The Valley Every Man Wants
Trumpets blow so hard
They shatter the drums
In my head. God
Damn those bloody
Sounds that scream
And moan like secrets
Worth not repeating.
And the horses run
Down that worn out path,
But still they can’t find any
Water. It’s all dried
Up in the valley of
Roses and thorns, thanks
To this golf ball tumor.
poem by Lyndee Michelle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
That's the trouble with being me. At this point, nobody gives a damn what my problem is. I could literally have a tumor on the side of my head and they'd be like, 'Yeah, big deal. I'd eat a tumor every morning for the kinda money you're pulling down.'
quote by Jim Carrey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roses in the Valley
roses roses in the valley below
peaking up from the dead ground we know
one lil angle stands there crying
but not a single rose is dying
she tries to take flight with thorns in her wings
white is turning to deep deep red
red just like the roses she looks down upon
with thorns made red, and tears rolling down
the angel is dying with every tear that falls
the roses with petals of silk
shall catch the angel who's wings are no longer white as milk
now she lays down to stay
in a valley of roses that will live everyday
i am the angel
the angel that can no longer fly away
my dreams live on
like the roses, each and every day
poem by Sally Minns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Dry Roses
Today is not your birthday,
However, it is a very illustrious day
To offer you the dry roses
That I soaked in a lot of love from head to toes.
These dried flowers, although picked some time,
Will infinitely remain fresh like a wrapped buried dime.
You will neither have to feed them like children,
Nor water them like the camellias in the vipers' garden.
My crystallized roses transcend the four seasons,
They are protected by deadly thorns and one crazy smurf;
The rocks are part of this solemn army.
There are no bad days on earth;
Every day has its own criteria and beauty.
My roses are endless like time and the horizon.
poem by Hebert Logerie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Girl Power
So what's up?
Did U forget I was here?
What makes U look when another comes near?
Everyone U see, U think U can get
If that was the case, I'd be a bracelet
Oh, hey hey, yeah
This is called girl power, yeah
This is called girl power and it's all because I love our ball
2night, my dear, U can sleep alone
U can beg and scream and moan
It's all because I love our ball
U can be mine or not at all
Girl power (Oh)
Girl power (Yeah)
Girl power (Yeah)
U can be mine or not at all
Girl Power (Oh)
Girl Power (Yeah)
Girl Power
It's all because I love our ball
Don't look now, here comes a blonde
2 minutes later U're Don Juan
Turned my head, U tried 2 grab it
How did I know she's in your lap?
U say it's your cousin from Omaha
U took that number - gave her a call
If we get in trouble 4 the lies we tell
Child, I do believe we're gonna burn in hell
Girl power - U will be mine or not at all
Girl power - It's all because I love our ball
Looka here
2night, my dear, U can sleep alone
U can beg, U can scream and moan
It's all because I love our ball
U can be mine or not at all
Girl power (Oh, yeah) (U can be mine or not at all)
Girl power
U will be mine or not at all
Girl power (Oh)
Girl power (Yeah)
Girl power
It's all because I love our ball
What makes U look when another comes near?
What makes the sun set in my hemisphere?
Girl power!
Powerful girl, wave your hands
(Girl power) {x4}
8 + 8 is 16
9 - 6 is 3
3 + 11 is 14
Come and make love 2 me
4 -1 is 3
3 - 1 is 2
2 - 1 is 1
Without U I can't have no fun
Girl power {x4}
Someone come play my guitar
Girl power {x3}
2night, my dear, U can sleep alone
U can beg, U can scream and moan
It's all because I love our ball (ball)
Make my drummer got somethin' 2 say
Lay it on me now in a Milky Way
Girl power {x2}
So what's up?
If we get in trouble 4 the lies we tell
Child, I do believe we're gonna burn in hell
Girl power!
Lay it on me (Ooh)
Girl power!
So what's up?
Did U forget I was here?
Uh, Girl power - lay it on me
Yeah!
Girl power - uh
Girl power - yeah
Girl power - U will be mine or not at all (Power)
Girl Power
Girl Power (Power)
Girl Power
It's all because I love a ball
Girl power {repeat}(power) {repeat}
Everybody sing {x2}
I'm talkin' about girl power, girl power, girl power
Yeah!
Ow
Yeah! (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
No!
Power
All the girls, all the girls put your hands in the air
Yeah
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bunch of Roses
Roses ruddy and roses white,
What are the joys that my heart discloses?
