Old Shirts...This reads like a woman wrote it
Old Shirts
I have not yet recovered from the potent
Memories of family outings.
They peal like the anniversary
Of a loved one’s departing.
On such occasions, it is the intimacy
Of other families.
That defines the negative space
of our separation.
Living in the old neighborhoods,
I am haunted by the old ghosts.
And now that your gone,
I shall wear your faults.
Like an old weather-beaten
shirt of yours;
Which warms me with everything I
Hated about you...
John Thomas Tansey 11/17/02
poem by John Tansey
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Your Old Shirts......
I have not, yet, recovered from the potent
Memories of family outings.
They peal like the anniversary
Of a loved one’s departing.
On such occasions, it is the intimacy
Of other families
That defines the negative space
of our seperation.
Living in the old neighborhood
I am haunted by ghosts.
And now that your gone, I
Wear your faults, I never forgave.
Like an old shirt of yours
Which warms me,
Still, with everything
I hated about you...
poem by John Tansey
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Reunion.....
Dedicated to my ex-wifes grandmother
Upon the anniversary of his passing
that worm-holed the world
with a warped space,
leaving
the black hole heart
of one woman,
agape
with grief
and parted from the star of her life;
In the privacy of her longing,
she succumbed
to that portalled space,
aligned by stars,
that pulled her,
as earth herself
on the anniversary of his death
toward the gravity of their love
and in the orbit of their final place.
poem by John Tansey
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A Gift for the Romantic
A Gift for the Romantic
It is in the subtlety
And not the blunt insult,
The threat and not the onslaught;
The implied and not the explicit.
It is in the first gleaning,
remembered scents of Spring
And not the direct,
Overhead heat of Summer.
The autumnal dread
And not the dead of Winter;
The sweet dream of sleep
And not the bleak morning after.
When somewhere between the gift,
And it’s crumpled paper wrapping,
Lie an infinity
Of finite things to be chosen:
But of a thousand choices
if I must choose one,
I would settle, instead,
For the choice and forego the choosing…
John Tansey 11.25 07
Copyright ©2008 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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Rockport...Visual Imagery
Pea green sea squalls,
Whorled out of a Nor’easter
Ping with the sting of the ocean’s spray.
Wind roped ocean waves
Lope, in the wind sail gales,
The chilled cheeks of my taut face,
Shouting windward and away...
Far up the winding slate rock walls of the jetty;
The wreckage of a whaler, among white caps
And Narwhale bones.
The bowsprit of the sea,
Rises like a fish tale out of the coast:
The imagined mermaid of the manatae...
John Thomas Tansey 6/02
poem by John Tansey
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Change Of Weather
September came along
and brought with it
a change of weather.
The humid days
were suddenly cold and windy.
A few, very nice, cool, fall days,
managed to slip in,
even though it wasn’t quite fall yet.
So, as I do every September,
I emptied out my closet of
t-shirts, and short sleeved shirts.
With all that room in there
I decided to fill it with my winter shirts,
even though I didn’t need them, just yet.
And don’t you know,
I got caught again?
No sooner did I get the summer shirts away
and the winter ones out -
what happens?
There’s a change of weather.
The warmer days kicked in again.
I sure can use those t-shirts now.
But, I’ve got them packed away,
and away they’ll stay.
This is the time of year
when the weather doesn’t know
if it wants to be warm, cool or cold.
Well, I can always roll up the sleeves
on the long sleeved shirts, should I need to.
With changes of weather
as it is these days,
I’d rather play it safe.
Love Subsists on Lust...
Love Subsists on Lust
Like an animal, sensing your smell,
I skin sift your approach.
A concussion of air;
A draft that draws us close.
Eyes widening, my ears prick up
At your hand on the door,
Your foot in the jamb.
And as your lips purse to utter my name,
I place a finger to your mouth...
Swallowing the vowels between us,
We grow in the silence,
Like a faith;
And through such suffering, learn of love.
And, thus, love subsists on lust.
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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He Says
that the weather
is too cold for those
who have no warm
memories,
all he need to do
is wear his shirt
to hide the ugliness
of his
dirty body that in the
mind
has become a disturbance
says my wife.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ghosts Of Our Past
Ghosts Of Our Past
We are haunted all the time
by ghosts of our past
for things we did long ago.
They remind us often
of the mistakes we made
and cannot amend.
These ghosts can come to us
at almost anytime
and we always refer to them
as our memories.
3 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Happy Anniversary!
H Here’s to 35 years spanned,
A A lifetime of great memories,
P Preordained by Divine hand,
P Partners always, you and me.
Y Years 35 have quickly flown,
A Anniversary 36 soon to be,
N Nearer, O how we’ve grown,
N Never apart, our destiny.
I Intimacy still thrills, though
V Very different, you and me,
E Entwining yet as one will,
R Rich in joy and unity.
S Sharing all things together,
A Anxious more time to see,
R Ready more to discover,
Y Year 36, just you and me.
To my one true love,
Happy Anniversary!
poem by Loyd C. Taylor
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Protective Defense Mechanism
Those who complain about what some do...
And leave the focusing on handling their own business,
In the hands of others...
Should be ashamed.
That...
They are not.
Instead...
They seem to express a pride,
They have been absolutely accountable...
For nothing!
And those who show responsibility,
Are the ones most likely to be disrespected.
At one time these comments made,
Were considered negative and detrimental...
To the growth and prosperity,
Of inner city neighborhoods.
Today...
These comments made,
Are considered negative and detrimental...
To the growth and prosperity,
Of inner city neighborhoods.
Living in denial is still an ambition,
Many keep as a protective defense mechanism...
To prevent truth to heal and mend,
Long held ignorant wounds.
