Change?
Leather
And cedar beard on brown bottle
Against stucco, pale and off white
Outside 711 waiting on Jesus
With Squared paper cup
And trout grimace, glass lake eyes.
Mercedes
Silver, hum and beeb
His shoes reflecting the moon
And tiny jewelry string laces
Dancing a tap asphalt onto curb
And jostled hockey fraternal
Elbow thrusting door open
Half jog and gum chewer.
The Street’s carved into parallel hills
And manholes engraved where
January water curdles in
Streams thin as whiskers
Down a lead pipe and
Under belly
Of Suburb bushes with their
Roots reaching up, lamp posts
Tingle tingle click.
poem by Braden Coucher
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Brown Paper Bag
Brown paper bag
Squalid incomplete
slumped to the side of the street
Like unwanted sacks of garbage
She left her track her smell
And like the brown paper bag
She had travelled well
She had a whole world in her head
Her first love
The man she wed
And the drink and the smoke
And the four o clock bloke
That returned with a bottle in a brown paper bag
And better days before
When she had carried her first round fruit
When the brown paper bag was waxed new
And he carried his bride to the door
Then the four o clock bloke
Full of stale wine and stale smoke
With a bottle in a brown paper bag
How he called her a hag
And that first punch to the floor
And the brown paper bags fell by her side
Crumpled and stained
And the liquor cans and the four o clock man
Who never spoke
Left her broke
Bones shattered in pieces
Flesh bare to the wind
Body out on the street
Skin tanned dirt brown
Hair matted locks
And two brown paper bags tied with string to her feet
yvette m smith 11.2.09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leadlights
In the arch of a church window—
Silver stained with diamond panes—
The fractures piece together:
Paper thin, painted, and patterned
To illuminate the interior
With the intensely pale shade
Of transparency.
Dead-white and chalky,
The alabaster skin of glass—
With marble-like opalescence
And superficial iridescence—
Shimmers on the surface,
Reflecting its viewer's vision
With each ripple
Of the light's gleaming glare.
The bent, twisted marrow of steel,
The skeletal curve providing stability
To the etched imagery
Engraved in the glass
Frames the fragments,
Shapes the shards
In a patterned unison.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lovers Of Marchaid
Dominic came riding down, sworded, straight and splendid,
Drave his hilt against her door, flung a golden chain.
Said: 'I'll teach your lips a song sweet as his that's ended,
Ere the white rose call the bee, the almond flower again.'
But he only saw her head bent within the gloom
Over heaps of bridal thread bright as apple-bloom,
Silver silk like rain that spread across the driving loom.
Dreaming Fanch, the cobbler's son, took his tools and laces,
Wrought her shoes of scarlet dye, shoes as pale as snow;
'They shall lead her wildrose feet all the fairy paces
Danced along the road of love, the road such feet should go' -
But he only saw her eyes turning from his gift
Out towards the silver skies where the white clouds drift,
Where the wild gerfalcon flies, where the last sails lift.
Bran has built his homestead high where the hills may shield her,
Where the young bird waits the spring, where the dawns are fair,
Said: 'I'll name my trees for her, since I may not yield her
Stars of morning for her feet, of evening for her hair.'
But he did not see them ride, seven dim sail and more,
All along the harbor-side, white from shore to shore,
Nor heard the voices of the tide crying at her door.
Jean-Marie has touched his pipe down beside the river
When the young fox bends the fern, when the folds are still,
Said: 'I send her all the gifts that my love may give her, -
Golden notes like golden birds to seek her at my will.'
But he only found the waves, heard the sea-gull's cry,
In and out the ocean caves, underneath the sky,
All above the wind-washed graves where dead seamen lie.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If it's a good LP, you'll get that tingle that makes you put it on again no matter what your initial reaction was. On the other hand, if you don't get that tingle, you'd better take it straight down to the record exchange.
quote by Andy Partridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rhapsody on a Windy Night
Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."
The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."
The last twist of the knife.
poem by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Old Brown Shoes
Look sitting at the bottom of the bed.
A pair of old brown shoes.