Sitting alone in the fading light
Memories come to me here tonight
With the wonderful scent of the big red roses.
Memories come as the daylight fades
Down on the hearth where the firelight dozes;
Flicker and flutter the lights and shades,
And I see the face of a queen of maids
Whose memory comes with the scent of roses.
Visions arise of a scent of mirth,
And a ball-room belle who superbly poses --
A queenly woman of queenly worth,
And I am the happiest man on earth
With a single flower from a bunch of roses.
Only her memory lives tonight --
God in his wisdom her young life closes;
Over her grave may the turf be light,
Cover her coffin with roses white
She was always fond of the big white roses.
*
Such are the visions that fade away --
Man proposes and God disposes;
Look in the glass and I see today
Only an old man, worn and grey,
Bending his head to a bunch of roses.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Head Sounds Like That
the metal jangles as the key turns
unlock the door, wipe my feet clean
oh my head sounds like that
the oil is spitting in the saucepan
i squeeze the sponge and let the cat out
oh my head sounds like that
oh my head
oh oh oh
oh oh oh
the water's dripping in the hallway
the guy next door, he knocks his wall down
oh my head sounds like that
the knife it scrapes across the burnt brown toast
the freight train rumbles past my window
oh my head sounds like that
oh my head
oh oh oh
oh oh oh
oh oh oh
around the axis we all spin
to determine what's left out and what's left in
what's left out and what's left in
what's left out and what's left in
who's left out and who's left in
who's left in
the moments come and go like water
i try to hold them but they're fading
oh my head sounds like that
oh my head
oh oh oh
Drums: Manu Katche
Percussion: Assane Thiam, Ged Lynch, Mahut Dominique, Hossam Ramzy
Guitars: David Rhodes
Bass: Tony Levin
Brass: The Black Dyke Mills Band
Brass Arrangement: Peter Gabriel, Ed Shearmur, Bob Ezrin
Loop Manipulation: Richard Chappell
Programming: Richard Chappell
Piano, Mellotron: Peter Gabriel
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Valley Of My Mind
I carry black roses
Of what that has been
Rain drops wet my floor
To many cold night
Days of unfairness
I smell her fragrant
I awake to find this
In the valley of my mind
I hear the wedding bells
I see a wedding ring
Her kisses wet my lips
I see her smiling face
I hold her to find it's
In the valley of my mind
The rain drops has dried
I'm happy I can smile
Because I realize
I can get her back
Any time I want to
In the valley of my mind
copyright ©
plublish work of Eyan Desir
poem by Eyan Desir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tamara The Sequel
The dried leaves cripple, lifeless,
Stomped underneath his restless feet
Open the path to the falling waters
Visible through naked eyes,
So arrogant
Spread its wings, like Garuda
Tons of sounds, fall into
The river, where Tamara unleashes her voluptuous
Flesh, for the Sun to glimpse with a smile
Her mountainous breasts, tremor
Whenever it touch the cold water
Breathlessness has captured the Prince
Amid the brisk walk he endures
To find the fortress that seals thousands
Of secrets, concealing her well kept beauty
He looks up to the blue sky
Whispers to scores of Hummingbirds
“Hey buddies, lead me to the Princess,
And I’ll make you, a Kingdom”
The Hummingbirds unhesitant
Lead him to the Hanging Garden of Babylon
Like walking into a dream that never ends
Pink Primrose, Mountain Laurel, Hellebores,
Hydrangea, Persimmon and Glory Lily
Her smell is like those flowers
The Hummingbirds sing to him
“Tamara wants you to scratch her back,
Scratch her back, scratch her back,
And she’ll scratch yours”
With laughter that drums up
His heart beat, Prince Charming
Runs his way through the enchanting waters
Naked, he kisses Princess Tamara, who is
Forever more, wants to die in his arms
Heavy tears, dropp from the sky above
Flooding the two souls, vanish
Into ecstasy,
A lifetime gift
They are the priceless gems
Almandine Garnet, Chrome Tourmaline,
Larimar, Peridot, Rhodochrosite
They are those gems
Morning dews sizzle, panoramically
As the couple, dance
In the bed of Roses
Where sigh and moan
Attunes, without hindrance
Their breaths perspire profusely
Legs tremble like tambourine
The bed reads maximum Richter scale
They say love is a many splendid things
They are history
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Golf Tees Lament
Golf tees on my dresser
Golf tees in my bed
Golf tees on my pillows
Where they poke me in my head
Golf tees in my closet
Falling from my shirts and pants
Golf tees along the baseboards
Just like army ants
Golf tees in the carpet
And underneath my feet
Golf tees lined up on the mantle
Oh, they look so neat
Golf tees in my couch
And in my back and thighs
When I sit and watch TV
I feel those little guys
Golf tees in the kitchen
In Jurassic coffee mugs
Sometimes when I pass them
They look like prehistoric bugs.
