Captive of the White City, The
Flower of the foam of the waves
Of the beautiful inland sea, -
White as the foam that laves
The ships of the Sea-Kings past, -
Marvel of human hands,
Wonderful, mystical, vast,
The great White City stands;
And the banners of all the lands
Are free on the western breeze,
Free as the West is free.
And the throngs go up and down
In the streets of the wonderful town
In brotherly love and grace, -
Children of every zone
The light of the sun has known:
And there in the Midway Place,
In the House of the Unhewn Trees,
There in the surging crowd,
Silent, and stern, and proud,
Sits Rain-in-the-Face!
Why is the captive here?
Is the hour of the Lord so near
When slayer and slain shall meet
In the place of the Judgment seat
For the word of the last decree?
Ah, what is the word to be?
For the beautiful City stands
On the Red Man’s wrested lands, **
The home of the fated race;
And the ghostly shadow falls
Over the trophied walls ***
Of the House of the Unhewn Tree,
In the pleasant Midway Place.
There is blood on the broken door,
Ther is blood on the broken floor,
Blood on your bronzed hands,
O Rain-in-the-Face.
Shut from the sunlit air,
Like a sun-god overthrown,
The soldier, Custer, lies.
Dust is the sun-kissed hair,
Dust are the dauntless eyes,
Dust and name alone; -
While the wife holds watch with grief
For the never-returning chief.
What if she walked to-day
In the City’s pleasant way,
The beautiful Midway Place,
And there to her sudden gaze,
Dimmed with her widow’s tears,
After the terrible years,
Stood Rain-in-the-Face!
Quench with a dropp of dew
From the morning’s cloudless blue
The prairies’ burning plains-
The seas of seething flame;
Turn from its awful path
The tempest, in its wrath;
Lure from his jungle-lair
The tiger, crouching there
For the leap on his sighted prey:
Then seek as well to tame
The hate in the Red Man’s veins,
His tiger-thirst to cool,
In the hour of the evil day
When his foe before him stands!
From the wrongs of the White Man’s rule
Blood only may wash the trace.
Alas, for the death-heaped slain!
Alas for your blood-stained hands,
O Rain-in-the-Face!
And the throngs go up, go down,
In the streets of the wonderful town;
And jests of the merry tongue,
And the dance, and the glad songs sung,
Ring through the sunlit space.
And there, in the wild, free breeze,
In the House of the Unhewn Trees,
In the beautiful Midway Place,
The captive sits apart,
Silent, and makes no sign.
But what is the word in your heart,
O man of a dying race?
What tale on your lips for mine,
O Rain-in-the-Face?
* “The White City” was the name given to the Columbian Exposition in Chicago,1893. The man who killed General Custer on the Little Bighorn was displayed in the Midway Plaisance of the fair. He sat, under guard, in a log cabin brought from Montana and reportedly owned by Sitting Bull, the same cabin in which that chief and his son had been killed.
** The Indians claim that the Land upon which Chicago is built was never fully paid for.
*** ”The walls were hung with relics of the fight” (Coolbrith’s note)
poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Peace Frog
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
She came
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee
She came
Blood on the streets in the town of chicago
She came
Blood on the rise, its following me
Think about the break of day
She came and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
She came
Blood in the streets runs a river of sadness
She came
Blood in the streets its up to my thigh
She came
Yeah the river runs down the legs of the city
She came
The women are crying red rivers of weepin
She came into town and then she drove away
Sunlight in her hair
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood streams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth of a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Blood in the streets, its up to my knee
Blood in the streets in the town of chicago
Blood on the rise, its following me
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have Been Through The Gates
His heart to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and shining towers;
I saw it then as we see things in dreams,--I do not remember how long I slept;
I remember the tress, and the high, white walls, and how the sun was always on the
towers;
The walls are standing to-day, and the gates; I have been through the gates, I have
groped, I have crept
Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they are empty; darkness is over
them;
His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great winds and the heavenly
rain, unclean and unswept,
Like the heart of the holy city, old blind, beautiful Jerusalem;
Over which Christ wept
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Big Horn
THE years are but half a score,
And the war-whoop sounds no more
With the blast of bugles, where
Straight into a slaughter pen,
With his doomed three hundred men,
Rode the chief with the yellow hair.
O Hampton, down by the sea!
What voice is beseeching thee
For the scholar's lowliest place?
Can. this be the voice of him
Who fought on the Big Horn's rim?
