Type-Writer Dreams
I walked down jazz alleys rolling cigarettes
and a head filled with typewriter dreams,
silently praying to sidewalk Gods
for the inhaling of coconut rum,
Chicago and Havana,
minds heavy with thoughts of steel and uranium
in the years before cold war, red missiles,
and the rusting sickle of Russian terror,
seeing dusty men gathered outside newspaper stands
waiting, plotting, in quiet conversations about bombs,
and in America, small bankers with obscene mustaches
fingering money with a capitalist fix, primarily out
of silk lined jackets of men who pretended to be middle class,
stuck in first like early model Cadillacs, but blooming
in the 60's like early spring lilacs, violent purple, pink,
and the blue of acid blotter fractal brothers and Grey's
later paintings of cross-sectioned life, where Jesus splayed out
examined in new eyes of a public embracing science and
the sub-atomic nuclear buzz, in the years before computers
and solitary confinement of plastic and lamplight, in the years
before the war on multicolored terror and the human manifestation of the plague,
here the rising fist was a message, not a punchline.
poem by Wolf Wandering
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Night Of The Cadillacs
Blinded by a million shades
I couldnt see their eyes
I couldnt see their eyes
The eyes of the crazies who drive
I couldnt see their eyes
I couldnt see their eyes
Chrome and plastic wheeled star-fighters
Smiled the psycho pink late nighters
Taking terror to the west end
As the heroes from the east end
Come down to shake the street
On the night of the cadillacs
On the night of the cadillacs
Shaken by a certain vibe
I couldnt read their minds
I couldnt read their minds
The minds of the devils who ride
I couldnt read their minds
I couldnt read their minds
Gleam amp spray canned wild stallions
Manic horsemen drag technicians
Radiators eat the west end
More trophies for the east end
Come round to mince the meat
On the night of the cadillacs
On the night of the cadillacs
Salute as they go by
The ones about to die
Salute as they go by
The ones about to die
Driven by a rock and roll sound
I couldnt reach their ears
I couldnt reach their ears
Driven by a rock and roll sound
I couldnt reach their ears
I couldnt reach their ears
Pinkies versus sidewalk killers
Berserk ballet of taunting thrillers
Mad marauders for the west end
Dread the duellists from the east end
Come watch the new elite
On the night of the cadillacs
On the night of the cadillacs
On the night of the cadillacs
On the night of the cadillacs
On the night of the cadillacs
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Is With The Bomb?
Where is it?
It is over here! !
Where is it?
It is over there! !
It has occured again and,
Who is with the bomb?
It is over here an there and,
Who is playing with the bomb?
It has destroyed many and,
It is still destroying us daily;
But, who is with the bomb?
Right from creation till now,
We have been destroying ourselves!
With bombs here and there;
But, when are we going to learn?
We do advance on in life but,
We still have the bombs in our hands;
Who really is with the bomb today? !
Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb! ! !
With the atomic bombs alike to kill us all;
Now, the nuclear race is at hand.
Who is with the bomb?
With arsenals and nuclear war heads;
After two thousand years of history,
We still cannot learn from our mistakes.
Here and there with the manufacturing plants,
We still go to conferences thinking of stopping it;
But, should we have no fear of the Atomic Energy? !
A nuclear rat-race,
The arm-race of weapons!
Two thousand years of history could not be wiped away.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Iris
Not how you would be thought of, your color
Being grey, silky, like a second skin, your hair
Flecked with it. Now, hearing your way of saying
Iridescent while I read your poem, three years
After your death, I am compelled to check
You out in Ovid, Lamprière, Bulfin, then
A book of flowers, where I discover you
On marshy ground, not grey exactly—in fact
A pretty blue-grey, a quiet type, with a green cowl
To shelter the thoughtful inclined head.
Not at all the bright-winged messenger
Who’d drown the world if Juno put you up to it,
But a quiet sylph, who could color her message
With a sly tilt of the head, those grey eyes steady,
Lips pursed, making a pretence of kissing.
