If She Wasn't Already So Far Away
Twilight drinks itself to sleep and I am
Here doing the same and yawning trying to picture the
Dusky clouds over the
Retiring golf courses and the teenage cemeteries,
And maybe it because that I am not even real
And had to sit tonight behind Romero’s house while his
Special needs nephew had his forth birthday party:
And I sat beside Alma and her mother
And her daughter:
And she wore the dress that I bought her last weekend at
The flea market underneath I-95:
And I got to do this until the man she lives with came in
And sat between us: he had fake diamonds in his ears
As big as a black man’s birds eggs:
I didn’t care: I went home and jogged so far I jaunted past
Where the drunks were fishing and into the rich man’s
Yards and still I jogged, and I jogged,
Thinking that I could still breath in the loneliest perfumes of Alma
If only she wasn’t already so far away.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
How Many Legs I'll Have To Lose
You’ve combed your hair again and I am drinking wine
I bought tonight after I left you at that party in wounded
And high weeded guts of
West Palm Beach: the grapes are from the grandes bodegas
Where the poets rest in the trenches of lime,
And I jogged today after I left you Alma over the waters and
Into the soft terrain of the rich man’s homes,
And they made me smile and think of you, because you are
So beautiful that you could fit into any of those homes and
Make them smaller;
And how you’ve cast your eyes out of buses traveling far
And to the east;
And how you’ve never seen the Wizard of Oz, and I never
Want to have to fire you:
I feel like a torch in a warm dungeon full of booby traps when
I am nearer you:
I feel like a teenager slipping away from school to bask in his
Pastimes of cemeteries which border the teal tennis courts
Where the topless din mothers and their professional sisters play
At ease in their early retirement:
And after I left you I jogged until I stopped to yawn up at the
Soft belly of an airplane: it almost didn’t seem real.
Just as none of this seems real: the monsters that I have to kill for
You are out there but impossible,
And I love you, but the journey is long and the windshields
Have fogged
And I don’t know how many legs I’ll have to lose to win you.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flick
The Flick
The blond girl had turned her back to the beach
head in hand her guitar flung aside, I think she
was crying. A man walked his dog another one
jogged, birds in V shape flew towards the eye of
the twilight; and no scientist saw the weeping girl.
Night, on a strand of sand that faced the mighty
Pacific Ocean I so often had crossed on my way
to the land of the setting sun. A girl alone and me
on a beach of forget us not, I walked over to tell
her go home; the girl was a heap of golden sand,
her fine guitar was flotsam of a blue fishing boat
and her bikini a tattered plastic shopping bag.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Yung And Freudened
When men are yung they are easily freudened
of marriage against which they're hardened, till hoydened,
and when they get older they're even more wary
of marriage, towards which their thoughts are contrary,
until they're discovered by hoydens who're smarter
than they and can turn them to meat-market martyrs
who're willing to burn at the stake, till well-done
when they learn that's the only way they can have fun
with the hoyden whom they, when still freudened and yung,
would never have married though out might hung,
as happened to me once, when found by a hoyden
who hung out in Gower Street when not in Croydon,
and occurred to my son when a girl he had logged
onto, dating through Frumster, and jogged,
jogged his mind to make sure that he took such a fancy
to her that he married her, martyred in Monsey,
which isn't as bad s it sounds. He was picky,
but less mavericky once rigged up with Ricky.
It's often not easy to silence a table,
but thesetwenty lines surely prove I am able.
In Ronana McDonald's review of Henry Hitchings 'How to Review Books You Haven't Read' he declares:
Remembering your favorite line from 'Finnegans Wake' is 'they were yung and easily freudened' will silence the table.
11/14/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flying Monkeys
I’m calling on you because I’m a wreck,
And I used to dream of becoming a professor when I
Jogged around the junked golf course
By the side of deep twilight, and the paltry swathed condominiums:
To tell you the truth, I haven’t loved too many women-
Mostly, I’ve been able to count them on two hands
And you rank right up there,
But now my legs are cold from drinking cheap rum:
Can you love a man without any fashion sense
Or social position?
A man terribly wounded in the dark of a fraternity’s
Pick-up truck, so he doesn’t even know where he’s
Hurt, but he just remembers you sometime in
North Central Florida before Halloween in that Asian
Restaurant joint now demolished on 13th street;
What the F-, now it flows- now it flows- I don’t
Yet have a bicycle or a home on an island, but give it time:
And the girl I neglected by dreaming of you has a new
House and better ways to make her living;
And this is not good, and now I don’t care to teach anything
To the living; but love me, if you will, in your time,
In the quieted spaces between the snows and your inevitable
Breast feedings- because I love you,
And it is the only thing that reoccurs to me every evening
As I chop down trees, oiling my joints and looking up from
Time to time to keep an eye out for flying monkeys….