Can this be Rain-in-the-Face?
His war-paint is washed away,
Hls hands have forgotten to slay;
He seeks for himself and his race
The arts of peace and the lore
That give to the skilled hand more
Than the spoils of war and chase.
O chief of the Christ-like school!
Can the zeal of thy heart grow cool
When the victor scarred with fight
Like a child for thy guidance craves,
And the faces of hunters and braves
Are turning to thee for light?
The hatchet lies overgrown
With grass by the Yellowstone,
Wind River and Paw of Bear;
And, in sign that foes are friends,
Each lodge like a peace-pipe sends
Its smoke in the quiet air.
The hands that have done the wrong
To right the wronged are strong,
And the voice of a nation saith:
'Enough of the war of swords,
Enough of the lying words
And shame of a broken faith!'
The hills that have watched afar
The valleys ablaze with war
Shall look on the tasselled corn;
And the dust of the grinded grain,
Instead of the blood of the slain,
Shall sprinkle thy banks, Big Horn!
The Ute and the wandering Crow
Shall know as the white men know,
And fare as the white men fare;
The pale and the red shall be brothers,
One's rights shall be as another's,
Home, School, and House of Prayer!
O mountains that climb to snow,
O river winding below,
Through meadows by war once trod,
O wild, waste lands that await
The harvest exceeding great,
Break forth into praise of God!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over The Darkened City
Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.
The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.
Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .
. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .
Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,-
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound. Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.
'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'
'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'
'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead. It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again. And it was so.'
Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.
'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '
He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.
Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.
Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.
'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.
'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.
'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us. He yields us our desire.
'No, do not stare so-he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this. I know. It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'
The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 06: Over the darkened city, the city of towers
Over the darkened city, the city of towers,
The city of a thousand gates,
Over the gleaming terraced roofs, the huddled towers,
Over a somnolent whisper of loves and hates,
The slow wind flows, drearily streams and falls,
With a mournful sound down rain-dark walls.
On one side purples the lustrous dusk of the sea,
And dreams in white at the city's feet;
On one side sleep the plains, with heaped-up hills.
Oaks and beeches whisper in rings about it.
Above the trees are towers where dread bells beat.
The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.
Rain with a shrill sings on the lapsing waves;
Rain thrills over the roofs again;
Like a shadow of shifting silver it crosses the city;
The lamps in the streets are streamed with rain;
And sparrows complain beneath deep eaves,
And among whirled leaves
The sea-gulls, blowing from tower to lower tower,
From wall to remoter wall,
Skim with the driven rain to the rising sea-sound
And close grey wings and fall . . .
. . . Hearing great rain above me, I now remember
A girl who stood by the door and shut her eyes:
Her pale cheeks glistened with rain, she stood and shivered.
Into a forest of silver she vanished slowly . . .
Voices about me rise . . .
Voices clear and silvery, voices of raindrops,—
'We struck with silver claws, we struck her down.
We are the ghosts of the singing furies . . . '
A chorus of elfin voices blowing about me
Weaves to a babel of sound. Each cries a secret.
I run among them, reach out vain hands, and drown.
'I am the one who stood beside you and smiled,
Thinking your face so strangely young . . . '
'I am the one who loved you but did not dare.'
'I am the one you followed through crowded streets,
The one who escaped you, the one with red-gleamed hair.'
'I am the one you saw to-day, who fell
Senseless before you, hearing a certain bell:
A bell that broke great memories in my brain.'
'I am the one who passed unnoticed before you,
Invisible, in a cloud of secret pain.'
'I am the one who suddenly cried, beholding
The face of a certain man on the dazzling screen.
They wrote me that he was dead. It was long ago.
I walked in the streets for a long while, hearing nothing,
And returned to see it again. And it was so.'
Weave, weave, weave, you streaks of rain!
I am dissolved and woven again . . .
Thousands of faces rise and vanish before me.
Thousands of voices weave in the rain.
'I am the one who rode beside you, blinking
At a dazzle of golden lights.
Tempests of music swept me: I was thinking
Of the gorgeous promise of certain nights:
Of the woman who suddenly smiled at me this day,
Smiled in a certain delicious sidelong way,
And turned, as she reached the door,
To smile once more . . .
Her hands are whiter than snow on midnight water.
Her throat is golden and full of golden laughter,
Her eyes are strange as the stealth of the moon
On a night in June . . .
