Darts
The bitter cold wind crawls like
A creepy insect,
Under my clothes to a bare skin.
The thick woollen jacket is zipped
Up to the chin,
I'm not differed from a black sheep.
The clumsy gloves are on.
All the lights is bright and the
Door is half-open.
I inhale the strong, invisible
Deadly fumes from the painted wood,
Won't do my lungs any good.
Yes it's pretty awkward
And there's homework in need of doing,
But right now
I want to be with my dad
In his shed
Throwing darts.
Related quotes
Boris The Spider
Look, hes crawling up my wall
Black and hairy, very small
Now hes up above my head
Hanging by a little thread
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
Now hes dropped on to the floor
Heading for the bedroom door
Maybe hes as scared as me
Wheres he gone now, I cant see
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
There he is wrapped in a ball
Doesnt seem to move at all
Perhaps hes dead, Ill just make sure
Pick this book up off the floor
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Hes come to a sticky end
Dont think he will ever mend
Never more will he crawl round
Hes embedded in the ground
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold Wind Waits
though the frost is gone, the
cold wind waits.
the robin sings while the
cold wind waits.
a gentle breeze
now blows the wheat,
but a threat of rain
will change to sleet.
the summer slips and the
cold wind waits.
though the warm wind blows, the
cold wind waits.
the traffic crawls while the
cold wind waits.
it's dark too early,
winter too soon,
light of the sun
will change to moon.
the weather turns and the
cold wind waits.
(2011-Bolingbrook, IL)
poem by Mark Money
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Cars
Under the cover of night
She crawls into sight
Her skin is cold china white
Shes a dark angel wearing dark glasses
Dark shadows under long false lashes
The night exposes the cracks
She wears her makeup like wax
To hide every scratch
cause she a dark angel riding dark horses
Sitting pretty in her dim lit covers ... I say
Black cars look better in the shade
She smears her lipstick on right before she sleeps
For all those phantom lovers in her dreams
She smokes them french cigarettes
In cocktail gloves and a strapless dress
She cuts a perfect silhouette
But shes a dark angel wearing dark glasses
A fading beauty as the night time passes ... I say
Black cars look better in the shade
Black cars look better in the shade
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Hand Painter Who Goes Offline When I Go Online
i lied
when i said i like your painting
it is a pity
no one
buys it.
the truth is
what i saw in that canvass
was a man deprived of happiness
craving for
sex
but cannot simply accept
that his body
needs it
warmth is not all jacket
it is better
done with skin
to skin
inside a room where you are naked
and so private
with another body looking for that much
needed intimacy
in the middle of this city where
indifference
seems to be the mother of mankind.
i wish sometimes that you better
do a portrait of yourself
in black
and while
sketches
from a sharp charcoal
on a
very white and thick
canvass.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Prison
The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind's mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.
O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.
Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.
Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-
They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now cries
through this flute of stone.
poem by Judith Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In another time of year
There are autumn leaves
creaking under my shoes,
some of the trees are stripped bare
and the wind has a chill
that cuts right through all my clothes.
It is as if the whole of nature longs
for leaves to be hanging on branches,
for a bright hot sun,
and for rain to come at the right time
but when I am with you
it’s as if we
are in another time of year
where no cold winds blow
and you cuddle me in your sunny world.
When I hear your heart beat
through your bare body,
your skin clings possessively against mine,
I see suns living in your eyes,
you lead me to a magical garden
and I wonder what has to happen
to make our spring
a summer?
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clothes chapter X
And the weaver said, "Speak to us of Clothes."
And he answered:
Your clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet they hide not the unbeautiful.
And though you seek in garments the freedom of privacy you may find in them a harness and a chain.
Would that you could meet the sun and the wind with more of your skin and less of your raiment,
For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind.
Some of you say, "It is the north wind who has woven the clothes to wear."
But shame was his loom, and the softening of the sinews was his thread.
And when his work was done he laughed in the forest.
Forget not that modesty is for a shield against the eye of the unclean.