You could supply so many ambiguities—
Gradations and streaks and tones of grey and blue—
That for twenty years I saw your story told
Where the sky lay on the wintry hills, weighed down
With tears Mnemosyne allows for you:
Flower, messenger, poet.
poem by James Phillip McAuley
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A Woman
this must be a woman
, she is supposed to be an old woman
in her ragged..printed cotton cloth..plain...cheap
but clean
she is carryı ng something in her big heavy sack
on shoulder
it must be valuable for her
what is it
no one knows
no one guesses
but it must be something
she is weary of carrying...may be her life
but what is it
how old is she
spring is near..ahead
some trees are early blossommed
look at the plum tree over there
in her bridal
the woman looks at some dry bushes
some flowers are already bloomed
will the bushes green too
the old woman cannot sigh even her grief
oh...anatolı an woman
how many troubles you bear
is it the end ofthe green road now
though you are alone
you coped wı th them
you were just there
sitting on the wall of your shelter as home
relaxing...resting
alll the years on your shoulder
bending your back years the heavy years
where have you gone
where were tyou walking to
or intended to
years heavy years
were you a spirit or a a sacred holy ghost
haunting my dreams
poem by Metin Sahin
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Wash Away Those Years
She came calling
One early morning
She showed her crown of thorns
She whispered softly
To tell a story
About how she had been wronged
As she lay lifeless
He stole her innocence
And this is how she carried on
This is how she carried on
Well I guess she closed her eyes
And just imagined everything's alright
But she could not hide her tears
'Cause they were sent to wash away those years
They were sent to wash away those years
My anger's violent
But still I'm silent
When tragedy strikes at home
I know this decadence Is shared by millions
Remember you're not alone
Remember you're not alone
Well if you just close your eyes
And just imagine everything's alright
But do not hide your tears
'Cause they were sent to wash away those years
Well if you just close your eyes
And just imagine everything's alright
But do not hide your tears
'Cause they were sent to wash away those years
They were sent to wash away those years
Maybe we can wash away those years
For we have crossed many oceans
And we labor in between
In life there are many quotients
And I hope I find the mean
the mean
song performed by by Creed from Human Clay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early in the Spring
Early in the spring
Not a leaf has struck the ground
The swallow has yet to sing
And the plowmen are no where to be found
Early in the spring
The forest stands still
And no creature dare come out
Before the sun rises o’er the hill
Early in the spring
The valley holds the morning dew
And its serenity may be captured
By only a certain few
Early in the spring
The trees turn, brown to green
Many changes occur
But few can be seen
Early in the spring
Or in the latter of fall
No matter the change of season
The evergreen stands tall
poem by James Kent
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Five Years
Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and t.v.s
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought Id need so many people
A girl my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadnt a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that
I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour, drinking milk shakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine, dont think
You knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor
And I thought of ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, youre beautiful, I want you to walk
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Weve got five years, what a surprise
Weve got five years, stuck on my eyes
Weve got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, thats all weve got
Five years
Five years
Five years
Five years
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think there are only three things America will be known for 2,000 years from now when they study this civilization the Constitution, jazz music, and baseball.
quote by Gerald Early
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hands That Built America
Oh my love
It's a long way we've come
From the freckled hills
To the steel and glass canyons
From the stony fields
To hanging steel from skies
From diggin in our pockets
For a reason not to say goodbye
These are the hands that build America
Ah ah ah..... America
Last saw your face
In a watercolored Sky
As sea birds argue
A long goodbye
I took your kiss
On the spray of a new lined star
You gotta live in your dreams
Don't make them so hard
And these are the hands that built America
Ah ah ah..... America
Of all of the promises
Is this one we can keep
Of all of the dreams
Is this one still out of reach
???
Its early fall
There's a cloud in the New York skyline
Innocence...dragged across a yellow line
These are the hands that built America
These are the hands that built America
Ah ah ah..... America
Ah ah ah..... America
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Moment in Time
A single orange daisy.
Blooming from the sidewalk crack.
In the early morning.
Dew dripping off its delicate petals.
The sun is rising.
The flower struggles to survive.
Rising up from the concert it blossoms with new hope.
I’m going to live.
A small girl.
Pink dress and shiny black shoes.
She sees the flower.
The flower.
Wet petals, bursting with new light and hope.
She waddles over.
And picks it.
The flower.
It’s life.
Gone.
In just one moment in time.
