In Vermilion Accolades
If the night is freckled with ixora, then I will make a wish,
While the children are like kites waiting in their doorsteps of sky
For their fathers who come flying in,
Hoofed and in chariots of airplanes; and I have been down so long:
I have cut my fingers to feed the minnows in the canal,
While their homeopathic silver ness has gone on to feed even
Bigger things:
And it is nice to lie here in the fat oxygen in a house painted with the
Soft colors of a seashell
And do things for Alma, even while new souls are getting ready to
Graduate again from high school-
To get up and stretch their legs and go a little further down their
Ways,
While the emerald waters rush in vermilion accolades.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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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
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Like Airplanes Up In The Sky
Come to me through the angles of lost
Science,
Of how the pleasant men used to have to
Look at the earth:
Now there are no unicorns,
And all of the counties are taking down the
Highest swings—it has something to do with
Human relations
And the ways toward which the children
Have disappeared—
But somewhere in my house right now
Lies an echo of your memory that looks
Very much like you—
I almost didn't have the time to
Graduate high school,
But the skulls are becoming further and
Further unburied—
And the angels are beginning to look again
Like airplanes up in the sky.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The First Steps of Outside
Making love in front of coquina fireplaces sometime
After school,
While all of the debutants were getting ready for
Their decathlon of enviable plays,
Jogging in place, and combing their hair:
The unmistakable angels in the iron clad air, kissing the
Follicles of their perfect skin,
The tryst of crepuscule make vulgar machinations
Around the four corners of their house,
Like liquor around an Indian reservations:
But they would soon all go out into this, a sorority fully on
The metamorphosis,
With or with out roller-skates, and making love,
But never so far as to make it across the canal,
Or to think so long of the commercial voyages of the wishing
Airplanes,
As to remember or think of me, as I laid like something
Amphibian against the banks of their parks which they would
Hardy think about anymore, which they would so
Easily be stolen away from,
Their fast kindled fires burning before the doors of
Other campuses, jaunting up state, until they would finally
Graduate and become something less than more
All together but one at a time in their wedding processions
That would never even make it through the first steps of outside.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Psychos On The Pipe
We don’t sell our bodies to the highest
Or only bidder to feed children
We don’t feed the children
We feed our need
Whatever that may be
Our need for love
Our need for desire
Our need for the poison in our veins
We feed our children to the abuse of strangers
that institutionalized reform of the intellect
to score crystallized rock
to score refined gold
which we wear around our ego
in display of our grandeur and scheming
until we can shoot it through our barrels
to fill the empty of our souls
©2006 All rights reserved
poem by Khristian E. Kay
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Vampyres
there are things you don't know about
things that go unseen
things that chill our very soul
things that muffle our screams
there are things that hide behind us
things that feed on flesh
things that try to find you
things that don't need rest........
the night may hide
what need not be seen
forgotten by the sun
only remembered in dreams
lovely killers....
stalkers of the night
children of darkness
fearing the light.
poem by Faith Franklin
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The wheels on the bus
‘The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
All night long’
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
All night long
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
All night long
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
All night long
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush shus
Hush hus hush
Hush hush
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush hush
All night long
The clouds in the sky go
Sky sky sky
Sky sky sky
Sky sky sky
The ashes from the ground go
Die die die
Die die die
Die die die
All night long
Shakiras on the bus go
Waka waka hey
Waka waka hey
Waka waka hey
The boughs in the tree go
Waka waka sway
Waka waka sway
Waka waka sway
All night long
PS:
The wheels on the bus – children’s song (anonymous?)
Waka waka World’s current top hit on VH1 music channel
August 17,2010
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Graduate
Can I graduate
Can I graduate
Can I look in faces that I meet
Can I get my punk ass off the street
Ive been living on for so long
Can I graduate
To the bastard talking down to me
Your whipping boy calamity
Cross your fingers, Im going to knock it all down
Can I graduate
Echo fading we cant let go
She goes walking by in slow mo
Sell your heart out for a buck
Go on fade out before I get stuck
Talking to somebody like you
Do you live the days you go through
Will this song live on long after we do
Can I graduate
Can I look in faces that I meet
Can I get my punk ass off the street
Wont die on the vine I want to knock it all down
Can I graduate
Echo fading, candle blow
Did you flash out long ago
Cross my fingers, I dont know
Someone poked you down below
Can I graduate
Can I graduate
Can I graduate
Can I graduate
Can I graduate
Can I get my punk ass off the street
Can I look in faces that I meet
Im not waiting here for you to die
Will this song live on long after we do
song performed by by Third Eye Blind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hate
You build me up and then you break me down and build me again
Emotions weaken
My blood is filled with lust knowing someone is wanting to kill me
We all go someday
I get so much more from this than you do (than you do)
I get so much more from this than you (than you)
Haaaate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna free your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna feed your...