Truth for many,
Is still believed to be the enemy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES...Part I
THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES
I
OCTOBER IS A GREGARIOUS MONTH
October is a gregarious month;
all things seeking shelter.
Watching the tidal ebb of twilight
drawing its last breath of birds,
I know winter is approaching;
Reversing the spin of planets
like baseballs, having arced since spring,
Gravity is returning, condensing,
like clouds in my eyes.
Twilight leaves the extremities...
fingers, cold to the touch.
Mothers walk, clenching the air
children’s voices cannot rise over.
Then, like a snow-globe shaken,
The elements of summer are preserved, like Amber
in the crystal flakes of the first frost, falling....
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1
We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?
There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A reason to be held
I'm tired of being alone
Tired of the racism
Tired of being the center of every joke
Why
Why, because I'm not the same as you
I'm not the same and I'm faulted for it every day
I'll never be right because no one knows
For I never speak
I just want to cry sometimes
I want to cry like a child
I want to crawl into a little space and cry
Cry because I'm all alone
Why can't I be loved
My mother she left me without looking back
My family there is no family
Just memories that stand for nothing
I just want to be loved
I want to be loved the same as everyone else
But it will never happen
It will never happen because no one knows
No one knows how I feel
No one really knows
No one knows how it feels
I want to be loved
Because the feeling
The feeling under my ribs
That feeling is from not being loved
I want you to love me
I want you to love me as your own
I want to be held
Because everyone deserves to be held
poem by Aerin Andre
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Ghostly House
You need language of ghosts
To communicate with spirits that impose on us.
You crave for the very food our ghosts need.
Come with the religion of yours to distract them.
For it pray and they will go away, for all eternity!
Your House is Haunted. Be so wary!
Even call the police, and they will never enter your home.
Your House is Haunted. It needs some policy to rid it of evil and despair.
You House needs some care. It requires the life to adjust. You must.
If ghosts are about then leave the house and complain.
Nobody listens except the Priest, and he is not around.
Go to the doctor, and feel doom in abundance. The ghosts do not win.
Good Luck!
poem by Naveed Akram
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I'm closer to being happy. I'm doing things that make me happy. In football I loved to practice and I loved to play, but I hated to be in meetings, hated to talk to the media, hated to have cameras in my face, hated to sign autographs. I hated to do all those things.
quote by Ricky Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glee -- The Ghosts
In life three ghostly friars were we,
And now three friarly ghosts we be.
Around our shadowy table placed,
The spectral bowl before us floats:
With wine that none but ghosts can taste,
We wash our unsubstantial throats.
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.
With songs that jovial spectres chaunt,
Our old refectory still we haunt.
The traveller hears our midnight mirth:
"O list!" he cries, "the haunted choir!
"The merriest ghost that walks the earth, "
"Is sure the ghost of a ghostly friar."
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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The time and space
The intimacy one had with another
Was the contribution of time and space.
On reunion one cannot expect the same.
Intimacy suffers when the space differs
27.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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NASA has to approve whatever we wear, so there are clothes to choose from, like space shorts - we wear those a lot - and NASA T-shirts.
quote by Sally Ride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Far Gone
How its done.
Always on the run.
Just another number.
Statistics.
Becoming a mystic.
Watch the hands closely.
Its a disappearing trick.
Shes there, shes gone.
How its done.
Always on the run.
Just another picture.
Memories.
The burning disease.
Watch the horror movies.
Its more flashbacks.
Its there, its gone.
How its done.
Always on the run.
Just another measure.
Despair.
So f*cking scared.
Watch the fire ignite.
Its a candle light vigil.
Were there were gone.
So far gone, so far gone.
Its another place.
Distant.
Separation of the body and mined.
Traveling through outer space.
Grab the twilight.
Hold on to it.
Make it yours.
For it hasn't been there before.
So far gone, so far gone.
Its another place.
Distant.
Separation of the body and mined.
Traveling through outer space.
Grab the twilight.
Hold on to it.
Make it yours.
For it hasn't been there before.
How its done.
Always on the run.
Just another treasure.
Desire.
What you want.
Watch it fade away.
Its more fools gold.
Its there, its gone.
Always on the run.
Just another label.
Faking.
What are you.
Watch the dirt fly.
Its sticks and stones.
Your there, your gone.
How its done.
Always on the run.
Just another vagrant.
Living.
A need to survive.
Watch her eyes now.
Its another color again.
Shes there, shes gone.
So far gone, so far gone.
Its another place.
Distant.
Separation of the body and mined.
Traveling through outer space.
Grab the twilight.
Hold on to it.
Make it yours.
For it hasn't been there before.
Once more.
So far gone, so far gone.
Its another place.
Distant.
Separation of the body and mined.
Traveling through outer space.
Grab the twilight.
Hold on to it.
Make it yours.
For it hasn't been there before.
How its done.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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So Tired
Scent on a postcard
A memory left behind
Warm hand, cool look but no time...
Winsome lose some
Hung up on old flame
My heart depends on fire
So who am I to make demands on love?
...relax and walk on by
So tired
So tired
Beaten like a drum
So tired
Living life alone
So tired
Beaten like a drum
Kiss the right faces
And tap the party line
Short measure of cheap skate pleasure
Easier said than done
Sip the night water
But not too drunk to say
Well just who am I to ever hope to love you?
Id turn and shy away
So tired
So tired
Beaten like a drum
So tired
Living life alone
So tired
Beaten like a drum
Once upon a bed
You said you loved me
Once upon a bed
Those eyes of blue
Now what am I supposed to do?
So tired -
So tired
Beaten like a drum
So tired
Live my life alone, so alone
Once upon a bed
You said you loved me
Once upon a bed
Those eyes of blue
And what am I to rhyme with you?
Now I lie alone and so defenceless
Dream of love in sunny daze with you
So tired...
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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