I can tell by the soles of those
old brown shoes; that they
have walked many miles,
Furthermore, I can tell by
the scuff marks on the toes
of those old brown shoes;
that they had to kick many
obstacles out of the way of
the owner,
Now, by the fade shine
on those old brown shoes;
I can tell that they were
handled with much love
and care.
Boy! If the tongues on
those old brown shoes;
could talk. I could just
imagine the stories they
would tell.
I know one of the stories
would be of suicide.
Because there above my head.
Hangs the owner; by the laces
of those old brown shoes.
The Prize Winner
Under a street lamp post a beggar reads an old paper in the dim light.
And he showed me a page while I was passing him.
It's an obituary notice with a photograph.
'Papa! Who is this? ' I asked.
Then he said; ' It's me child can't you see that gray beard?
And I won the prize, please take me to that drawing place if possible
And I promise you to give the half my son.'
All of a sudden a poem blooms in my unrest mind
And I scribbled on his paper.
* Let the tree grows in the hard soil
Until its last blossom
And pour much water
Then it gives you more fragrance.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The nude swim
At night the light shines
with a tender yellowness
through the blue pool
as if encased
in a world of its own.
The water is soothing
after a hot summer day
heaving up and down
where I lie drifting
and I see your slender shadow
in the bright moonlight
coming closer.
You body is white
and stripped of clothing
and in your face
your eyes gleam big
like those of the ginger cat
and for a moment
like a statue you stand
on the diving board
with arms reaching
to the stars.
Sculptured to perfection
with firm large breast thrusting
up in to the air,
long pale legs
and in a graceful motion
you launch yourself
and with a tiny ripple
clip through the water.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Shoes
(jack tempchin)
I want em, I need em
And Im gonna go out and get em
White shoes
I know Ill feel better
When I slide down into the leather
White shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
I woke up from a dream
When I saw em in a magazine
White shoes
I said lou you gotta start new
And the first thing you gotta do
Is get some white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
You know he left me with the lonesome blues
Been hangin round too long with nothin to do
Yeah, he really made me pay those dues
But Im goin out on the town tonight in
White shoes
Well, I wanted em, I needed em
Yeah, and I went out and got em
White shoes
That new boy when I see him
Im gonna walk right up and meet him in
White shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes
Im goin out on the town tonight
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
White shoes ... woah, oh, oh... white shoes
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Love Is) The Tender Trap
You see a pair of laughing eyes
And suddenly your sighing sighs
You're thinking nothing's wrong
You string along, boy, then snap!
Those eyes, those sighs, they're part of the tender trap
You're hand in hand beneath the trees
And soon there's music in the breeze
You're acting kind of smart, until your heart just goes wap!
Those trees, that breeze, they're part of the tender trap
Some starry night, when her kisses make you tingle
She'll hold you tight, and you'll hate yourself for being single
And all at once it seems so nice
The folks are throwing shoes and rice
You hurry to a spot, that's just a dot on the map
You're hooked, you're cooked, you're caught in the tender trap
Some starry night, when her kisses make you tingle
She'll hold you tight, and you'll hate yourself for being single
And all at once it seems so nice
The folks are throwing shoes and rice
You hurry to a spot that's just a dot on the map
And then you wonder how it all came about
It's too late now there's no gettin' out
You fell in love, and love is the tender trap
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Price Of Water
The little lake, not far from the houses, has been
dry for years and is full of thistles and rubbish.
By, what was its shore, the sad rest of a rowboat
I remember it was blue, and someone had nicked
its oars; for firewood I take it. I used to row in
this lake in the evening catching trout.
When the moon made the lake into shimmering
silver my heart got quite wobbly by the beauty.
Last week I crossed the lake on my scooter, it was
not easy I lost my balance and was badly stung,
gasped for air, felt as drowning in a dry lagoon.
In the future the new commodity will be water.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0372 Reflection on a garden pond
It's unexpectedly mild this early Spring evening
and I take my glass of beer, cold in the hand,
and slide the patio door open and step out for the first time this year,
feeling like an intruder in my own garden, so strange in the twilight.
