The Last Ride
The warning order was read aloud
With soldiers listening intently
Though the information never changed
The insurgent strikes where increasing
So be alert and on guard for the unexpected
And remember to watch your buddies back
The convoy was out the gate by 0600
Lining the roads with olive drab green
Covered in blinding white sand
Miles were traveled through the endless desert
Passing through one ghost town after another
Glimpses of nameless faces covered by black robes
The mangled highway signs alert drivers
Be aware of merging traffic in Baghdad
While orange and white taxis flood the road
Security is the name of the game
Traffic slows to a halt caused by an explosion
Then it happens again in front of you
The flash of bright light is blinding
Ring in the ears causes a sense of emergency
But the disorientation heightens the sense of fear
Thoughts race through the mind but the training prevails
Out of the truck, take cover, assess the situation
Where did the attack come from, who is hurt
The next couple of days are a complete blur
Until the day that you have always dreaded arrives
Saluting the dog tags hanging from the M-16 of your best friend
poem by C.R. Ebowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Night was coming
Night was coming
with a piercing huge orange sun
breaking through
white and black clouds
in the west.
It found a gap
and the sun was hanging
like a orange ball
above the street
and it was blinding.
Cars passed barely visible
above the orange glare
and some had already
turned their lights on.
The sun dipped down
below some trees
and for a time
it glowed behind them
and soon it would be dark
and the first stars
were already appearing
and a full yellow moon
was rising,
but below bright lights
was already burning
right across the city
in colours of amber
streetlights
green, yellow and red
traffic lights,
blue lights flashing
on police cars
and almost every bright colour
caught on neon signs
while people came and went
to different destinations
some smiling and relaxed,
others in a hurry
and some others
locked in a world of their own.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crosstown Traffic
You jump in front of my car when you,
You know all the time that
Ninty miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive
You tell me it's alright, you don't mind a little pain
You say you just want me to take you for a ride
You're just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don't need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I'm tryin' to get on the other side of town
I'm not the only soul who's accused of hit and run
Tire tracks all across your back
I can see you had your fun
But darlin' can't you see my signals turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight up ahead
You're just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don't need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I got better things on the other side of town
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Delhi Motorcyclists
Laden with bags on back
Delhi Motorcyclists make,
Four lane roads above eight,
Filling fully the whole track.
At stop signals, keep in front
Ahead of the line of stop;
Alert, as ready for bike race
And waiting for the pistol shot.
The busy road crossings
Look like bee hives.
As the green signal flashed
Humming bees fly.
Wherever space is there,
Filled by zigzag driving.
Keeping other drivers attentive
Suddenly in front arriving.
In the traffic congestions
Whole gap of road is filled,
Space at footpaths too
Is inch by inch clinched.
If a bike kisses back of car
You look behind to see,
Sorry! says a smiling face,
You take off on your flee.
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crosstown Traffic
You jump in front of my car
When you know all the time
That 90 miles an hour Girl Is the speed I drive
You tell me it's all right
You don't mind a little pain
You say you just want me to take you for a drive
You're just like CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
So hard to get through you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
I don't need to run over you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
All you do is slow me down
But I'm tryin' to get on the other side of town
I'm not the only soul who's accused of hit and run
Tire tracks all across your back I can see you've had your fun
But a-darling
Can't you see my signal's turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight ahead
You're just like CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
So hard to get through you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
I don't need to run over you CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
All you do is slow me down
But I got better things on the other side of town
Yeah Yeah Crosstown traffic
Look out LOOK OUT Look out Baby
Coming through CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
Yeah Yeah Look out CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC
Yeah Yeah LOOK OUT Look out Look out Baby
CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC LOOK OUT YEAH
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crosstown Traffic
You jump in front of my car when you,
You know all the time that
Ninty miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive
You tell me its alright, you dont mind a little pain
You say you just want me to take you for a ride
Youre just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I dont need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And Im tryin to get on the other side of town
Im not the only soul whos accused of hit and run
Tire tracks all across your back
I can see you had your fun
But darlin cant you see my signals turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight up ahead
Youre just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I dont need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I got better things on the other side of town
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange blossoms on a tree
Orange blossoms on a tree
catches my eye,
where it stands alone
in the inner city
and there’s a blinding bright sun
that is already hanging quarter height
in a cloudless sky.