She runs among whistling leaves; I hurry after;
She dances in dreams over white-waved water;
Her body is white and fragrant and cool,
Magnolia petals that float on a white-starred pool . . .
I have dreamed of her, dreaming for many nights
Of a broken music and golden lights,
Of broken webs of silver, heavily falling
Between my hands and their white desire:
And dark-leaved boughs, edged with a golden radiance,
Dipping to screen a fire . . .
I dream that I walk with her beneath high trees,
But as I lean to kiss her face,
She is blown aloft on wind, I catch at leaves,
And run in a moonless place;
And I hear a crashing of terrible rocks flung down,
And shattering trees and cracking walls,
And a net of intense white flame roars over the town,
And someone cries; and darkness falls . . .
But now she has leaned and smiled at me,
My veins are afire with music,
Her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light;
I shall dream to her secret heart tonight . . . '
He rises and moves away, he says no word,
He folds his evening paper and turns away;
I rush through the dark with rows of lamplit faces;
Fire bells peal, and some of us turn to listen,
And some sit motionless in their accustomed places.
Cold rain lashes the car-roof, scurries in gusts,
Streams down the windows in waves and ripples of lustre;
The lamps in the streets are distorted and strange.
Someone takes his watch from his pocket and yawns.
One peers out in the night for the place to change.
Rain . . . rain . . . rain . . . we are buried in rain,
It will rain forever, the swift wheels hiss through water,
Pale sheets of water gleam in the windy street.
The pealing of bells is lost in a drive of rain-drops.
Remote and hurried the great bells beat.
'I am the one whom life so shrewdly betrayed,
Misfortune dogs me, it always hunted me down.
And to-day the woman I love lies dead.
I gave her roses, a ring with opals;
These hands have touched her head.
'I bound her to me in all soft ways,
I bound her to me in a net of days,
Yet now she has gone in silence and said no word.
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?
There is no use: we cry: and are not heard.
'They cover a body with roses . . . I shall not see it . . .
Must one return to the lifeless walls of a city
Whose soul is charred by fire? . . . '
His eyes are closed, his lips press tightly together.
Wheels hiss beneath us. He yields us our desire.
'No, do not stare so—he is weak with grief,
He cannot face you, he turns his eyes aside;
He is confused with pain.
I suffered this. I know. It was long ago . . .
He closes his eyes and drowns in death again.'
The wind hurls blows at the rain-starred glistening windows,
The wind shrills down from the half-seen walls.
We flow on the mournful wind in a dream of dying;
And at last a silence falls.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City Streets
The gaudy glow of neon lights
dispels the darkness of the nights
on city streets.
They pop and fizzle noisily
creating a cacophony
on city streets.
The sober folks walk warily
and drunks stagger uncaringly
on city streets.
The ladies of the night parade
for there is money to be made
on city streets.
Drug dealers ready to retreat
if they should hear a coppers feet
on city streets.
The night shift workers wend their way
towards their work to start their day
on city streets.
The noisy revellers thin out
as one by one the signs go out
on city streets.
The gradually noises abate
and ghostly shadow congregate
on city streets.
For some few hours peace will reign
before the noise will start again
on city streets.
The early morning traffic sounds
start with the milkmen on their rounds
on city streets.
This builds up to an angry roar
as cars and lorries inward pour
on city streets
then when at last rush hour has passed
noise levels will subside at last
on city streets
I thank the lord that I am free
to leave this noise far behind me
on city streets.
I walked my beat the whole night
through exactly as I’m paid to do
on city streets.
I choose to live outside the town
where constant noise won’t get me down
on city streets.
My village is a quiet place
A haven where I need not face
the noisy streets.
8-Jun-07
poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My City, My Town
My city, my town
The day u were birthed
No one regretted
My City
The glory of both the young and old
a site for everyone to behold
My city
A place of great edifices
a town with wonderful places
Four and two-legged machines
Fills this land unconditionally
A place of constant influx
Beautiful lush green grass
Filled the lawns at every corner
Bridges everywhere
as long as monumental caterpillars
Masts of every network
as tall as the Eiffel Tower of Paris,
A total amazement..
My city,
A beauty to uphold,
Now a story yet untold
My city, oh my town
You are losing your luster,
colour and radiance
That made humans of all race
want to advance, to seek solace
My city, My town
The land that brought memories
of neighborliness,
Everyone, together as of same parents
Awake from your slumber
Oh my great city, 'The Garden-City'
The crown princess of Rivers state
Why do you constantly hibernate?