-Madelyn
poem by Madelyn Burnham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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55
I went out early this morning to take a walk and see the world
At its unfolding, Skies grey and moving slowly away from light,
The dim lights, Pushing away dark clouds vice versa tugging each other Perhaps not wanting to part (Whatever happened last night? Nobody wants to recall)
Towards an edge on the right corner of the gym, Everything is shadowy (Like a dawn tryst In a tight room so foul
Filled with cheap perfume Beating warmth like Pink baby rats)
A black outline of coconut trees, Some houses appearing as smoke
Rising to the skies Like men smoking, Letting go off The sighs inside
their hearts
They are huge and keeps a chest full of Frogs wanting to jump
Into the pond, their dreams croak and croak
Throughout this hot summer Pleading to the white heronFor rain and more rain Lest they die
What arrived instead is the plow, Their territories cut into small pieces
And some will have no place to live, I am referring to the frogs
like men And the children Of the little space This pond drying itself
To death. The air is thin and sharp to the feel Of guts
Gathering the early dusts of the south bound road, And few raindrops
Fell on the chalky pathways some two or Three farm children running for cover,
I walk fast, trying to outrun The children, the frogs, the men,
And the shadowy coconut trees, Fast and faster still Like my thoughts running and running In circles Oval to this gym
The first ray is coming out From the edge of a grey cloud Pushed towards a darker side To my eyes Lights stab and light
With more light Gushing forth from the stomach
Of dawn.
Someone just performed The ritual of morning The birth Of another day, I walk past time And must go home on time
I have my lover for breakfast Waiting And some thoughts
Running and running thoughts wanting To stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The ritual of morning
I went out early this morning to take a walk and see the world
At its unfolding, Skies grey and moving slowly away from light,
The dim lights, Pushing away dark clouds vice versa tugging each other Perhaps not wanting to part (Whatever happened last night? Nobody wants to recall)
Towards an edge on the right corner of the gym, Everything is shadowy (Like a dawn tryst In a tight room so foul
Filled with cheap perfume Beating warmth like Pink baby rats)
A black outline of coconut trees, Some houses appearing as smoke
Rising to the skies Like men smoking, Letting go off The sighs inside
their hearts
They are huge and keeps a chest full of Frogs wanting to jump
Into the pond, their dreams croak and croak
Throughout this hot summer Pleading to the white heronFor rain and more rain Lest they die
What arrived instead is the plow, Their territories cut into small pieces
And some will have no place to live, I am referring to the frogs
like men And the children Of the little space This pond drying itself
To death. The air is thin and sharp to the feel Of guts
Gathering the early dusts of the south bound road, And few raindrops
Fell on the chalky pathways some two or Three farm children running for cover,
I walk fast, trying to outrun The children, the frogs, the men,
And the shadowy coconut trees, Fast and faster still Like my thoughts running and running In circles Oval to this gym
The first ray is coming out From the edge of a grey cloud Pushed towards a darker side To my eyes Lights stab and light
With more light Gushing forth from the stomach
Of dawn.
Someone just performed The ritual of morning The birth Of another day, I walk past time And must go home on time
I have my lover for breakfast Waiting And some thoughts
Running and running thoughts wanting To stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mincer
Health-food faggot with a bartered bride
Likes to comb his hair with a dipper ride
Once had a friend with a cloven foot
Once he called the tune in a chequered quit
Great Deceiver
In the door on the floor in a paper bag
There's a shoe-shine boy with a gin-shop slag
She raised him up and she called him son
And she canonised the ground that he walked upon
Great Deceiver
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, cadillacs blue jeans
In the night he's a star in the Milky Way
He's a man of the world by the light of day
A golden smile and a proposition
And the breath of God smells of sweet sedition
Great Deceiver
Sing hymns make love get high fall dead
He'll bring his perfume to your bed
He'll charm your life 'til the cold winds blow
Then he'll sell your dreams to a picture show
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cadillacs, blue jeans, dixieland playing on the ferry
Cadillacs, blues jeans, drop a glass full of antique sherry
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great Deceiver
Health-food faggot with a bartered bride
Likes to comb his hair with a dipper ride
Once had a friend with a cloven foot
Once he called the tune in a chequered quit
Great deceiver
In the door on the floor in a paper bag
Theres a shoe-shine boy with a gin-shop slag
She raised him up and she called him son
And she canonised the ground that he walked upon
Great deceiver
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, cadillacs blue jeans
In the night hes a star in the milky way
Hes a man of the world by the light of day
A golden smile and a proposition
And the breath of God smells of sweet sedition
Great deceiver
Sing hymns make love get high fall dead
Hell bring his perfume to your bed
Hell charm your life til the cold winds blow
Then hell sell your dreams to a picture show
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cadillacs, blue jeans, dixieland playing on the ferry
Cadillacs, blues jeans, drop a glass full of antique sherry
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Into Plastic Surgery. Not Aluminum Siding
If you...