It’s Wednesday and half week
and it’s spring with green leaves,
trees full of blossoms
and almost summer
because the sun’s bright rays
are already early hitting my eyes
There’s a woman with a pink blouse
and purple skirt,
that crosses the street
and are not looking out
for the oncoming cars and taxis.
Doves crowd around a man
that throws pieces of bread
on the ground next to him,
at the art museum
and the sun is now rather
bright white than red.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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While Going On A Highway
We were going on a holiday,
And as we came on the highway.
I quietly prayed
For one nagging fact
Was weighing on my mind-
The state of the highway and the bumpy ride.
I shifted my glance to the wayside farms,
And tried to remain calm.
Though my nerves were taut
I took out my pen and pad and wrote.
Soon my mind got distracted,
And the sights of the road attracted
And aroused my sense of humour.
I was overcome with fervour.
A herd of donkeys and a truck overloaded with sugarcane
Caught my eye from the windowpane,
There were pedestrians and cyclists
Who were trying to save themselves from being hit.
In a mad race
All trying to find space.
I began to feel light
It was truly a sight.
The road was full of chaos
It filled me with pathos.
Blaring horns, mad rush to overtake,
Who cares if others lives are at stake?
Is India really on the move?
The traffic on the road didn’t prove.
We really have no civic sense,
I helplessly felt.
I put my head against the back rest
And recalled the expressions of the guests,
From overseas, who are amazed
How we can drive and remain unfazed.
I said it is not really funny,
But the truth is we put our fate in the hands of destiny.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aftermath
Have you forgotten yet?...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...
Have you forgotten yet?...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz--
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'
Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet?...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Alert
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Oh whoa
Na na na noo noo
Information
Is time to comfort the weak
Invitation to rock with you
They will freak
Ho-ho-ho!
Red alert
This house is a-rockin'
Red alert
Tearin' the walls down
Red alert
No way to stop them
Red alert
Give me more, more, more
Red alert
I'm amazed
All the people that walk down the tower
In a haze
A masseuse will trigger the score
No, no, no
Red alert
This house is a-rockin'
Red alert
Tearin' the walls down
Red alert
No way to stop them
Red alert
Give me more, more, more
Red alert
Oh tear it down
We've been bad
Not as bad as we could have been
Not so sad
Next week we're gonna do it, do it again
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Red alert
This house is a-rockin'
Red alert
Tearin' the walls down
Red alert
No way to stop them
Red alert
Give me more, more, more
Red alert
This house is a-rockin'
Red alert
Tearin' the walls down
Red alert
No way to stop them
Give me more, more, more
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Red alert
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black and White (Stream XV)
I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
Positive.
For we live in a too white world
Maybe we should have grey days,
And light days.
Why should Black be negative and White poitive?
For me then, today is a grey day.
Maybe tomorrow will be a light day.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The city has a deadly wound
The city has a deadly wound
and on the street without a place to go,
sits an old man and his old wife
and their small white dog.
I see a blonde girl watching cars,
to buy a piece of bread
and her face tells that she has problems
and I wonder how she washes
the dirt of the road from herself?
a Red haired guy sleeps in boxes on the sidewalk
and at a traffic light there’s children that sniffs glue.
At another traffic light
there’s a couple with a baby,
that stands in the hot sun
and is dependant on motorists for their fate.