Golf tees in the bathtub
Like sailors on plastic ships
Golf tee in her make-up
Like little bald q-tips.
Golf tees in the attic
Golf tees in the shed
Golf tees, golf tees everywhere
I wonder where they bred?
Golf tees out the backdoor
Like Hansel-and-Gretel’s trails
Golf tees in the flowerbeds
Among the mulch and snails
Golf tees in my car
And underneath the mats
Golf tees in the backseat
Like little baseball bats
But when I am at the golf course
I ask my partner, like a louse…
“May I borrow some of your tees? ”
I left mine at the house!
poem by Larry Buddin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose Amidst the thorns
Roses in profusion
bloomed along our garden wall.
They were both red and yellow-
tea hybrids, I recall.
There were thorns too,
as I well knew,
standing guard among the blooms.
A careless creature soon would learn
to give the rose wide berth
An agony of thorns awaits
the careless of the earth.
Yet thorns permit the bees to come
and pollen to transpose.
and, if careful, they'll admit
my own scent seeking nose
I think thorns serve their purpose well
else roses would be trampled
The thorns are roses' guardians
and not inconsequential.
Without a thorn, the rose, forlorn,
is destined for the ashes.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Will I Be
(daniel lanois)
The streets are cracked
And theres glass everywhere
And a baby stares out
With motherless eyes
Under long gone beauty
On fields of war
Trapped in lament
To the poets core
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
Met an indian boy in ottawa
He laid me down on a bed of straw
Said dont waste your breath
Dont waste your heart
Dont blister your heels
Running in the dark
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
Yeah I like the heat
Of your body laying under me
May your wild lip get you where your going
With your inventions your intentions, your laughter
Your forever yearning
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
I walked to the river
And I walked to the rim
I walked through the teeth of the reapers grin
I walked to you rolled up in wire
To the other side of desire
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
Oh where oh where oh where when that trumpet sounds
Oh where oh where oh when that trumpet sounds
Well the heart opens wide like its never seen love
And addiction stays on tight like a glove
Oh where oh where will I be
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When a procession marches by
When a procession marches by
with shrilling trumpets, horns
and drums with a muttering beat
and cheer to an unknown god
repeating its name
time and time again
until it resounds in my ear,
I have no fear
and my spirit is clear,
my eye is set
on the sky
to watch if the coming
of Christ draws near.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bloody Angel
the bloody angel
finds no comfort on this earth
she looks down at her hideous body
too confirm she has no worth
the bloody angel
lies face down in the snow
shivering uncontrollably
she's found herself alone
the bloody angel
looks up to the sky
she screams aloud asking
why god won't let her die
the bloody angel
slowly crawls across the ground
her broken wings are aching
her mumbling the only sound
the bloody angel
lifts her head to see your face
why is it that you laugh at her
and turn to walk the other way
the bloody angel
hoarsely calls out your name
she used to be your only love
but now you're not the same
the bloody angel
lays down her fragile head
the snow turns no warmer
as it becomes her death bed
poem by Black Rose
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For A Round Of Golf
For leisure the game that so many do play
For a round of golf 'tis a beautiful day
By the wide slow flowing river that crawls to the sea
Men and women practice their strokes before their evening tea.
As a boy I believed hobby golfers had easy jobs
And that those who enjoyed golf were well to do snobs
But such antiquated thinking not relevant today
As all kinds of classes the game of golf play.
A beautiful day for a beautiful game
For most hobby golfers with no aspirations to fame
After work they go to the golf course in the evening sun
And play the eighteen holes for the sake of fun.
Of the praises of golf everybody doesn't sing
But for the participants a game without physical contact can be such a fun thing
In the golf course by the river that to the sea crawl
The crack of the iron on the stone hard golf ball.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The stones and the roses
The path is sometimes hard with stones and thorns.
Better to pass it as fast as you can.
The longer you delve, the greater they harm.
The path is studded with roses and grass.
Better to stay there as long as you can.
The longer you delve, the greater they sooth.
