Emptying my Lungs at the top of the World
Sitting atop the westernized
version of Haleakala,
my own Molokini;
staring at my feet and
the following abyss.
a road going nowhere.
wisps of elder hair amongst
a blue face,
pulling at my lips
enveloped by the bliss
life to the left, the right,
in front and behind.
a preferred isolation.
poem by Kale Beaudry
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Related quotes
The Kiss
She turns her head gently
From left to right
And from right to left,
Avoiding my blazing lips.
Her shiny ebon hair
Gracefully frames her charming face.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The blue waves of the sea,
The flight of birds very high,
The azure serenity of the sky.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The green tranquility of the forest
Happiness and sadness,
Her beautiful soul, suffering and love,
The pristine spirit of an ivory dove.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The pure white blossoms of Lily
And the sun rising over the mountain,
The bliss and joy of life, the sorrow and the pain.
She turns her head gently
From right to left
And from left to right
Until my lips meet with hers
And I kiss her enchanted, throbbing and trembling.
Time stands still, only the hour grows thin,
Her delicate fingers plough my bare skin.
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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His Wait
He thought of her as his mentor
Abyss was his life without her
His eyes followed her everywhere
His heart bled for her to succumb
His vision enveloped her body
there was no room for anybody
for him the stars, the sun, the moon
all shine at her feet
he still waits for her to agree...
~17/09/08~
poem by Deepti Agarwal
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Staring Them In the Face As Proof
To 'know' God is to be 'free' of inhibitions...
Pretensions and superstitions,
Those demonic live to identify.
To restrict consciousness to limits.
With attempts to keep what is valued unchanged.
And controlled
By delusion and the enforcement of conflict!
But then again...
Some folks are waiting for evidence that God exists.
With all that there is,
Staring them in the face as proof!
And the Earth,
The living reason that affords all to leech upon it...
Shakes everywhere beneath their fragile feet.
With the hope of awakening a broadened consciousness.
And the knowledge that man made time is not on their side,
Waiting in an understood patience...
For absent minds to decide,
Which 'fate' is more acceptable to take.
And which one should be left,
To address in debate!
With all that there is,
Staring them in the face as proof!
With all that there is,
Staring them in the face as proof!
With all that there is,
Staring them in the face as proof!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Face of God
Someone asked; God what if we were to meet face to face?
What face would I see?
Would your eyes be slanted and blue?
Would you have a jewel in the middle of your forehead?
Would your noise be pointed or would it be flat?
Would your lips be thin or would they be full?
God what face would I see?
God answers with these words.
If we were to meet face to face here is what you would see.
Pick up a mirror and the face staring back at you is not only you it is also me.
The Little Girl With Curly Hair
there is this little girls with black curly hair
flat nose, thin eyelashes, wavy goatish eyelids,
sitting on a bamboo pole
(the common furniture there)
with bare hands and bare feet
staring at me,
for i am new here and i have a big tummy
and i am white skinned, and i have candied
inside my pockets, she knows that soon
i will throw all these candies in the air
for all the other children
but there is something strange about this
little brown girl with curly hair sitting all alone
on that bamboo chair
her father and mother were killed in the last rebellion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pull Out The Pin
Just as we hit the green,
Ive never been so happy to be alive.
Only seven miles behind
You could smell the child,
The smell of the front lines survival.
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet,
(I pull the pin.)
You learn to ride the earth,
When youre living on your belly and the enemy are city-births.
Who need radar? we use scent.
They stink of the west, stink of sweat.
Stink of cologne and baccy, and all their yankee hash.
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet,
(Im pulling on the pin,)
Ooh, I pull out, pull out the pin.
(pulling on the pin, oh...)
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
I love life!
I love life!
Ive seen the coat for me.
Ill track him til he drops,
Then Ill pop him one he wont see.
Hes big and pink, and not like me.
He sees no light.
He sees no reason for the fighting
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet.
(Im pulling on the pin,)
Ooh, I pull out, pull out the pin.
(pulling on the pin, oh...)
I had not seen his face,
til Im only feet away
Unbeknown to my prey.
I look in american eyes.
I see little life,
See little wife.
Hes striking violence up in me.
With my silver buddha
And my silver bullet.
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
I love life!
I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
Just one thing in it:
Me or him.
And I love life!
I love life!
I love life!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Childhood's Sweet Song
Childhood forever gone
Just pleasant wisps remain
Close your eyes and remember
The bliss of young ignorance
Sitting on the worn brown rug
With Barbie in your hand
Your sisters on each side of you
How well you bond
How well you forgive
When you are young
Remember those precious days
For in the world where everything
Must all be explained
Where fairies can’t live in your hair
And kitty cats can’t talk
Childhood forever gone
And life sweeping along
Just continue to remember… childhood’s sweet song.
poem by Indigo Rose Christman
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Isolation
In fear every day, every evening,
He calls her aloud from above,
Carefully watched for a reason,
Painstaking devotion and love,
Surrendered to self preservation,
From others who care for themselves.