Just before a traffic circle there’s a man
with short pants,
where day after day
he sells koeksisters.
a Man with dark glasses and a hat
strokes his guitar
chord after chord and sings sad songs
and I see that his hat is empty
where he is in a small alley
while minibus taxis hoot the whole time.
Taxes are getting higher
and everybody has to bare the brunt of it,
but the poor are on the street with their pain
and wait for the misery to pass
like flowers trying to blossom in a desert
and they are surprised and scarred by life
and wait in vain for a place in the sun.
[Koeksisters=> a Baked delicacy with syrup in it.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Days Unsleeping
Days unsleeping where will it end?
Smoke your soul away my friend
Learn to keep the devil at bay.
Though still you letters he'll send.
No more to know
No more to see
Nowhere to go
Nowhere to be
That's the mystery my child
Each born wild and to be tamed
First you are bathed
Then you are named.
Wash away the flesh of the womb
Open your eyes into the white room
Bright light bursts into cavernous cave.
Banished from a world of dreams,
At least for now to touch the earth.
How long shall we last?
Each of us our time
Our space beneath a burning sun.
And what to believe?
What we are told?
Stories of old?
Of Adam and Eve?
No sin my child is yours beyond ignorance of a world without.
No crime beyond the time and faults your own.
This earth our home is not your prison.
You'll see no bars, only clouds of obscurity that threaten your vision.
As though lost within an oasis mirage of reality.
It shifts as sand and desert dunes
Each to its own and distinct tune.
Yet the harmony prevails and on each wind a melody sails,
Calling from lost attics and from cobwebbed corridors
Into a new and blinding light. Only to see in closing our eyes.
Into the carnival madness stride. You've got nothing to hide
'We're all mad here'. Nothing to hide and nothing to fear.
Only the eyes of the wandering fool.
Merging through membranes into the next fall of the arcane.
You are the fool and the king of kings.
Know this above and before all things.
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Four Colors
I once met a girl named blue
full of color and vivid light
her beauty captured by fluffs of white
Then along came gray
Her angers screams thunder and her wrath falls to earth as a blinding flash
her beauty is both angry and sad
Before I knew it, red and orange had showed up
dressed in sunset, their crimson kiss delivered love
Their beauty, a poem written as rays of light
The last to show up was black
freckled with white, behold her romantic absence of light
her beauty forever cloaked by the uncharted waters of love
Here lies my sky
four colors that have changed my life
their beauty is ever flowing, along with the sands of time
poem by Carlos Patino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Elevator
Doors open
Doors close
The relieving sound dings
The bell rings
Button pressed
Emotion expressed
Innocence left on the top
Common sense? We think we got a lot
Suddenly it starts
Scary at first
Then it becomes normal you don't even know
Evil everywhere
Keep on moving
Ding
Ring
Ding
It keeps ringing
Going down
Can't feel it anymore
Motion becomes one with soul
Soul becomes one with environment
You're different
Ding
Ring
It keeps ringing
Going down
Just keep moving
You won't feel it
Just keep moving, you won't feel a thing
Ding
Ring
It keeps ringing
Going down
Constant motion
Becomes a constant life
Ding
Ring
It keeps ringing
Going down
Stopping
Ding
Ring
You've gotten a rush
Nothing to say a sensation in your legs and then hush
How did you get here?
It didn't seem like you were moving until you stopped
Didn't seem like anything was wrong
Constant
Motion
Darkness
This isn't what you were made for
Blinding light
Who's that?
Nowhere to hide from the light
Can't find anymore darkness
My legs
I've moved so far
I can't go back
I didn't feel it
Blinding light
You'll be accepted
Come
I can't face my fears
I can't do this.... tears
Blinding light
...