Then, melted by awe and gratitude
to see an unplanned wild violet
which has taken up residence between the cement slabs.
Between other slabs the miniature bamboo stubbornly returns,
(that was my Japanese year) and in the tiny pond,
soon to be turned into a living soup by amorous frogs
to the total puzzlement of the white cat, watching for an hour or so
and extending from time to time an ineffective paw,
or nosing the water unable, either, to gulp a tadpole -
in the tiny pond, something bright;
a dancing reflection in the water stirred by an evening breeze -
the moon;
the same moon that danced on the water for Li Po
as he drank from his wine cup
alone and at peace, so far, so long ago;
in a poet's solitude and contentment
and the thought of distant friends,
celebrated with wine
under the moon, on a spring evening,
in perfect happiness.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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America under the Boardwalk
The boardwalk quivers, carousel lights go out
Jesus in sand guarded by the devout
Summer crowds jostle by the ocean side
Kids scream for tickets to the carnival ride
Young men hustling their blonde-haired prizes
Seniors try on new ages and sizes
Tongues pierced, arms and buttocks tattooed
With the first names of dreams that were never pursued
Every spirit hungry for something to eat
Ghosts, clapboard houses lining the street
Have your name engraved on a small silver cross
For a country whose prophets are more than its loss.
Have your name inscribed on a small rice grain.
The old wild America will be rising again.
It lingers like incense, ducking for cover
It will not be censored like the words of a lover
Hiding under the boardwalk, waiting out summer nights
Chewing funnel cake, taffy in faint autumn light
Until soldiers come home, hang up leather boots
Its untamed spirit will water the roots
Of a tree that the war has left shaken and hollow
No fences protecting, no leaders to follow
What they thought to command will reward them with pain
Until old wild America rises again.
Have your name engraved on a small silver dime
In a land where the future cannot tell the time.
Have your name inscribed on a cold marble stone.
Until old wild America carries you home.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open House
Please
Come over to 81st street Im in the apartment
Above the bar
You know you cant miss it, its across from the subway
And the tacky store with the mylar scarves
My skins as pale as outdoors moon
My hairs silver like a tiffany watch
I like lots of people around me but dont kiss hello
And please dont touch
Its a czechoslovakian custom my mother passed on to me
The way to make friends andy is invite them up for tea
Open house
Open house
Ive got a lot of cats, heres my favorite
Shes lady called sam
I made a paper doll of her, you can have it
Thats what I did when I had st.vitus dance
Its a czechoslovakian custom my mother passed on to me
Give people little presents so they remember me
Open house
Open house
Someone bring the vegetables
Someone please bring heat
My mother showed up yesterday
We need something to eat
I think I got a job today they want me to draw shoes
The ones I drew were old and used
They told me to draw something new
Open house
Open house
Fly me to the moon
Fly me to a star
But there are no stars in the new york sky
Theyre all on the ground
You scared yourself with music, I scared myself with paint
I drew 550 different shoes today, it almost made me faint
Open house
Open house
Open house
Open house
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shoes
The shoes were placed
row on row,
large and small,
some with laces,
some without,
black and brown.
If shoes could speak,
if their leather tongues
could pronounce words,
what hard histories
they could tell,
what deep sadness
they could relate,
and there at Auschwitz,
Anny Horowitz’s shoes
lay silent, cast off,
forcefully abandoned,
left to their fate,
no history told,
no biography to relate.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful drought!
Windy Windy Windy the wind sung!
This marked the beginning of the dry spell
This marked the beginning of death for beautiful cattle
This marked the beginning of the dry river bed
The beautiful countryside turned brown
Turrr Turrr Turrr Turrr rota sung!
The beautiful drought attracted it to the dusty village
The beautiful helicopter landed greeted by dust
The beautiful cameras came out black and shinning
The beautiful face of mum faced up looking at their water bottle
Click Click Click Click cameras sung!
This one will make a good front page picture
This one is even better because she is beautiful
This one is so thin and has no cloths on but traditional beads
This one is the dying beauty that will make newspapers sell
Turrr Turrr Turrr Turrr rota sung!