Wake up
My city, my town,
Be like David,
Defeat this Goliath called GREED!
Show your feat
and make this enemy face the heat.
Edwina Aleme, (c) 2009
poem by Edwina Aleme
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Face The Face
Weve got to face the face
You must have heard the cautionary tales
The dangers hidden on the cul-de-sac trails
>from wiser men who have been through it all
And the ghosts of failures spray-canned up on the wall
Weve got to judge the judge
Got to find the finds
Weve got to scheme the schemes
Have to line the lines
We must stake the stakes
And show the shown
We must take the takes
And know the known
Try to place the place
Where we can face the face
Face the face-got to
Face the face
You must have tried and the defied belief
Maybe found futility in insular grief
I need your hunger just as you need mine
A million appetites can swallow up time
Weve got to fool the fools
And plan the plans
We must rule the rules
Got to stand the stands
We must fight the fight
And fall the falls
We must light the light
And call the calls
We must race the race
So we can face the face
New york! chicago!
London and glasgow!
Keep looking!
Keep on cooking
Keep on looking
Gotta stay on this case
Study the pix
Watch the fix
Weve got to find the face
Try to place the place where we can face the face
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy For Poe With The Music Of A Carnival Inside It
There is this sunny place where I imagine him.
A park on a hill whose grass wants to turn
Into dust, & would do so if it weren't
For the rain, & the fact that it is only grass
That keeps the park from flowing downhill past
Its trees & past the slender figures in the statues.
Their stone blends in with the sky when the sky
Is overcast. The stone is a kind of rain,
And half the soldiers trapped inside the stone
Are dead. The others have deserted, & run home.
At this time in the morning, half sun, half mist,
There are usually three or four guys sprawled
Alone on benches facing away from one another.
If they're awake, they look as if they haven't slept.
If they're asleep, they look as if they may not wake....
I only imagine it as a sunny place. If they're
Awake, they gaze off as if onto a distant landscape,
Not at the warehouses & the freeway the hill overlooks,
Not onto Jefferson Avenue where, later, they'll try
To score a little infinity wrapped up in tinfoil,
Or a flake of heaven tied up in a plastic bag
And small as their lives are now, but at a city
That is not the real city gradually appearing
As the mist evaporates, For in the real city,
One was kicked in the ribs by a night watchman
Until he couldn't move. Another was
A small time dealer until he lost his nerve,
And would have then become a car thief, if only
The car had started. And the last failed to appear,
Not only for a court date, but for life itself.
In these ways, they are like Poe if Poe had lived
Beyond composing anything, & had been kicked to death
And then dismembered in this park, his limbs
Thrown as far away from what was left of him
As they could be thrown. And they are not like Poe.
The three of them stare off at a city that is there
In the distance, where they are loved for no
Clear reason, a city they walk toward when
They are themselves again, a city
That vanishes each morning in the pale light.
Poe would have admired them, & pitied them.
For Poe detested both the real city with its traffic
Crawling over the bridges, & the city that vanishes.
~ ~ ~
In autumn the rain slants & flesh turns white.
The tents go up again on the edge of town, &,
In the carny's spiel, everyone gets lost,
And Poe, dismembered, becomes no more than the moral
In the story of his life, the cautionary tale
No better than the sideshow where the boy
With sow's hoofs instead of hands, taps the glass—
Some passing entertainment for the masses.
In the carny's spiel, everyone lost comes
Back again. Even Poe comes back to see
Himself, disfigured, in another. That is what
He's doing here, longing to mingle, invisibly,
With the others on the crowded midway as they lick
Their cotton candy, & stare expressionlessly
At one another. He wants to see the woman
Who has fins instead of arms, & the man without
A mouth. He wants to see the boy behind glass
And his own clear reflection in the glass.
The carnival's so close, only a few blocks,
That he can hear the intermittent off key music
Wheezing faintly out of the merry-go-round....
It might as well be music from the moon.
The traffic never lets him cross. The weeks pass,
And then the months, & then the years with their wars
And the marquees going blank above the streets
Because no one comes anymore. And the crowd,
Filing into the little tent, watches suspiciously,
For the crowd believes in nothing now but disbelief.
And therefore, at the intersection of radiance
And death, the intersection of the real city
And the one that vanishes, Poe is pausing
In the midst of traffic, one city inside the other.