Come on get up!
Come on get up!
Come on get up!
There must be someway I can better my health to save me
From all the bad things that feel so good
You must be joking, you dont even know a thing about it
It's what you understood
I get so much more from this than you do (than you do)
I get so much more from this than you (than you)
Haaaate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna free your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna free your...
Come on get up!
Come on get up!
Come on get up!
I get so much more from this than you do (than you do)
I get so much more from this than you (than you)
Haaaate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna free your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna free your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna free your hate!
You wanna feed your hate!
You wanna feed your...
song performed by by Zug Izland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From High School
Don’t you feel that we really belong because
There are windmills in your eyes
Darker than for your mother’s sadness when she goes
Away into the loneliness in her kitchen:
And there doesn’t have to be any more reason for these
Tattoos except that I went away to Spain so many odd years
Ago:
I barely graduated high school: a truant with a purple
And silver jaw who is no longer beautiful-
Lost so long ago: kidnapped by the long extinctions of fireworks:
Each peeling whistle strangely reminiscent of our lives together,
Until collected under another school bus, I have nothing
Else to do but to listen to the long day as it rains
In fake knives- and my Muse named Alma turns in,
Frowning over my misuse of the queens language and all of
My scars, scarred like a spearing pylon
Presumptuous in the bay that the terrapins circle, with jokes
And farts, as she bites her fingernails,
And the green cannons bask in the seashells of the afternoon sky:
It might as well be Easter with the beauty resurrected there:
And the airplanes like metamorphosed school buses,
And the stewardesses languishing there, high atop the
Revolutions and serving drinks, smiling with the affable
Insouciance that I remembered all of my sweet hearts giving to me
From high school.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Here In My House
Here in my house.
My dreams are filled in the here and now.
Here in my house.
Things seem so estranged.
Life's closer to being changed.
Where I live there is a numbness.
There's an emptiness waiting to be undone.
Here in my house.
I need peace and solitude.
I want the happy interlude.
Where's the happiness?
Why the sappiness?
Here in my house.
I want a lover to feed me.
Come and take me to bed.
Save my room for my heart to be filled.
Here in my house.
Outside, life torments and plays with the wind.
You get caught up in the bum rush.
When love comes, it hurts too much.
You don't want to let go.
Here in my house.
Let's sweep away our cares.
Find a place to get our anger out.
Constructively, with every whimp of passion.
Love rules out your heart.
That what love does.
Here in my house.
You want it too much.
Here in my house.
poem by Raven Brent
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The Deal To Make Others Happy
i make a deal with myself
everyday i must find a way
to make other people happy
tough deal
but i must: connect the missing
link of love
find the lost photo album
of the spinster
bring the old man at
the metro station
and described to his blindness
the colors that i see
the music that lies in the heart
amidst the noise
of this world
little pleasures of the hands of children
dipping fingers
on the cool water of the creek
by the side of
the big canal
of an old house abandoned
by the couple
that i must make them
to reconnect
on love letters long gone
i must retrieve
what has been fading
there is a lonely man sitting
waiting
i must provide him with another name
tough deal
but worth it, it is.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For hours long
When I was but a small boy
and lived day by day
on the farm
when the maize were all ready harvested
the stems were cut off
and we had to feed the threshing-machine
where it stood whining above
the feed pit
and that green John Deere thing
ate everything that we fed it
slicing it down to pieces and bits
and while the sun went high
we unloaded the trailer
time and time again
and felt the work
reaching into tired
arms, legs and backs
and sometimes had to jump
down into that pit
on top of the threshed hay
and tread it in
to make way for some more
and that heartless machine
demanded despotically
until the pit was filled
and when it died down
I was deaf from its churning sound
for hours long.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sacrifice
She worked from morning 'til the sun went down
and never did complain.
She earned some money but not enough.
It became her private pain.
How do you feed four children
and keep your bills all paid?
You beg, you steal, you borrow
and your life you trade.
For to watch your children slowly starve
and know they'll be taken away
fills you with dread and so instead
you get down on your knees and pray.
And when that doesn't seem to work
you do unreasonable things.
You sell your body and your soul
to the rich and mighty kings.
You close your eyes and try to forget
what it is you do.
You accept the shame and all the blame
and feed them heartbreak stew.
There is no right. There is no wrong.
There are just four kids to feed.