And when the unclean shall be no more, what were modesty but a fetter and a fouling of the mind?
And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
poem by Khalil Gibran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gold-Tipped Boots, Black Jacket And Tie
I'm battered and bruised. I got lines I can't use.
My head won't deliver. Well, I'm sold down the river.
But I'm turning again.
And I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, I've been second to none:
this horse was ready to run.
Now I'm has-been and used:
disarmed and de-fused
but I'm turning again.
Yes, 'n' I'm turning again.
I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
I'm egg over-easy
and I'm washing-up squeezy.
Appliance for sale:
fat wind in your sail
and I'm turning again.
Well, I'm turning again.
Yes, 'n' I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, I'm turning again
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gold-tipped Boots, Black Jacket & Tie
Im banered and bruised. I got lines I cant use.
My head wont deliver. well, Im sold down the river.
But Im turning again.
Yes, 'n Im turning again.
Well, Im turning again.
And Im turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, Ive been second to none:
This horse was ready to run.
Now Im has-been and used:
Disarmed and de-fused
But Im turning again.
And Im turning again.
Yes, 'n Im turning again.
Im turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Im egg over-easy
And Im washing-up squeezy.
Appliance for sale:
Fat wind in my sail
And Im turning again.
Yes, 'n Im turning again.
Well, Im turning again.
Yes, 'n Im turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, Im turning again.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Light Pours Out Of Me
Time flies
Time crawls
Link an insect up and down the walls
The light pours out of me [x2]
The conspiracy of silence
Ought to revolutionize my thought
The light pours out of me [x2]
The cold light of day pours of of me
Leaving me black and so healthy
The light pours out of me [x2]
It jerks out of me
Just like blood
In this still life
Heart beats up love
The light pours out of me
Pours out of me....
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An insect's insight
on the wings of a cold
Winter's wind
en route of
the dragon-fly's flight
she was caught dreaming
in the mistiness of inexperience
like a stray insect
roaming slowly
on her slipshod
shuffle in the air
above muddy waters
and clear little inlets
and if innocence
is beautiful
innocence is vulnerable
on two thin wings
and much is said
about people-loving people
and can you get anything more white
than these people in popular flight
but for her the mistakes of inexperience
brought almost death
in Winter's translucent wind
a bitter cold wind
for in maturity the ant-lion wears
the mask of the dragon-fly's flairs
Second Skin
The bullets deep, Im not dreaming,
The blood I keep, while youre healing.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Second skin.
Youre riding high, you wont be falling
Dont look behind, Im crawling.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Oh you could have been born to swim,
You could have been born to camouflage.
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Does it pull ? a ring around your finger ?
Does it hurt ? and will it linger on ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you found your second skin, second wind ?
Have you have you have you have you x5
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a distant land many years ago, there lived a black sheep. It was executed by firing squad. A century later, the grieving flock erected an equestrian statue in honor of the slain sheep that looked very nice in the park. In the years that followed, every time a black sheep appeared, it was executed so that ordinary sheep could practice sculpture.
Augusto Monterroso in The Black Sheep and Other Fables (1969)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Lion and the Insect
The Lion lazily lies on the grass,
Purveying his kingdom of gold flowers
As they sway in the wind, but kingdoms pass
And so too does sunlight with the hours.
The Lion grips the land with a well-placed paw.
The Earth trembles slightly beneath his claws.
The Insect unfolds its transparent wings
To swim through thick, sweaty savannah air.
It floats in the soupy mirage heat brings,
Transfixed on flying from the lambent glare
Of the open sky's harsh, cloudless splendor.
The hungry Insect mustn't surrender.
The Lion fears the Insect and hides among
The gold flowers. He's unafraid to rest.
While he worries that, if his paw were stung,
He could lose control of his clenched int'rests,
Like a coward, the Lion waits all night
Until the Insect dies a parasite.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This morning I lock the cold wind out
This morning I lock the cold wind out
with a nice hot leather jacket
that I zip close up to my chin
and on the motorbike
my hands are almost frozen,
but my thoughts are with you.