The rain slants. The flesh is a white dust.
The cars pass slowly through him, & the boy keeps
Tapping at the glass, unable to tell his story.
poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Race
Lie down, [fair 1//pheromone], and come away
Till the rain is over and gone
G-g-gimme the beat now (face the music)
Lead line (face the music)
If the air is a little thick in this room 2nite
I reckon its the result of an onslaught of separatist rookies
Overcome by this colorful sight
Talkin so fast that even they
Talkin so fast that even they
Dont know what they mean
Of all the things that base a rhyme
How is it that u everytime
Regurgitate the racist lines that keep us apart?
Thank God this aint monopoly
Ud make us all go back 2 start
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Race
Face the music
We all bones when we dead
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Cut me, cut u
Both the blood is red
I gotcha
Race
Race
Check it
Three seats over theres a lady black
Entrusted 2 her care is a little white girl
And the fact of the matter is
Before her momma or another kid at school
Tells her about the fallacy that 1 race rules over the other
Shed be a much-better-off-left fool (face the music)
If we never heard about the evils that those before us committed
Then how my dear, tell me now how my dear, tell me now how now would we know
And then the band say
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Race
Face the music
We all bones when we dead
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Cut me, cut u
Both the blood is red
I gotcha
Race
Race
(face the music)
D-d-down with h-i-s-t-o-r-y and all this bs propagandi
Keepin u from me and me from u as we grow
I dont wanna know (I dont wanna know)
Why those before us hated each other
Id rather believe they never did
Id rather believe (Id rather, Id rather believe)
That theres hope 4 a kid
And if he imitates the best
I guess thats what Ill try 2 be
And I will let the rest dissolve with my guitar underneath the sea
Race
(face face face face face)
Face the music (face the music)
Face the music
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Race
Face the music
We all bones when we dead
Race
In the space I mark human (face the music)
Cut me, cut u
Both the blood is red
Get it?
Race
Got it
Race
Face the music
Race race
(face face face the music)
Race race
(face face face the music)
Race race
Race race
(face-f-face the music)
Race
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where The Streets Have No Names
I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
I want to feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
The city's aflood
And our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust
I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
Our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, and I see love
See our love turn to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watch My Blood Rain
The blade looks enticing
It's difficult to explain
The ideas of slicing
Watch my blood rain
The cut is deep
Some say I'm insane
It puts me to sleep
To watch my blood rain
The redness is real
I cannot refrain
I know I truly feel
When I watch my blood rain
I sit and I cry
Life is nothing but pain
I ask myself why
I watch my blood rain
My spirit is bound
By this ball and chain
My soul has been downed
Then I watch my blood rain
The anguish is true
My heart has been slain
One day I'll break through
For now I'll watch my blood rain
poem by Haley Nicole
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Memoriam
TWO watchers sit beside the dead;
From hour to hour no prayer is said,
For they are dumb and he is dead;
And snows are curling round his head,
While God's white wings are overspread.
5
None heard the sad heart's stifled cry—
None, save the two dogs sitting by,
And Him that watcheth in the sky.
It passed, that agonizing cry,
In gloom as deep as Calvary!
10
None saw the last look on that face
Where men once read such love and grace;
No hand was nigh to smooth the trace
Of anguish on that pallid face.
The patient hero wins the race
15
Alone in God's great dwelling-place.
Earth folded him with gentle hands
In Nature's whitest swathing-bands;
A snow-veil on his face and hands,
And silence on those northern lands.
20
Thro' cloud-rift in the west expands
A light from where God's temple stands.
The new-born soul in Paradise
Forgets the snow and wintry skies—
Forgets, in sunny Paradise,
25
The dying body's agonies.
Lord, keep him till that form shall rise
To meet Thee coming in the skies!
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loss
the loss of a loved one is hard to face
but you know they're in a better place
a place where there is no suffering and no pain
a place where loved ones are all the same.
a place where the angels gather to sing
with every new person that they bring.
for in this kingdom of happiness and joy
and pain does not exist.
sits our god and his beloved son.
he gave up his life so that we could see
what it is to be set free.
of all the suffering that we must go through
just so he could be with you.
so raise your head and look to the sky
for your loved one will be flying high.
their wings will be a beautiful white
and nothing can compare to that beautiful sight.
so put away your tears and grief
and thank the lord up above for his everlasting love.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beautiful Sea
The sea is such a beautiful place
The water brings life to the human race
The water is so blue and white
The waves come and splash like dynamite
The dolphins swimming and playing so free
The little fishes eating plankton in the sea
The sharks waiting for the day
When the seal comes and he catches it pray
The sea is such a lovely place to be
The lovely view from your balcony
The sweet breeze blowing across your face
The sea is clearly the best place
poem by Shawn Swanson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Four Queens (Maoriland)
Wellington.