13.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Going Back Home After Days Of Desolation
you hear the noise
of the day
drums beat so hard
on the city
streets
on a mardi gras
people march with the sound
of victory
upon a mass demonstration
of their
mobbing slogans
masks of faces
that you have not fully
figured
crowd the mall
outside
you hear the loud
screams of the heavy rain
the blowing horns of
the cars and
the jeepneys
on those rush hours
people are running
women are holding on
to their kids
from school
lights are turned on
blinding
your view
this is the horror of
the
daily bustle
the noise of
every day's struggles
the existential
angst
that no philosophy
can hide
time knows no one
and the hours
treats no one with
specialty
x x x
you rest your head
upon a green velvet sofa
and you remember
hearing once again the variant
bustles of the hour
at the center of
this huge mall
the sounds have turned into pins
and thorns
in your brain
there is no rose
nothing red nothing blue as a
cloud
x x x
when you finally go home
to the house that you leave
days ago
which you think
created the worst loneliness
dragging your life
like a steel ball
to your chained
legs and arms
x x x
you close the door
and then you know how beautiful
is silence
for now
how satisfying like water to your thirsty mouth
how comforting like the softest pillow to your head....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Drums of Battersea
They can’t hear in West o’ London, where the worst dine with the best—
Deaf to all save lies and laughter, they can’t hear in London West—
Tailored brutes and splendid harlots, and the parasites that be—
They can’t hear the warning thunder of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Misery—
Beating from the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
Where the hearses hurry ever, and where man lives like a beast,
They can feel the war-drums beating—men of Hell! and London East.
And the far-off foreign farmers, fighting fiercely to be free,
Found new courage in the echo of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Beating for the free—
Beating on the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
And the drummers! Ah! the drummers!—stern and haggard men are those
Standing grimly at their meetings; and their washed and mended clothes
Speak of worn-out wives behind them and of grinding poverty—
But the English of the English beat the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of agony—
The big bruised heart of England’s in the Drums of Battersea.
Where in fields slave Englishwomen, Oh! the sound of drums is there:
I have heard it in the laughter of the nights of Leicester Square—
Sailing southward with the summer, London but a dream to me,
Still I feel the distant thunder of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Liberty—
Rolling round the English world—the Drums of Battersea.
Oh! I heard them in the Queen’s Hall—aye! and London heard that night—
While we formed up round the leaders while they struck one blow for right!
And the old strength, that old fire, that I thought was dead in me,
Blazed up fiercely at the beating of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
They beat for victory—
When above the roar of Jingoes rolled the Drums of Battersea.
And where’er my feet may wander, and howe’er I lay my head,
I shall hear them while I’m dreaming—I shall hear them when I’m dead!
For they beat for men and women, beat for Christ, and you and me:
There is hope and there is terror in the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of destiny—
There’s hope!—there’s hope for England in the Drums of Battersea.
poem by Henry Lawson
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I don’t know if God plays ball
I don’t know if God plays ball
soccer or foosball or bacci ball.
Well, I’m a Frenchman and
boules is the name of my game.
Being on the ball is like playing
with Gigi little girls. When God
created Eve I wonder did He
have in mind dirty old men
and did He mean putting man
behind the eight ball
and did He know that eons later
round the corner of the square ball
someone hooks up with
a hooded guy who sells 3.5 grams
of meth and coke and damn,
that 8 ball is already gone!
I wish I had another!
I start singin’ a tune, I don't drink
brass monkey, like to be funky
and my name ain’t Eazy-E
your 8 ball junkie.
We did an eight ball of blow and
danced until next morning.
I ain’t never goin’ out
With an eight-ball Chiquita
Cuz I got balls and I ain’t
givin’ her mine and
she ain’t playin’ with mine.
I wish God had more balls
and my brain marinate
in mothballs.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Aug©2010
AD Something
poem by Alex Nodopaka
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Red Roses
(jimbeau hinson, david murphy)
Red roses just won't work now
Here we go us again
You've been gone and here you stand
With a dozen i'm sorry's in your hand
Victim of your podent charms
I took you back with open arms
But along with the roses came the thorns
Chorus:
And that's why red roses just won't work now
Cause you've done too much
To talk things out
You could tell me you love me
But that's the one thing i'll always doubt
Red roses just won't work now
Gone for good's the trust i had
You let me done the garden path
Just too many times to take you back
So faith is why don't you
Save the roses for you know who
I already know how long they'll last
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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