En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Solitude Souls

The blacktop road is shining smooth
Empty trash bins mocking the truth
Grown up trees remain in mute
Golden leaves look so cute

Wind works-out on closed windows
Sky chats with the shut doors
Clouds tease with Concrete groves
Majestic houses on all the floors

Locked inside the concrete walls
Comforts, Cash and zombie hearts?
As far as my eye could see
My street is totally empty!

I search with frenzy
If my shadow is with me..

A distant twilight's mockery
'Solitude Souls live here free
Like those in a cemetry! '

poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Thru Concrete Windows

Thru concrete windows I see the wind blow
And behold the beauty of nature
It captures my heart with tears
Shatters my dreams with fear
Will I ever get to taste freedom again?
So faith be my guide
Though I'm couped up inside
Because faith is my only friend

Thru concrete windows I see the sun glow
Yet its rays cant find their way in
So I'm left in the shade
A lonesome escapade
Will I ever bask in its warmth again?
Yet its shine makes a smile
That cover many miles
But with time they'll find their way back in

Thru concrete windows I see the clouds float
So peacefully drifting on high
Their hidden language
That don't know anguish
Float together with the wind and pass by
How can I have that humble feeling inside?

poem by Hans Maae Taala
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It's Time For You Escape

in concrete houses
in concrete silence

nobody can not hear
your call

concrete houses are
sinking more than once

in the wine
when the clocks

are hitting
at the morning hour

concrete hearts
being getting cold

are slowly undergoing
the life

although it this way aches
escape ahead of yourself

nobody will catch up
with you

and even behind you
nobody will dropp tear

you will rescue yourself
escape - already time

poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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What Could Have Been Unreal

there is a sorrow that i do not want to speak
it is something that i cannot give away

there is time that keeps on going and if i stay
i will just be left out and buried in this delay

there is a grief that cannot really be spoken
there is this pain that goes on and one

there are empty parks and empty cafes
there are closed doors and locked rooms

there is this self sometimes that does not open
there are fingers that remain closed upon themselves

there is a song that i can only sing inside myself
there is this poem that keeps on evading what is it that could have been said

all these are mine alone and all these keep me moving on
remembering, loving in silence, keeping the tears frozen, creating what could have been unreal.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Concrete

In the city the heart still whispers
Flaking metal a silent witness
Theres chemical fields and cathode clouds
The milky way is emasculated as exhaust fans
And smart cards shrink wrap the coloured air
And send it coughing to eternity
We can see the bright light but we cant reach it
We are not afraid enough to call
Go back wrong way you cannot stay you cannot live here
Concrete you dont free my soul
In the city the sound is biting
Cement fingers they are clutching
The emissary of trash decorates the way
No wild acres you can see, yearning to breathe
Concrete you dont free my soul
Blackened hands and heart of steel,
No wish to consume, embellish, discard and expire
Concrete you dont free my soul
Concrete you dont free my soul

song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Concrete Jungle

The beast roams the concrete jungle and trails of tarmac laid,
To prey on helpless victims that a deprived society raised.
Not for food to feed it’s young, who’s bellies empty are,
But for video’s and tellys or someone else’s car.
He stalks the night like cowards do
and with it’s blanket evil he doth strew,
He shies away from any light and surveys the concrete jungle.
We must keep our children young and sweet,
from the animals that roam our streets.
No more to roam our country side or local parks where evil hides,
No more our doors to open wide the welcome mat’s all locked inside.
Locked and bolted turn that key.
“FREE” no isolations me.
When authority apprehend do gooders him on holiday send,
Problem solved a miracle cure, for the beast that we call
“MAN”

t f nabbs

poem by Terence Nabbs
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Empty Old Houses

Empty Old Houses

Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them

Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them

Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it

Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it

Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them

Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them

Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them

Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life

Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them

poem by David Whalen
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Concrete & Steel