The beautiful journalists hopped in happily
The beautiful cameras packed up dusted to shine as before
The beautiful face of mum remaining but soul gone to maker
The beautiful drought remains for me and my siblings
Hot hot hot hot is the sun above!
The ugly vultures hover above waiting to devour mum's remains
The ugly bandits hide in the neighbourhood to take my cooking pots
The ugly hyena hunger in the bushes to snatch my baby brother
The beautiful drought has made me a prisoner
poem by Nyota Yasulwe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Five For Country Music
I. Insomnia
The bulb at the front door burns and burns.
If it were a white rose it would tire of blooming
through another endless night.
The moon knows the routine;
it beats the bushes from east to west
and sets empty-handed. Again the one
she is waiting for has outrun the moon.
II. Old Money
The spotted hands shake as they polish the coins.
The shiny penny goes under the tongue,
the two silver pieces
weighted by pyramids
will shut down the eyes.
All the rest is paper,
useless in any world but this.
III. Home Movie
She knows that walk, that whistle, that knock.
It's the black wolf who sticks
his floured paw underneath the door.
She tries not to open. One look at his face
and she'll drop the gun. He will pick it up
and turn it on her where she waits,
her eyes shining, her hands over her head.
IV. Golden Boy
Whitewashed, the eyes refuse you.
And so the mouth must be serene,
the muscles play, the body
take an easy stance
to divert you from the two
boarded-up chambers
where someone has died.
V. Washing Day
Each year her laundry line gets lighter.
One by one they disappear,
ten little Indians. They take their socks,
their jeans, their stiff plaid shirts.
Above the Ford on its concrete blocks,
striped and zippered,
her cotton dress flutters on and on.
poem by Lisel Mueller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yea! Heavy And A Bottle Of Bread (1)
by Bob Dylan
Well, the comic book and me, just us, we caught the bus.
The poor little chauffeur, though, she was back in bed
On the very next day, with a nose full of pus.
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
It's a one-track town, just brown, and a breeze, too,
Pack up the meat, sweet, we're headin' out
For Wichita in a pile of fruit.
Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout
Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout
Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout
Now, pull that drummer out from behind that bottle.
Bring me my pipe, we're gonna shake it.
Slap that drummer with a pie that smells.
Take me down to California, baby
Take me down to California, baby
Take me down to California, baby
Yes, the comic book and me, just us, we caught the bus.
The poor little chauffeur, though, she was back in bed
On the very next day, with a nose full of pus.
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mary Street
(s. hoffs/v. peterson)
Susanna & vicki
Times up girl now
No more excusing you
And those books you read
Oh girl, you better review
Oh oh oh, mary street
Looking out your door
Oh oh oh, mary street
Now what are you waiting for (what are you waiting for)
You thought that cool
Was in someone elses shoes and makeup
Sitting in your room
Waiting for the moment to come
Oh oh oh, mary street
Looking out your door
Oh oh oh, mary street
Now what are you waiting for (what are you waiting for)
You got no tears for
All the guys who passed you by
All the girls who shut you out
They wont recognize you now
Youre a good girl now
No more excusing you
And those books you read
Oh girl, you better review
Oh oh oh, mary street
Looking out your door
Oh oh oh, mary street
Now what are you waiting for (what are you waiting for)
Oh oh oh, mary street
Looking out your door
Oh oh oh, mary street
Oh yeah, oh yeah
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lilting In Silver Notes (Revised)
Soft and pliable, smile so gloriously
open to all, a melody lilting in silver
delight and golden sigh, rays of
magical light reaching all
Everything reflecting the golden shine:
brown as a rich treacle and white as
molten gold, black steadfast as back-
ground to offset all other colours
Changing water drops into diamond
tiaras and pearls, lightly the joyous
melody sang on, carried on dancing
feet never touching the ground
Filling open hearts, smoothing ruffled
minds, delighting as peace spread
over the land, tempests becalmed
for a sacred moment of time
As every heart paused to experience
the wonder that lifted their feet so
they felt free at last, waking up
afterwards with new memories
Of joy, longing to stay within the
glory that had been, convinced
someday they will hold onto it
until it fills
The emptiness within
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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