HERE, where the surges of a world of sea
Break on our bastioned walls with league-long sweep,
Four fair young queens their lonely splendour keep,
Each in a city throned. The first is she
Whose face is arrogant with empery;
Her throne from out the wounded hill-side steep
Is rudely fashioned, and beneath her creep
The narrow streets; and, stretching broad and free,
Like a green-waving meadow, lies the bay,
With blossom-sails and flower-wavelots flecked.
Elate she stands; her brown and windblown hair
Haloes a face with virgin freshness fair,
As she receives, exuberant, erect,
The stubborn homage that her sisters pay.
Dunedin.
And one is fair and winsome, and her face
Is strung with winter's kisses, and is yet
With winter's tears of parting sorrow wet;
And all her figure speaks of bonny grace.
High on the circling hills her seat has place,
Within a bower of the green bush set;
And 'neath her feet the city slopes—a net
Of broad-büilt streets and green-girt garden space.
Above her high the suburbs climb to crown
Her city's battlements; and in her thrall
Lie sleeping fiords, and forests call her queen.
About her waist she winds a belt of green,
And on her gleaming city looking down,
She hears the Siren South for ever call.
Christchurch.
And one within a level city lies;
To whose tree-shaded streets and squares succeed;
A vista of white roads and bordering meads,
Until each suburb in the great plain dies.
The clustering spires to crown her fair head rise,
And for a girdle round her form she leads
The Avon, green with waving river-weeds
And swept with swaying willows. And her eyes
Are quiet with a student's reverie;
And in the hair that clouds her dreaming face
There lurks the fragrance of some older place,
And memories awake to die again,
As, confident and careless, glad and sorrow-free
She waits, queen of the margeless golden plain.
Auckland.
Set all about with walls, the last fair queen
Over a tropic city holds her sway;
Her throne on sleeping Eden, whence through grey
And red-strewn roads and gleaming gardens green
The city wanders on, and seems to lean
To bathe her beauty in the cool, clear bay,
That out past isle and islet winds its way
To the wide ocean. In her hair a sheen
Of sunlight lives; her face is sweetly pale—
A queen who seems too young and maidenly,
Her beauty all too delicate and frail,
To hold a sway imperious. But forth
From deep, dark eyes, that dreaming seem to be,
There shine the strength and passion of the North.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Les Noyades
WHATEVER a man of the sons of men
Shall say to his heart of the lords above,
They have shown man verily, once and again,
Marvellous mercies and infinite love.
In the wild fifth year of the change of things,
When France was glorious and blood-red, fair
With dust of battle and deaths of kings,
A queen of men, with helmeted hair,
Carrier came down to the Loire and slew,
Till all the ways and the waves waxed red:
Bound and drowned, slaying two by two,
Maidens and young men, naked and wed.
They brought on a day to his judgment-place
One rough with labour and red with fight,
And a lady noble by name and face,
Faultless, a maiden, wonderful, white.
She knew not, being for shame’s sake blind,
If his eyes were hot on her face hard by.
And the judge bade strip and ship them, and bind
Bosom to bosom, to drown and die.
The white girl winced and whitened; but he
Caught fire, waxed bright as a great bright flame
Seen with thunder far out on the sea,
Laughed hard as the glad blood went and came.
Twice his lips quailed with delight, then said,
“I have but a word to you all, one word;
Bear with me; surely I am but dead;”
And all they laughed and mocked him and heard.
“Judge, when they open the judgment-roll,
I will stand upright before God and pray:
‘Lord God, have mercy on one man’s soul,
For his mercy was great upon earth, I say.
“‘Lord, if I loved thee—Lord, if I served—
If these who darkened thy fair Son’s face
I fought with, sparing not one, nor swerved
A hand’s-breadth, Lord, in the perilous place—
“‘I pray thee say to this man, O Lord,
Sit thou for him at my feet on a throne.
I will face thy wrath, though it bite as a sword,
And my soul shall burn for his soul, and atone.
