I shall know
I am a criminal, guilty for being born, even more
guilty for living on
Guilty for breathing and dreaming of a better world
where freedom and joy, love and acceptance abound
guilty for being a flawed human being who should be
kept in the straightjacket of legislation, laws and
regulations - guilty for being
A specimen of the species homo erectus - bureaucracy
has been designed to strangle all humanity out of me -
but I learnt to love breathing because breathing
has been outlawed...
*
Let’s kill the world, let’s all die out, it’s my highest dream
to become extinct, let’s kill the world, let’s all die out,
my highest vision is one of extinction...
poem by Margaret Alice
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Superman
I cant stand to fly
Im not that naive
Im just out to find
The better part of me
Im more than a bird...Im more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
Its not easy to be me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home Ill never see
It may sound absurd...but dont be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but wont you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
Its not easy to be me
Up, up and away...away from me
Its all right...you can all sleep sound tonight
Im not crazy...or anything...
I cant stand to fly
Im not that naive
Men werent meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
Im only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me
Inside me
Yeah, inside me
Inside of me
Im only a man
In a funny red sheet
Im only a man
Looking for a dream
Im only a man
In a funny red sheet
And its not easy, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm...
Its not easy to be me
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Under The Sheet
What a terrible night! Does the Night, I wonder-
The Night, with her black veil down to her feet
Like an ordained nun, know what lies under
That awful, motionless, snow-white sheet?
The winds seem crazed, and, wildly howling,
Over the sad earth blindly go.
Do they and the dark clouds over them scowling,
Do they dream or know?
Why, here in the room, not a week or over-
Tho' it must be a week, not more than one-
(I cannot reckon of late or discover
When one day is ended or one begun),
But here in this room we were laughing lightly,
And glad was the measure our two hearts beat;
And the royal face that was smiling so brightly
Lies under that sheet.
I know not why-it is strange and fearful,
But I am afraid of her, lying there;
She who was always so gay and cheerful,
Lying so still with that stony stare:
She who was so like some grand sultana,
Fond of color and glow and heat,
To lie there clothed in that awful manner
In a stark white sheet.
She who was made out of summer blisses,
Tropical, beautiful, gracious, fair,
To lie and stare at my fondest kisses-
God! no wonder it whitens my hair.
Shriek, oh, wind! for the world is lonely;
Trail cloud-veil to the nun Night's feet.
For all that I prized in life is only
A shape and a sheet.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A tribute to William Bronk, poet.
There you have him, and you have him not..
his life, his poetry;
humility, yet
the glimpse of glory;
the glimpse of glory, yet
humility..
There’s how it is; and how
it seems. And poetry.
So poets say, of how it seems, that
‘it’s as if…’
and of how it is, they say that
‘it’s as if..’
for thus we are to know
the slender, swinging, fearful
in its impertinent height over
awful depths, rope bridge
of words across the chasm,
life, below, fast flowing,
the poet carrying a thin scribbled sheet
with undescribably great love
about how it is, and
how it seems,
about how it seems, and
how it is
and on the sheet,
‘As if..’
We’ll understand.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Dot On White Sheet!
Green leaves of spring are not there;
Colourful flowers of all seasons are gone;
Only white snow covers all in winter!
Winter snow thick or thin is white sheet
That covers all colourful things long!
Scrubbing snow on the road is a daily exercise
To clear route for all vehicles to go smooth;
All covered with fur cloth move in the street;
This white snow is like a white sheet of paper;
All the movements on it are the dots of scribble!
Writers are hungry of white paper to write on;
Poets are fond of writing poems on white sheet;
And the matters on white paper are men on snow;
But nobody likes winter as all are for colourful life!
poem by Ramesh T A
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God’s balance sheet
In God’s balance sheet
There is no profit, no loss.
The profit in your balance sheet
Tallies with the loss elsewhere.
19.11.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Father’s Son
Once
when I was still a baby boy
obsessed, thrilled with dark night sky
father said, shut your eyes tightly
then sailed I into dark night sky
dreaming of my arms
dipping in deep, dark-blue velvety
palpating golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatching twinkling stars.
But
i fell like lead
just before hard ground
to my father’s arms- veinated, calloused
his chirped nails safely grabbed
then
i opened my eyes
stretching my empty arms, pink nails
for a earnest glimpse of
a dip of deep, dark-blue velvety
golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatched twinkling stars.
and I felt sad.
Then-
father buried his head on my nape
his grizzly beard tickling my face
making little ‘blurp’ ‘blurp’ sounds
my shrill laughter
accosting his deep throaty laughter
echoing my disappointment into dark night sky
before sailing me into dark night sky
back to his rough-gentle arms
again
again
and again
to dip in deep, dark-blue velvety
palpate golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatching twinkling stars.