The sensation is back
Ding
Ring
Moving again
Same rush
Maybe different
Ding
Ring
Moving again
Don't feel the motion anymore
Getting used to this
This is what I'm made for
Ding
Ring
Moving again
Just keep on going
Closer to the light
Blinding light
You are loved
Ding
Ring
Moving again
Too much is happening in life
Blinding light
Share the love
Share the light
Save them from the elevator
Ding
Ring
Moving again
Blinding light
I will give you strength
I will give you words
I will give you love
I will give you life
I will give you hope
Ding
Ring
It's time to go back down
Sensation in my legs
Rush
such a rush
But getting used to it
This time can feel the movement
This time I'm empowered
Ding
Ring
Going down
Can't get jaded to the movement
Gotta go all the way down without losing you
Blinding light
I'm with you
Even to the ends of the earth
Ding
Ring
Going down
Was it always this dark here?
How do these people not feel this motion
Was I chosen?
Can I do this?
Ding
Ring
Going down
Blinding light
I will give you all that you need, simply seek me
Now go forth and share what you know of the movement
Ding
Ring
Going down
They don't believe they're moving
But look I can see their destruction
Ding
Ring
Going down
You are the light down
Ding
Ring
This is where you've been sent
Ding
Ring
Doors open
Doors close
It's a new world because you've got new eyes
I'll tell them all that we're moving
Because it's the scary paradox
That within the motion itself
It is not felt but afterwards in a sudden rush
We all become conscious of how far we've fallen
That's the rush in your legs
That's
The blinding light
poem by David Knox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pictures From an Exhibition
(Painting and Sculpture of a Decade 54G4 Tate Gallery London AprilJune 1964) No. 54 Jean Dubuffet 'Déclinaison de la Barbe' 1. 1959
'astu cuilli les fleurs de la barbe?'
Jean Dubuffet I wander the dark pebbles of your mind
picking beardflowers.
No. 73 Joseph Cornell 'Hotel de l'Etoile'
cool pillars of the hotel/in the
night outside the stars are always
so white/the sky is always so
blue/silver moon waiting patiently.
No. 84 Mark Rothko 'Reds No. 229 x957
SCARLET
ORANGE
ORANGE
ORANGE
SCARLET
CRIMSON
SCARLET
No. 291 Robert Rauschenberg 'windward' 1963
printed oranges are painted
painted oranges are painted
Angry skyline over the gasworks
A Hawk sits brooding inside a painted rainbow.
Nos. 1013 Josef Albers, Studies for 'Homage to the Square' 1961 – 2
look.
see.
long ago.
now.
No. 314 Bernard Requichot 'Sans Titre Chasse de papiers choisis'
chasse aux papillons:
`Here Be Tygers' –
the fruit in the tin has a thousand eyes.
No. 349 Jim Dine 'Black Bathroom No. 2' 1962
black splashes on the white walls
interrupting the commercials
TURN ON THE GLEAMING WHITE SINK
AND POEMS COME OUT OF THE TAPS!
No. 139 Victor Vasarely 'Supernovae' 1959 - 61
No. So Louise Nevelson 'Sky Cathedral III' 1960
Black
Black
Black
Boxes
Black
Light
Black
Moonlight
Black
Emptiness
Black
Dust
Black
Boxes
Black
Black
Black
No. 247 Richard Diebenkorn 'Ingleside' 1963
Look through the Supermarket window/up the highway
the hill rises steeply/hoardings and magnolias bright
in the sunlight/white walls black freeways traffic signs
at intersections/green lawns dark hedges/colours
clear and bright as the packets in your wire basket.
poem by Adrian Henri
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A walk along the beach
I see a ship
passing beyond the breakers
white on the top
and red at the bottom
and the sea is calm
and a light wind
is blowing on the beach.
Alone I walk
on the hot soft sand
looking for shells
but here and there
I find one that’s not broken
and walk on further
and further
almost as if following a track
that’s just out of reach.
Climbing down
a small cliff
I am suddenly on a seclude beach
and in the blinding light
shells are everywhere
and I know
that no one else
has been here.