“‘For, Lord, thou knowest, O God most wise,
How gracious on earth were his deeds towards me.
Shall this be a small thing in thine eyes,
That is greater in mine than the whole great sea?’
“I have loved this woman my whole life long,
And even for love’s sake when have I said
‘I love you’? when have I done you wrong,
Living? but now I shall have you dead.
“Yea, now, do I bid you love me, love?
Love me or loathe, we are one not twain.
But God be praised in his heaven above
For this my pleasure and that my pain!
“For never a man, being mean like me,
Shall die like me till the whole world dies.
I shall drown with her, laughing for love; and she
Mix with me, touching me, lips and eyes.
“Shall she not know me and see me all through,
Me, on whose heart as a worm she trod?
You have given me, God requite it you,
What man yet never was given of God.”
O sweet one love, O my life’s delight,
Dear, though the days have divided us,
Lost beyond hope, taken far out of sight,
Not twice in the world shall the gods do thus.
Had it been so hard for my love? but I,
Though the gods gave all that a god can give,
I had chosen rather the gift to die,
Cease, and be glad above all that live.
For the Loire would have driven us down to the sea,
And the sea would have pitched us from shoal to shoal;
And I should have held you, and you held me,
As flesh holds flesh, and the soul the soul.
Could I change you, help you to love me, sweet,
Could I give you the love that would sweeten death,
We should yield, go down, locked hands and feet,
Die, drown together, and breath catch breath;
But you would have felt my soul in a kiss,
And known that once if I loved you well;
And I would have given my soul for this
To burn for ever in burning hell.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Face
You take a final look around
And then you put your house-key down
Upon the table by the note
You take your handbag and your coat
You don't want too much to carry
To slow you down on the way
You picture his face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
Why should you want to call your friends
Why should you want to start again
You tried explaining through the years
But it would always end in tears
And one thing you know for certain
You've said goodbye to that place
But still
You picture his face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
Somewhere a telephone
Is ringing in an empty room
Miles away
You are looking at a new town
But you are thinking of the past
The rain is falling down
Why do you keep that photograph
Of his face like a stranger
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
His face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
His face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
song performed by by Anni Frid Lyngstad from Shine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where The Streets Have No Name/cant Take My Eyes Off You
(hewson/evan/mullen/clayton/gaudio/crewe)
-----------------------------------------
(burning down love)
(burning down love)
I want to run, I want to hide
I want to break down the walls that hold me inside
I want to reach out, and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
Ah-ha-ah
I want to feel the sun on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear without a trace
I want to take shelter from poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Ah-ha-ah
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Were still building, then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
Where the streets have no name
Cant take my eyes off of you
I love you, baby, and if its quite alright
I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night
So let me love you, baby
Let me love you
The citys aflood, our love turns to rust
Were beaten and blown by the wind, trampled in dust
Ill show you a place, high on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name
Ah-ha-ah
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Were still building, then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
Its all I can do
Where the streets have no name
I cant take my eyes off of you
(ooh aah)
Love you, baby, let me love you
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jet City Woman
Every time I leave
You say you wont be there.
And youre always there.
Every time I cry your name at night,
You pull close and say its alright.
I look in your eyes, just like the rain.
Washing me, rain wash over me.
Touching your face, I feel the heat
Of your heartbeat echo in my head like a scream.
What you do to me!
Waited so long I cant wait another day without you.
Jet city woman.
Its a long way, home to my
Jet city woman.
I see her face everywhere, cant get her out of my mind.
Whenever Im alone Im thinking,
Theres a part missing from my life.
Wonder where Id be without your love
Holding me together now im
Watching the time tick, tick away.
Face grows longer every day.
Fortunes are lost on the women Ive seen
But without you I cant breathe!
Youre the air to me!
Waited so long, Im all alone thinking about you.
Jet city woman.
Got to find my way home to her.
Jet city woman.
I see her face everywhere I look!
Jet city woman.
Just a thousand miles and Ill be there
Jet city woman, to make the clouds go away.
Time for some blue sky!
Waited so long now the planes delayed
And hour, reminds me of all our days apart.
Hold on, just a little longer.
Jet city woman.
Wonder where Id be, youre the air to me.
Jet city woman.
Eyes like the rain, rain down on me.
Jet city woman.
No more nights alone Im almost home now.
Jet city woman.
Close my eyes, Im there in my jet city.
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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