A blindness that touches perfection,
But hurts just like anything else.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
But if you could just see the beauty,
These things I could never describe,
These pleasures a wayward distraction,
This is my one lucky prize
Isolation, isolation, Isolation, isolation, isolation.
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scarecrow
Staring in the face of condemnation
Laughter fills the sky instead of rain
Live my life alone in resignation
Arms outstretched for those who cannot see
Scarecrow
Crucified and left in isolation
Pictures of our lost morality
Scarecrow
Eyeless stares invite this whole damnation
Rotting corpse of inhumanity
Scarecrow
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lovers Bliss......(a loss of true love)
Lovers Bliss
She wept with sorrow her tears down fall
Upon the ground of blood and gore
There in lies her lover's heart
That beats no more close to hers
Her heart that is heavy with out lover's bliss
She sends out a cry of gruesome death
'Why have thou forsaken me
And left me broken in sorrow and gloom'
Her tears doth fall
Like a waterfall at the loss
Of her lover in their lover's bliss no more
She recalls the days thine heart and soul left her arms
They held each other in arms entwine
Thou whispered softly upon her ears
I shall return to our lover's bliss
The memories linger on in her mind
As it dapples across her dreams
Thine tender hands caressed my soul
With loving hands a burning aching need
The passion intense with each passing kiss
We climb on high at the ecstasy of love and bliss
She cries a mountain of tears
As the memories linger on in her dreams
So deathly quite she stands atop a cliff
And trembles with remorse and pain
How can she live her life?
With out their lover's bliss
Looking towards the twilight skies
She screams at the stars above
"Crushed am I no more to live I need you by my side"
Then taking a step into the dark abyss
She joins her lover in eternal bliss
© Copyright Kaila George 2012
poem by Kaila George
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Summer in the country
One smiles at me
from where she sits
with her hands on a cow’s tits
spraying milk in a bucket
with her blonde hair
bunched beneath a big straw hat,
a picture of unspoilt beauty and innocence
another whistles from horseback
while having a jolly ride
waving as she gallops by
an image of movement
caught under a blazing sun
and you my love are the only one
who gives me kisses,
plaster my cheeks with mulberry lips,
who rides bareback, unsaddled
sitting behind me
on my black stallion
clinging as if you are part of my body
and being a full grown woman,
with great beauty and the right curves,
acting like a tomboy,
a devil’s child,
pulling me down
in a field of Lucerne
with small blue flowers
tangled in your hair.
poem by Gert Strydom
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As Old As
It’s early January
Early morning
My feet are cold on the bathroom tile
And that’s not my face
Staring at me from the mirror
An older face than the one I went to bed with
Puffy skin wrinkles I don’t remember that
One gray hair does not belong to me
I am not this old man
The song of youth still
Plays in my skull my heart my
Bones ache
Eyes blur
After long day working
Hard to keep them open and
I sometimes nod off
To the late news or Letterman just like
My dad did when I was a boy
And I would look at him and think
He’s old and I
Will never be
Am not as old
As that face staring
From the mirror on this
Cold January Morning
poem by Tom Foster
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In The Swimming Pool In The Park
Your sister called her
the girl in the red beret
and there she was
in the outdoor
swimming pool
in the park
her gran sitting
in the stands knitting
and Janice saw you
and said
Fancy seeing you here
can you swim?
You stood
in the shallow end
of the pool
in your blue trunks
looking at her wet fair hair
clinging to her body
and her eyes bright
in the sun's afternoon light
No not so far
you replied
I can
she said shaking water
from her hair and head
I can swim the length
and back almost
you looked over
at Jimmy in the pool
talking to friends
she touched your hand
and said
I can show you
how to swim
and she smiled
and you felt her hand
on yours and hoped
Jimmy wasn't looking
seeing her touch you
Maybe another time
you said
pulling your hand away
and plunging it
into the water
I've got to go
you said
my friends
are waiting for me
and she looked at you
her eyes now sad
and she said softly
No stay with me
I like it
when you are near me
and she stood there
in her pink swimsuit
her hair sticking
to her face
her eyes watery and blue
and gazing hopefully
(the noise and laughter
from the pool
momentarily shut off)
at seven year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Church going
I hear voices singing inside
and notice big signs asking for silence
in the foyer
for when respect is lacking,
but groups of people, mainly women
stand in the entrance whispering loudly
and when I walk in
people are in their suits, best dresses
with hair done to the newest style
and almost every eye follows me
with my leather jacket, motorcycle helmet
in my hand
and formal pants as if trying to see
why I am different.
I take a backbench, just in front of the one
marked for mothers with babies
and the wood is hard and uncomfortable
probably to keep churchgoers awake
right through a monotonous sermon.
With the congregation I kneel down to pray
and the elder makes a long drawn out preach
of it and I feel
some kids still staring at me
and through slightly opened eyes see them looking,
whispering and indicating to each other.