“Drink all Ma’s omena* soup
to be taller, reach the dark night sky”
father said, following my gaze
into the dark night sky
static radio bleating reggae
golden full moon bathing us in golden sheen
just me and my father
sleeping in his rough-gentle arms
dreaming of my arms
dipping in deep, dark-blue velvety
palpating golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatching twinkling stars
poem by Manuel Odeny
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Lie Still, Sleep Becalmed
Lie still, sleep becalmed, sufferer with the wound
In the throat, burning and turning. All night afloat
On the silent sea we have heard the sound
That came from the wound wrapped in the salt sheet.
Under the mile off moon we trembled listening
To the sea sound flowing like blood from the loud wound
And when the salt sheet broke in a storm of singing
The voices of all the drowned swam on the wind.
Open a pathway through the slow sad sail,
Throw wide to the wind the gates of the wandering boat
For my voyage to begin to the end of my wound,
We heard the sea sound sing, we saw the salt sheet tell.
Lie still, sleep becalmed, hide the mouth in the throat,
Or we shall obey, and ride with you through the drowned.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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A Considerable Speck
(Microscopic)
A speck that would have been beneath my sight
On any but a paper sheet so white
Set off across what I had written there.
And I had idly poised my pen in air
To stop it with a period of ink
When something strange about it made me think,
This was no dust speck by my breathing blown,
But unmistakably a living mite
With inclinations it could call its own.
It paused as with suspicion of my pen,
And then came racing wildly on again
To where my manuscript was not yet dry;
Then paused again and either drank or smelt--
With loathing, for again it turned to fly.
Plainly with an intelligence I dealt.
It seemed too tiny to have room for feet,
Yet must have had a set of them complete
To express how much it didn't want to die.
It ran with terror and with cunning crept.
It faltered: I could see it hesitate;
Then in the middle of the open sheet
Cower down in desperation to accept
Whatever I accorded it of fate.
I have none of the tenderer-than-thou
Collectivistic regimenting love
With which the modern world is being swept.
But this poor microscopic item now!
Since it was nothing I knew evil of
I let it lie there till I hope it slept.
I have a mind myself and recognize
Mind when I meet with it in any guise
No one can know how glad I am to find
On any sheet the least display of mind.
poem by Robert Frost
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Just A Leaf
make it as simple
as an empty sheet
of paper
where you are told
to write
only one letter
you see it is no
longer as simple as that
to show yourself
as only
one letter on an empty
sheet of
yellow paper
i want to make is as simple
as my hand
touching a wall
i close my eyes
let my body fall
i am not pushing anything
it is only me
as a leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Profanity?
Hey you! Son of a beach.
Come here, get off your sheet.
That beach of yours, how many years?
Since you were born by your.
Mother, father yeah where are they?
In the dam? Dam! You say!
Let us go there you son of a beach!
Leave the beach alone.
They won't touch your beach.
Oh so you want to protect your beach?
Wait where is the dam!
Ill give you pen and paper...Give the dam address.
Wait my pen is lacking its liquids
Give me another pen because my pen is small
In ink level, i need a good pen.
There nice, now give me the dam address.
Thanks boy! Now go back to your sheet and
Guard the beach.
poem by Ben Henry Baang
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Winters advance...
In the dark of night the wind do'th blow,
Through the hills and the drifting snow.
The branches of an oak tree sigh and creek,
Raised above that silent snowy sheet.
Winter snowflakes soon come dancing,
As the winter storm it is advancing.
At first a few, but then so many,
When at first there were not any.
Engulfing a wintery slumbering earth,
In a snowy cotton across her girth.
Fashioning a crystal white snowy gown,
Woven from the whitest down.
Now covered in her pure white sheet,
Our mother earth has gone to sleep.
Her yearly rest forever taken,
When spring time comes she shall awaken...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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The Burial Of The Poet
In the old churchyard of his native town,
And in the ancestral tomb beside the wall,
We laid him in the sleep that comes to all,
And left him to his rest and his renown.
The snow was falling, as if Heaven dropped down
White flowers of Paradise to strew his pall;--
The dead around him seemed to wake, and call
His name, as worthy of so white a crown.
And now the moon is shining on the scene,
And the broad sheet of snow is written o'er
With shadows cruciform of leafless trees,
As once the winding-sheet of Saladin
With chapters of the Koran; but, ah! more
Mysterious and triumphant signs are these.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Do You Want To See The Bed In Flames?
(Translation To: Wollt Ihr Das Bett In Flammen Sehen?)
Do you want to see the bed in flames
do you want to perish in skin and hair
you want to stick the dagger in the sheet as well
you want to also lick the blood from the dagger
Rammstein
You see the crosses on the pillow
You mean the innocence may kiss you
You believe it would be hard to kill
But where are all of the dead coming from
Rammstein
Sex is a battle
Love is war
Do you want to see the bed in flames
do you want to perish in skin and hair
you want to stick the dagger in the sheet as well
you want to also lick the blood from the dagger
Rammstein
song performed by by Rammstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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