Some are brittle
like the leaves of flowers
and others hard as rock
with orange and pink embouchures,
a scope of blues,
hazing mother of pearl
shimmering like a rainbow,
brittle green circles
with holes in the middle
and some are more pure white
than snow.
I pick a ransom up at dusk
and lay down on my back
and watch the sun
setting above the sea
and time trail from me.
I must have been stuck
in my own thoughts
and caught by the serenity
when suddenly I noticed
a beautiful naked girl
looking at me
with a kiss in her eyes
that penetrates into my soul.
Her eyes shining
with shivering iridescence
(just like mother of pearl)
and her teeth gleaming
whiter than anything.
The second kiss
is on my lips
and hot and sweet.
Some perfume
almost dazes my head
and her nipples brush
protruding against my cheek.
“You have beautiful shells, ”
a husky voice says
and no words can express
my thoughts
while I kiss her back.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Highly-Colored Romance
Ben Green was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
A jovial chap this same Ben Green,
Though he had oft been blue.
He loved a girl named Olive Brown,
Who lived near Bixby's pond,
And who, despite her brunette name,
Was a decided blonde.
"A Highly Colored Romance."
A pink of rare perfection she,
The belle of all the town;
Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green,
Instead of Olive Brown.
And she loved Ben, and said that nought
Should mar their joy serene;
And, when she changed from Olive Brown,
'Twould surely be to Green.
She kept her word in-violet,
And vowed, ere she was wed,
Although when Brown she had Be(e)n Green.
When Green she'd be well read.
But, ah! her young affections changed
To Gray, a Southern fellow;
And Green turned white the news to hear,
Though first it made him yell, oh!
Says he, " How can you lilac this,
When you vowed to be true?
I'll take your fine young lover, Gray,
And beat him till he's blue."
Then Olive Brown to crimson turned,
And said, "Do as you say:
The country long has wished to see
'The Blue combined with Gray.'"
Ben Green to purple turned with rage,
And black his brow as night;
While on the cheek of Olive Brown
The crimson changed to white.
"O cruel Olive Brown!" says Ben,
"I've been dun-brown by you:
Let this 'Grayback' his steps retrace,
And take Greenback, — oh, do!"
Poor Olive Brown, what could she say,
To sea-Green look so sad ?
And so she rose, and said to him,
"I'll go and ask my dad."
. . . .
The years rolled by: Ben's raven locks
For silver did not lack;
And Olive, with her hair of gold,
Was glad she took Greenback.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Ghost Train
A straw headed woman, and a barrel chested man,
A pocket full of posies with a hat brim full of sand,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
A dog chasing the tumbleweeds, across the sandy floor,
That drift along the platform, through the ticket office door,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
But don't tell me there's nothing coming, you don't fool me,
I hear the ghost train rumbling along the tracks - set them free,
And i hear them,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
The station master's writing with a piece of orange chalk,
A hundred cancellations, still no one wants to walk,
Keep the hungry children from the skeletons in the back,
Paid to keep an eye out for the gipsy caravan,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
I hear the ghost train rumbling along the tracks - set them free,
And i hear them,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white (don't try),
It's black and white (don't try),
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
And i hear them,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide...
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Waiting For) The Ghost Train
A straw headed woman, and a barrel chested man,
A pocket full of posies with a hat brim full of sand,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
A dog chasing the tumbleweeds, across the sandy floor,
That drift along the platform, through the ticket office door,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
But don't tell me there's nothing coming, you don't fool me,
I hear the ghost train rumbling along the tracks - set them free,
And I hear them,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
The station master's writing with a piece of orange chalk,
A hundred cancellations, still no one wants to walk,
Keep the hungry children from the skeletons in the back,
Paid to keep an eye out for the gipsy caravan,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
Ooh - waiting for the train that never comes,
I hear the ghost train rumbling along the tracks - set them free,
And I hear them,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white (don't try),
It's black and white (don't try),
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
And I hear them,
It's black and white don't try to hide,
It's black and white don't try to hide
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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