Hard and cold, like a street of gold,
Its easy to find but so hard to hold.
Smooth and strong but it wont last long,
When the rust sets in, shell be good as gone!
Concrete, concrete and steel.
Its like concrete.
Hey baby, whats the deal?
A heart of stone make you feel alone,
But what can you do when your hand is blown?
Hard as ice, its like tumblin dice,
Before you fall for her boy, you better think twice.
Concrete, concrete and steel.
Its like concrete.
Hey baby, whats the deal?
Dark as night, diamond bright,
Never seen such a strange delight.
Slick as glass, and just as fast,
Youll feel the pain, but it wont last.

song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Not Afraid Of Emptiness

i may not have told you, but now i will tell it to you
three times,

girl, i am not afraid of emptiness
the one that walks upon you when you were once this huge
space like a Gothic church with doors like mountains and windows
like continents

the sound of emptiness reverberates like a tin cup
that falls on the iron rails of this room

it fills every nerve that coils upon itself and forms a hand gripping
for waterfalls

it closes the ears and rips every rational entries that your eyes
write in the pages of your journal

it encloses you like a mental jacket of that new patient
at ward 6,
it walls you in like you are a chair inside the congested kitchen

look, who likes the congestion of the spirits?
who likes the choking of the nicks of time?

who likes a light imprisoned in its own flames
burning itself upon itself like a candle consuming both of its ends?

who like the mezzanine filled with letters that you keep
containing love stories of suicide and escape?

look upon your face too crowded with your senses?
it is a forest with trees killing each other for an ounce of light

roots upon roots and leaves upon leaves this world is too crowded
with unraveling thoughts

i am not afraid of emptiness
i like my windows opening all the days of my life
i like doors without locks
stairs without rails, houses without walls and roofs

i live in open space and yes right here inside my heart
i thrive in its empty spaces without the nerves and the veins

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Place To Sit

Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.

poem by Orlando Belo
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This concrete city
infects the sky...turning it
into concrete too.
Concrete sun and concrete rain.
Concrete humans... cry...real tears

tanka by Dónall Dempsey
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The Kind of Falling

There is this kind of falling
that is free, and it does
not think of any floor
or end, the trip continues
down and down
and darker and darker

you close your hands
and put them on
the side of your
hips, and you keep
on waiting about the
expected

deadly impact, you want
it done
and done so quickly

for years this free falling
has been with you
and you are into this
feeling always

where to
and when and what
and why

it's been like this from
the beginning
no floors no ceiling
no walls now
and all the doors
are closed

except the windows of course
that you keep on seeing
there is the wind
that keeps on going and going
passing through and through
inside your heart

the freedom of falling
it is here always inside your heart
you are numb
and there is nothing difficult to understand

letting go and just this feeling of falling
the consolation is that

you are always on top of things
explains, thus, this falling

for why should i fall? i ask sometimes.
thanks God, i must be up here, and there is no end to this tunnel

let me see, let me see the light, with you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At Night With The Rain

i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors

i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon

the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night

outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Haunted

Vast open spaces
empty places
haunted souls
erie whispers and moans
rattling bones
screams of horror
living on fear
creecking doors
screeching floors
shutters slamming
howling in the wind
thapped between four walls...

poem by Persian Khushi
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The Great Empty

closed!
out of business!
building for rent,
or sale!

22 vacant buildings on one street!
small-town America.

even the sidewalks are deserted...
except for paper cups,
and cigarette butts blowing
in the breeze...

empty windows,
boarded up doors....
the echo of voices

from the past,
from another day...

lost to the great empty!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Concrete Forest

Gang banging
Street banging
Concrete Forest—

People dying
Children crying
Bullets flying
No remorse for the fallen—

Crack smoking
Prostitute selling
Cops stinging
Benefactors of trouble times—

Blood
Guts—inside body parts
Cultivate the Concrete Forest—

I see a mother kneeling
A priest praying
A child victimize—a father convicted
All within the Concrete Forest—

Sirens blowing
Lights flashing
Someone else dying
In the Concrete Forest—

Mercy on us
Compassion for us
Deliver us
From the Concrete Forest—

Restore our hope
Destroy the trepidation
Breathe life back into Concrete Forest—

It is time to go
My time is gone
My nightmares—relinquished
Within the Concrete Forest—

No more worrisome days
No more stressful nights
Freedom has come to me
In the Concrete Forest—

My freedom is now
Your comes later
But, not in this Concrete Forest—

Written by
Gregory E Upshaw

poem by Gregory Upshaw
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SONNET: A Bard’s new venture

God, let me knock the doors that remain locked!
Open their windows and let sunshine in;
Soothen the souls that are quake and shell-shocked;
Empty the misdeeds, vices off soul’s bin.