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And it sort of jogged a memory of something that I read at school and I read it, and I thought God this is it. So you never can tell. I could find something this afternoon.
quote by Andrew Lloyd Webber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like Bright Sunlight Underneath The Moon
Muse- I want to see you wearing barrettes
In Paris-
Alma- rings of golden satellites between brown
Knuckles-
Warm sweet kisses underneath broken school
Busses- Alma-
Warm sweet places, like hot clay in
Art class- and easels waiting in the broken
Monuments of honeysuckle daylight
With saw horses underneath open hearts:
The way the wilderness waits across the canal
For you- Alma,
To step into the crepuscule of the burning sugar canes
At the dead ends of suburbia,
To leave the senses to go to sleep behind you,
And to start our barefooted, your feet
The size of toy boats, as you exhilarate the heavens
And pull them down to examine your own heavens-
And they see the truth to your passivity,
As the canoe lays tinkered up to the bank, underneath
The holly you left behind
Being given little kisses to its throat by tadpoles
Whose only hope is for metamorphosis
To join with your heavens- to bask across the
Fields who grow rich in the antediluvian things that
Evolve in your longing classrooms-
They follow you- muse, as you go leaping,
Caramel- muse of honey and applesauce-
Like bright sunlight underneath the moon.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Muse of Honey And Applesauce
Muse- I want to see you wearing barrettes
In Paris-
Alma- rings of golden satellites between brown
Knuckles-
Warm sweet kisses underneath broken school
Busses- Alma-
Warm sweet places, like hot clay in
Art class- and easels waiting in the broken
Monuments of honeysuckle daylight
With saw horses underneath open hearts:
The way the wilderness waits across the canal
For you- Alma,
To step into the crepuscule of the burning sugar canes
At the dead ends of suburbia,
To leave the senses to go to sleep behind you,
And to start our barefooted, your feet
The size of toy boats, as you exhilarate the heavens
And pull them down to examine your own heavens-
And they see the truth to your passivity,
As the canoe lays tinkered up to the bank, underneath
The holly you left behind
Being given little kisses to its throat my tadpoles
Whose only hope is for metamorphosis
To join with your heavens- to bask across the
Fields who grow rich in the antediluvian things that
Evolve in your longing classrooms-
They follow you- muse, as you go leaping,
Caramel- muse of honey and applesauce-
Like bright sunlight underneath the moon.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thinking of you on your birthday! Leah :)
Another year another birthday thinking of you all day
Thinking about school the old times, the memories stay
Thinking about laughs and good times we had in class
Thinking about the joys of the past
Thinking of technology class and the time everyone loved the pizza man song
Thinking about XL and the day we did up the room with paint
Thinking about the time Verneita pretended to faint (LOL)
Thinking about the time we all got out of school early when it snowed and went up the golf
Remember the times we used to get in trouble and we didn’t even care sometimes I wish I could do it all again.
Thinking of you on your birthday :)
poem by Stephanie Mcgrath
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Tedina's endless sleep
It's like a dream to us all
that thou art
in an endless sleep
It all started like a joke
when thy head got hurt
you survived the theatre twice
As time jogged on
an endless sleep called thou
Thy response
to an endless sleep
is the cause
our eyes are wet
and our hearts bitter
Thy love craves for thee
she weeps bitterly
for thou can't awake
from thy endless sleep
to see thy sons and daughters
become men and women
Tedina
thy endless sleep
has wounded our hearts
in pain we shall be
as long as we stay awake.
poem by Inawo Murphy Ternenge
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That Illusion
The night weeps its sentiment to us all, but oh how
Many lines have begun like that:
And I wish I could be more original for you;
And now I want to walk to your house again:
I want to be a flag on your body rippling and casting for gold,
Because now haven’t I seen you captivated high up in the clouds
In a house of giants:
Isn’t it a white man’s house: even further, isn’t it my house,
Alma:
I want to find you and stretch you out and ask your where your beautiful
Belt has gone,
And to which knight you gave it to, to save his neck:
I know you gave it to one knight on his lunch break, but to which
One I am uncertain,
But I want to be your king just so I can have the authority to find these
Things out,
And to feed my life-giving poultry to your children:
Alma, I dream of you walking your children to the bus stop,
And I dream of you walking through cut out snowflakes and paper airplanes:
I dream of you always on the move, Alma, because your body gives off
That illusion while it smokes and sweats my dreams.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clogged
Clogged, logged, bogged, cogged;
A new spot!