While I pass a string of cars
I wonder if you are stuck in traffic
or already at work?
It’s as if your eyes are burning into my soul
and constantly you accompany me
in my thoughts
to all the places that I go.
As if I will somewhere leave the road
and you will also get off the bike
and in a coffee shop
will take my hands in yours.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Romance of Winter
It looks like snow, it must be snow, it really, really feels like snow,
It's on my lashes, and on my nose, it's frozen my poor little toe,
It came too soon, last too late, right now I cannot find my gate,
Inside now what a soppy state, this thawing out I really hate,
The fire it seems is getting low, it only adds more to my woe,
Outside it's cold with winters glow, as now the wind begins to blow.
On with boots, gloves, coat, and hat, out to the barn to feed the cat,
In this weather he won't get fat, but neither will he catch a rat.
The cows are full of milk today, the sheep have now begun to bay,
Chicks get corn, to cold to lay, the donkey's cross he wants his hay,
My husbands says it's no big deal, and checks the oven for his meal,
My coat and gloves I start to peel, where has he been thru this ordeal?
He loves the winter's charming feel, in an office warm... get real.
The snow for me has lost apeal, the charm has fled, from this deal.
Where is summer's warming sun, no more snow, I've had my fun,
Winter's romance has faded and run, now all I want is to be done.
But it looks like snow, it feels like snow,
Oh poo, it really is more snow...
poem by Teresa Dearing
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tall shadow
Tall shadow of grass, cover in sweet pollen of flower's springs.
Hide from a wall of green woods and streams.
It Is the flavour the skin, reddened by the sun.
Left bare, like chaste grapefruits.
The breeze penetrates through the cracks of the trees.
Immaculate of resin,
bowing at the sky
Our body languid, flirt of laziness
We belong to the earth and wind.
Which I offered the sacrifice
of shades and revive mind.
Twittering at the wind, under the bird wings
Columns of light tan,
shaded by thick tree's skin
Re-emerged from the mellow sea
Flowing walks....
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Back and Side go Bare
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
I cannot eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
I am nothing a-cold;
I stuff my skin so full within
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
I love no roast but a nutbrown toast,
And a crab laid in the fire;
A little bread shall do me stead,
Much bread I not desire.
No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,
Can hurt me if I would,
I am so wrapt, and throughly lapt
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
And Tib my wife, that as her life
Loveth well good ale to seek,
Full oft drinks she, till ye may see
The tears run down her cheek.
Then doth she troll to me the bowl,
Even as a maltworm should;
And saith,"Sweetheart, I took my part
Of this jolly good ale and old."
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
Now let them drink, till they nod and wink,
Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss
Good ale doth bring men to.
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls,
Or have them lustily troll'd,
God save the lives of them and their wives,
Whether they be young or old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
poem by William Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jolly Good Ale and Old
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
I cannot eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
I am nothing a-cold;
I stuff my skin so full within
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
I love no roast but a nutbrown toast,
And a crab laid in the fire;
A little bread shall do me stead,
Much bread I not desire.
No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,
Can hurt me if I would,
I am so wrapt, and throughly lapt
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
And Tib my wife, that as her life
Loveth well good ale to seek,
Full oft drinks she, till ye may see
The tears run down her cheek.
Then doth she troll to me the bowl,
Even as a maltworm should;
And saith,"Sweetheart, I took my part
Of this jolly good ale and old."
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
Now let them drink, till they nod and wink,
Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss
Good ale doth bring men to.
And all poor souls that have scoured bowls,
Or have them lustily troll'd,
God save the lives of them and their wives,
Whether they be young or old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
poem by William Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bare Windows
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And see it all --
Bright sunlight,
Deep shadows,
Birds in flight,
Bare dead trees,
Thick tangled vines
That whisper in the breeze.
Fox hunts the mouse.
Snake slithers by
Shedding his dry skin house.
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And I love it all.
poem by M. Elizabeth Barrett Doyle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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