God, let me make them see Light that is true;
And let me show them way that is aright;
Help them to turn their hearts and minds anew;
Let me help them their temptations to fight.

God, let me show the greatness of thine love;
That earthly things and human ways shall pass;
That human passions are things just for now;
That men are not like sheep who ingest grass!

God, let me bring more souls to heaven, then;
By freeing those struggling from devil’s curse!

poem by John Celes
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Let's Voyage Into The New American House

There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.

There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.

There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.

There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.

There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.

poem by Richard Brautigan
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The Concrete and the Abstract

The concrete is visible,
the abstract is invisible.
The concrete is the outside,
the abstract is the inside.
The concrete is objective,
the abstract is subjective.

People go on searching for
God in the concrete.
'We would like to see God'
-they say.

But only the concrete can be seen;
the abstract has to be felt.
The concrete can be seen-
with the eyes open,
the abstract has to be seen-
with eyes closed.

God is inside you, as you.
You cannot stand outside God
and see Him;
you can see Him
only from the inside-
by being Him.

If you see a flower,
you can look at it scientifically.
You look at the chemistry of it,
You dissect it and
you come to know
about the components of it.

But something is missed
in that very analysis.
The beauty is missed,
because beauty is not a component.
If you ask the scientist -
'Where is the beauty that was in the flower? ’ he will say-
'That was not there,
it was just an illusion.'

'I have dissected it-
all and all,
and these are the things
that I have found.
These chemicals were there,
this matter was there,
these atoms, these molecules....
but there was no beauty.'

But when the scientist
gives the flower to his wife,
he knows deep within his heart
he is not giving her
something chemical,
He is giving to her
the beauty of the flower.

A poet said -
'Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder',
But I say it lies in the heart of the lover.
That beauty is not be seen,
it has to be felt,
not from the outside,
but from the inside
by being the flower itself.

poem by Nazmul Haque
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Zombie In The Rain

My eyes are blank and empty
And I am not sane
My soul is empty also
I'm a zombie in the rain.

I'm not feeling anything
Tho my body is in pain
I just don't give a damn
I'm a zombie in the rain.

I could freeze and not know it
My body is on the wane
I'm empty and don't realize
I'm a zombie in the rain.

The is no future for me
Only a cessation of pain
I don't feel it anyway
I'm a zombie in the rain.

poem by Don W. Davidson
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Have Mercy!

Have Mercy!

with final thoughts
i walk these streets,
past vacant buildings hallowed.
in silent mourning,
my heartbeat joining,
the concrete scarred by living.
passing strangers hurrying,
as if they had a life to return to.
while the shouts and cursing of working men,
rings inside the empty walls!

past tenemant buildings,
and unemployed stoops,
and eyes staring from windows.
dogs too hungry to bark,
squad cars passing slow,
tis the funeral of poverty.
while meth lab food stamp children,
sharpen knives against the curb.
and everything's grey, even the sounds,
the air is drunk with anger.

i caught a ride
with a trucker wired,
who mumbled slamming gears.
out into the country
once green and rich...
now brown and deserted.
fields not worked,
farm's foreclosed,
houses left to ghosts and memories.
tractors rusting in the sun,
the air is drunk with anger.

back into town,
past libraries closed,
and churches that ache with empty.
i can hear the sound
of the distant bells...
be it freedom or infinity.
past hospitals full,
and graveyards that move
with shadows in the night.
back to the small room
where i cant sleep...
where god weeps in the stillness.

America, America...
the air is drunk with anger!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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