The story book,
My mind,
My dreams.
Blogged, fogged, dogged, hogged, jogged;
A new spot!
My works,
My hope;
But, when will i see you again?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Para Qu
Para qu las joyas
que cubren tu cuerpo?
Para qu el dinero
de cien aos de trabajo?
Para qu la fama
de los intocables?
Para qu las falsas caras
de lo cotidiano?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu los lentes
que cubren tus ojos?
Para qu el cansancio
de cien aos de trabajo?
Para qu matarse
por las apariencias?
Para qu dejar
que nos acabe la violencia?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
Para qu?
si a la tumba
no se lleva
ni el dinero
ni el poder.
si a la tumba
no se lleva
ni el dinero
ni el poder.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
si a la tumba
no se lleva
ni el dinero
ni el poder.
si a la tumba
no se lleva
ni el dinero
ni el poder.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
Slo lo que en el alma queda.
song performed by by Juanes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alma Desnuda
SOY un alma desnuda en estos versos,
Alma desnuda que angustiada y sola
Va dejando sus pétalos dispersos.
Alma que puede ser una amapola,
Que puede ser un lirio, una violeta,
Un peñasco, una selva y una ola.
Alma que como el viento vaga inquieta
Y ruge cuando está sobre los mares,
Y duerme dulcemente en una grieta.
Alma que adora sobre sus altares,
Dioses que no se bajan a cegarla;
Alma que no conoce valladares.
Alma que fuera fácil dominarla
Con sólo un corazón que se partiera
Para en su sangre cálida regarla.
Alma que cuando está en la primavera
Dice al inviemo que demora: vuelve,
Caiga tu nieve sobre la pradera.
Alma que cuando nieva se disuelve
En tristezas, clamando por las rosas
Con que la primavera nos envuelve.
Alma que a ratos suelta mariposas
A campo abierto, sin fijar distancia,
Y les dice libad sobre las cosas.
Alma que ha de morir de una fragancia,
De un suspiro, de un verso en que se ruega,
Sin perder, a poderlo, su elegancia.
Alma que nada sabe y todo niega
Y negando lo bueno el bien propicia
Porque es negando como más se entrega,
Alma que suele haber como delicia
Palpar las almas, despreciar la huella,
Y sentir en la mano una caricia.
Alma que siempre disconforme de ella,
Como los vientos vaga, corre y gira;
Alma que sangra y sin cesar delira
Por ser el buque en marcha de la estrella.
poem by Alfonsina Storni
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Isolation: 25 June 2010
The people are all excited whereas I feel like sh*te;
There's a birthday-bash at Jenny's gaff tonight.
The sun is setting down but her home has brightened up.
Everyone will be there, each with their own plastic-cup
To drink from, eat some cake, and sing the birthday song;
It's a party we've been waiting for all year long.
I think of my friends arriving there, even Alan my dream man,
The birthday-girl greeting them and bringing their own cans.
But I am at home, staring at the stars with tears in my eyes.
I wasn't even invited, to my surprise.
On Facebook, she'd told me that her party was 'full',
Which, to anyone with a mind, was just a load of bull.
It was because I loved her that she didn't want me there.
I'd never felt so left out - it just isn't fair!
I have taught myself a lesson and she has lost my respect.
And because she's caused me such deep isolation,
Her dignity, to me, has been permanently fecked.
poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
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By The Alma River
WILLIE, fold your little hands;
Let it drop, that 'soldier' toy:
Look where father's picture stands,--
Father, who here kissed his boy
Not two months since,--father kind,
Who this night may--Never mind
Mother's sob, my Willie dear,
Call aloud that He may hear
Who is God of battles, say,
'O, keep father safe this day
By the Alma river.'
Ask no more, child. Never heed
Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk,
Right of nations or of creed,
Chance-poised victory's bloody work:
Any flag i' the wind may roll
On thy heights, Sebastopol;
Willie, all to you and me
Is that spot, where'er it be,
Where he stands--no other word!
Stands--God sure the child's prayer heard--
By the Alma river.
Willie, listen to the bells
Ringing through the town to-day.
That's for victory. Ah, no knells
For the many swept away,--
Hundreds--thousands! Let us weep,
We who need not,--just to keep
Reason steady in my brain
Till the morning comes again,
Till the third dread morning tell
Who they were that fought and fell
By the Alma river.
Come, we'll lay us down, my child,
Poor the bed is, poor and hard;
Yet thy father, far exiled,
Sleeps upon the open sward,
Dreaming of us two at home:
Or beneath the starry dome
Digs out trenches in the dark,
Where he buries--Willie, mark--
Where he buries those who died
Fighting bravely at his side
By the Alma river.