You work all night 'til the sun comes up
and buy the food they need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Gates Of Paradise
I'm in school staring out the window,
The school gates open, almost telling me
With words to just go, walk out,
Be as free as speech.
Cars cruise along,
Engines quiet and hoarse,
Drivers sunk into soft leather seats
Having a nice day.
I wish that was me right now.
Then partners stroll along,
Hands clasped tight,
May be walking in no real direction but
Having a nice day.
I wish that was me right now.
I'm halfway through the day,
But it has only begun.
If time was a plane, it would be in a hangar,
Still, not flying.
In the end though, I think of
The silver lining in a cloud.
The suffering of school
Brings beauty in life.
School will turn on the flashing lights
Of that airport landing strip,
Lead me in the direction of
Flying freely out of them school gates,
And through the gates of paradise.
My House
(Paul Overstreet/Al Gore)
My house is no mansion
But it still holds my treasures
Things that will never be sold
Theres a few things in this world
That just can't be measured
By money, by silver and gold
My house is filled with the things that I love
From her smile in the mornin'
To her soft goodnight hugs
Her whisper, her laughter
Everything that she does
My house is filled with the things that I love
This old bed that we sleep on
Don't have satin covers
But it holds some great memories
No decorations can make better lovers
In her arms I feel like a king
My house is filled with the things that I love
From her smile in the mornin'
To her soft goodnight hugs
Her whisper, her laughter
Everything that she does
My house is filled with the things that l love
Yes, my house is filled with the things that I love
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver Birds
Silver birds
getting ready to fly
red, white and blue
it's our pride in the sky
Silver birds
above the clouds
making waves
making us proud
Silver birds
shining bright
into the evening
into the night
Silver birds
amongst the rest
flying strong
to be the best
Silver birds
coming round the bend
getting ready to land
out of their descend
Silver birds
representing the states
with the colors of freedom
at all their gates.
Charlie Vergara
11.21.2007
2576
poem by White Tiger
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Hungry Children
Everyday children around the world are starving,
Children has to go without food,
When their parents don't have the money to feed them,
All over the world, there are times,
When all children have went to bed without anything to eat.
Children die every single day,
Because they don't have,
Enough money to feed themselves.
Food should be free to low-income families,
So that the people who can't afford to feed their children can feed them,
Without having to worry that their children or themselves will die,
If food is free to these people,
We will have children for our next gernation.
poem by Bethany Williams
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Enough Money Spent On Wars
What agony; accumulative emotive costs;
feed needle; soul destroying drug addictions?
What monstrous greed
cloaked in racial hatred;
fed with religious hatred
feeds covert wars justified?
When will we; with humanity feed;
with compassion; brothers sisters imprisoned;
in race conflict; poverty dying discarded;
in ignored horrors; extant third world?
Ban every earth war feed our poor
not capitalist corporate baron robbers;
glutted on global sly sweat shop wages
slum lord rents death reaped war profits?
Misery is waste residue of souls
which seek self pleasure materialism;
instead of gift of giving to others
oiled crimes greases palms capitalism.
It is still universally eternally true
it is better to give than to receive;
to sow sacred love not bile hatred
sow prosperity not starvation greed.
Enough money to buy drugs
to support epidemic addictions;
who will feed our suffering world?
Enough money spent on wars
to house all our earth's homeless;
who will house humanities homeless?
Who will feed the poor?
Ban every war feed the poor.
No need to ask who will bank on feed;
crime world exploitation materialism?
Spend money spent on wars
to house all earth's homeless;
feed our poor do not feed wars.
Souls who feed world materialism
will not house human immortal souls;
while flesh rots in blown away dust
in greedy winds of war greed lust.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Airplan
Airplanes, airplanes fly through the sky with amazing speeds they fly, look out the window
At little world below it's amazing.Airplanes, airplanes look at them fly, they fly through
They clouds and wind. Some fly to London and some to war carrying survival supplies for
Their country. Some may die so others will survive.
Airplanes, airplanes aren't they amazing they help us every day and night.
Airplanes, airplanes so bird like in their manner.
poem by Elizabeth Wheaton
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Mugabe's Philosophy
Down among Mugabe's niggers,
paid in money made from blood,
pulling, with great pleasure, triggers
waiting for the giant flood.
Help yourself, we cannot feed them,
kill as many as you can,
Africa will never need them,
Africa is not for man.
I'm not Jesus, breaking bread,
stretch one lousy fish to feed,
those who ought to be long dead,
white man go for black man's need.
God will never punish me,
you, my people may not live.
I am God, my eyes do see
seas of blood, for you to give.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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