At the front, at the holy end a woman plays the piano
and another plays along with the organ
while the congregation stand in song
and I listen intently to the minister
preaching about the love of God,
see an old man with a bold head
falling asleep in front of me,
his wife hitting him with the elbow
in the ribs every now and then,
a small girl colouring pictures
with different crayons
and just after the last song walk out
before the people gather in cliques
and are the first to take to the road
with my motorbike.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Whence Do All These Come From?
each drop
of rain from the leaking roof
rhyming
with the words coming from my thoughts,
each hush of the wind
caressing my face each kiss of the sun
on my hair my lips
each road that is offered to my feet
my fingers holding
smooth thighs
each love, each silence,
all from You
to where shall i then go and call someone
a home?
you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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S.i.b.
Got a nervous kind of feeling
Got a painful yellow headache
Every picture in every magazine's turned real
Every face looks out and screams at me too real
Cold sweat on my collar
Dripping to my boots
The waves of nauseous pain
Sets off the pressure pad alarms
Gotta get outta here
Gotta get outta here
Gotta get outta here
Gotta get outta here
Gotta painful swelling brain
Banging in my head
Gotta painful swelling brain
And i called off sick
Gotta swelling itching pain
Got me pulling out my hair
Gotta swelling itching pain
Clutching at my brain
Got me laying on the floor
Think i left my senses
Seems like endless torture
Got me pulling out my hair
Driving me up the wall
Dripping out my eyes ears nose and mouth
Imploding my thoughts
Blasting holes in the front lawn now
Going outta my skull
Burning up my thoughts
Tearing me apart
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0096 The Two-Left-Feet Waltz - for Jerry
(to the tune of The Blue Danube)
The
Two-Left- Feet Waltz
…left...now
what do I do?
The
Two-Left-Feet Waltz
…left...I’m
feeling blue, too..
The
Two-Left-Feet Waltz…left.. I’m
treading on you…
I’m through! You, too? Let’s vamoo-
se.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Why still you count your years... [De ce-ţi mai numeri anii...]
Why still you count your years to see if you are old
When very well you know your soul is sad and cold,
And why you ask the glass so often to attest
That on your face cruel time no wrinkles has impressed,
When know that all your things, which constantly do roll,
Have left deep dreary marks in your beloved soul,
And that eons have passed and fallen in abyss
Since on the earth you felt a momentary bliss?
And how you look today why do you want to know
When you're aware your ghost has left you long ago?
You carry death around and slowly are consumed,
Life has become a pain, you feel that you are doomed!
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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I Wonder Atop the Dunes
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall.
When the air is thick,
And hot with sticky humidity?
Will my Autumn wishes,
Be of those you select and pick?
I like to sit atop the dunes,
At Cape Cod and Padre Island.
I am closer to my thoughts.
When the seagulls and waves,
Exchange as nature wishes.
With sounds that attract,
My need to be distracted.
Then I make eye contact with it.
Pulling me in like a magnet!
And I see you...
This attractive distraction.
Relaxing to instigate,
My delusions of being laid...
On Labor Day.
And throughout the festivities of the holidays.
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall.
When the air is thick,
And hot with sticky humidity.
Will my Autumn wishes,
Be of those you select and pick?
And we discover a great happiness.
Will we be sharing Thanksgiving?
Or comfortable enough to be sitting...
Under the Christmas Tree butt naked.
And exchanging gifts with kisses?
To sweat if we let it get done.
Near the grate of the fireplace.
To quietly lay to hear 'carols' we hum.
I like to sit atop the dunes,
At Cape Cod and Padre Island.
I am closer to my thoughts.
When the seagulls and waves,
Exchange as nature wishes.
With sounds that attract,
My need to be distracted.
And I am...
When I think of how we met.
And I am...
Full of regret,
I did not extend to you an invitation.
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall...
Again?
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall...
Again?
But,
When again?
I wonder atop the dunes.
When will this move I make?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I be perceived as a faker?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I share this escape?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Could mistakes be made to make up?
I wonder atop the dunes.
When will this move I make?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I be perceived as a faker?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I share this escape?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Could mistakes be made to make up?
I wonder atop the dunes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Broken Road of My Life
I am sitting here,
watching my life go by me.
Faces pass, people come and go.
My life is going down a completely different road.
Down the broken road.
My life has completely fallen apart.
There is no stopping it.
I try to pick up the pieces again and again,
but nothing seems to work.
There is nothing left of my heart.
I don't feel love.
I don't feel happiness.
I feel nothing.
There is no reason for me
to continue to live.
I have nothing more to live for.
Why must people break me down inside,
right to the very core?
I don't feel pain.
I don't feel misery.
I don't feel anything.
Even if people say it will be alright
still I hear myself say,
'I want to end my life! '
But now it is too late to turn back.
I can't stop going down the broken road.
My life means nothing,
it just seems to go zooming by
while my body is left behind.
This is the broken road of my life!
poem by Jaana Coon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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