Willie, Willie, go to sleep,
God will keep us, O my boy;
He will make the dull hours creep
Faster, and send news of joy,
When I need not shrink to meet
Those dread placards in the street,
Which for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eyes--Child, sy thy prayer
Once again; a different one:
Say, 'O God, Thy will be done
By the Alma river.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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It's Your Birthday
Surprise
Girl I bet you thought I had went and forgot
It's a special day
Tonight
Your gift will be something you will remember
For the rest of your days, yeah
(So get ready I'ma take you out)
And show you some love
(Show you what a party is all about)
Once we hit the club
It's your birthday (so let's party and have some fun, yeah)
It's your birthday (we'll dance 'til the morning comes, yeah)
Happy birthday (girl let's step the night away)
Happy birthday (yeah, and we're gonna celebrate, yeah)
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Ooh we'll be laughing and singing and grooving on the way (yeah)
With smiles upon our face (oh yeah) (yeah)
Nothing but VIP
Darling for you and me
And there's so many dancing feet
Dancing in harmony
(So get ready I'ma take you out)
And show you some love, yeah
(Show you what a party is all about)
Once we hit the club, yeah
It's your birthday (we're gonna party and have some fun)
It's your birthday (and we'll dance til the morning comes yeah)
Happy birthday (oh, let's step the night away)
Happy birthday (we're gonna celebrate)
Let's go
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo, doo
Go Drea it's your birthday
Go Joanne it's your birthday
Go Jaya it's your birthday
Go Chanl it's your birthday
Go Angie it's your birthday
Go Julie it's your birthday
Go Ebony it's your birthday
Go Teshonda it's your birthday
Go Kim it's your birthday
Go Lisa it's your birthday
Go Divine it's your birthday
Go Simone it's your birthday
Go Vernice it's your birthday (it's your birthday)
Go Gina it's your birthday (it's your birthday)
Go Kat it's your birthday (it's your birthday)
Go Carmen it's your birthday (it's your birthday)
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Alma River Sonata
That alma river
Kept my spirit alive
Every time that I had visited
That alma river everyday
And also I feel that it is rather
Impossible for me to believe
Because I have a problem with reality
And for reality to sat Inside of me
I feel that I have to be present
At that alma river
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our farewell song to P.M.C.
Our Alma-mater is P.M.C;
Our Alma-mater, we salute thee;
We are now full-fledged good Doctors!
We start to serve, the sick forev’r.
We will remember our College;
Until we reach our Life’s end-stage;
We had our days of much ordeal;
We are now all so free, we feel.
We had our tussles and fist-fights;
Happy to have just won our rights;
We had our days of rejoicings;
Entwined in love, today this song we sing.
We love our Teachers who taught us well;
To be quite patient always in Life;
And guided us in numerous ways;
Showing us all, that there are better days!
We look ahead to a future bright;
Our past was dear, sad days, despite;
We will miss this ev’rgreen campus;
And the sweet songs that, Birds sang to us.
Recreation did suffer although;
Success in life always will show;
Our stay in P.M.C. was so great;
On the whole it, was a joyful state.
We will miss P.M.C.forev’r;
Farewell to our dear Alma-mater;
We are now full-fledged good DOCTORS;
Ready to heal the sick forev’r.
Our Alma-mater is P.M.C;
Our Alma-mater, we salute thee!
Farewell, farewell dear P.M.C.;
We will again come to see thee.
poem by John Celes
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China Pig
When the stiff wind blows
The flag don't wiggle
In the party of special things to do
I met the ace of love
She took me to her plantation
For the love without separation
In the party of special things to do
It could happen to me
It could happen to you
I met the ace of love
She said I want you to go
To the party of special things to do
And when you're through
I'll be right here waiting for you
Here take these sparks
So my distant cousins can get along with you
Watch out for the mirror man
And elixir sue
When I got to the party of special things to do
It wasn't hard to find Elixir Sue
I met all the cards
The wild cards
The one-eye jill
The red queen
She turned her head
You know what I mean
She turned it back and said
"I got a brand new game I want to lay on you"
I met them all
At the party of special things to do
When I was done
I was far from through
I returned to the ace of love
Now wouldn't you?
I met them all
The camel wore a nightie
The camel wore a nightie
At the party of special things to do
...elixir sue
It wasn't hard to find liquor at the do
I met all the cards
The wild cards
You know what I mean
Then she turned it back and said
"I got a brand new game I think I want to lay on you"
I met elixir sue
At the party of special things to do
It's so special
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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