Like so many,
Who are observed monitoring their aging process...
Seek to recapture a youth rejuvenated.
With a glow that defies microscoped closeups.
Showing supple, flawless and crow feet free facial skin...
Here is a suggestion,
Forget it!
When a certain age has been reached...
Those crow feet may be prevented from dancing.
With steps etched that are directed by Father time.
However...
It's Mother Nature who is not fooled.
And those legitimately embracing the noon of youth...
Are not fooled either.
And...
The consulting plastic surgeon,
You have selected to choose...
Knows a few sessions of flattery should do it.
Promising to remove thirty years off of your appearance,
Should do the trick!
'Thirty years?
That's incredible.
NO WAY? '
~Oh...
Much WAY!
If you've got deep pockets...
I'll provide the way.
'Mos Def'.~
'To look 40 again,
Would be a God send.'
~I can have you feeling 39 for at least 3 years! ~
'Why 3?
What about those other years? '
~Those other years?
By the time you realize those 'golden years' have arrived...
Your foolishness should be,
By then...
Assisting you to have more serious conversations with God.~
'But...
But,
What about my investment? '
~What about it?
I'm into plastic surgery.
Not aluminum siding! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Can Be Written Anywhere, Anytime
A poem can be written anywhere, anytime-
A poem can be written too early in the morning
While waiting in Talpiot for ‘Rami Levi Supermarket’ to open-
It can be written in one’s head in a frozen Army barracks in Beit El
Or in a small room on Rav Berlin St on an old Smith- Corona
In the first happy years of one’s marriage-
It can be written for years from Haganah St. in French Hill
In the family years and the lonely ones
It can be written walking by the sea in Tel Aviv
With small children in hand-
It can be written on the same shore years later when one’s life has been broken
By Love’s desertion-
It can be written in old age on Rehov Shahal in Givat Mordechai
As one takes joy from the birth of one’s first grandchild-
A poem can be written anywhere anytime-
I have been writing my poems in Israel
For more than half a lifetime-
May those too
Who come after me
Read and Write Poetry here.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The long term prisoner
He got a life sentence
been in now thirty years
his once ruddy features
now grey and ashen.
His wife long gone
married his friend
hasn't heard from his
son in years.
Spent a long time
in solitary confinement,
killed another prisoner
forgot what it was about.
His mind full of knowledge
read thousands of books
the complete works of Shakespeare.
Outside he was somebody
now just another number
old before his time.
Told he will never get out
he will die in prison,
but he says he's been dead for years.
The lifer died in his sleep
as he was being buried
another lifer moved into his cell.
poem by Kevin Halls
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PINK and GOLD Ribbons
These are the thoughts as my eyes see
Pink and gold ribbons calling me.
In the early morning rising I run to my window
And peer toward the far horizon
To see ribbons in the sky delighting my eye,
Bands of pink outlining oak and evergreen
This is the prettiest sight I've ever seen.
The pink precedes golden ribbons now appearing
Stretching wider into bands of color nearing
The onset of the sun so big, bright and beautiful
In daily praise and thanksgiving I am dutiful.
On a cloud-filled morning, no sun adorning
I know far above the gray and stormy cloud
Are angels in joyful chorus aloud
Waiting for me to join in their singing
And my own soul finds itself winging
Through the clouds, through pink ribbons
Through golden bands toward the Son
When my earthly life is done
My soul He has won.
Such are the thoughts as my eyes see
Pink and gold ribbons calling me.
© Mel Patterson,1-2-08
poem by Mel Patterson
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Joyce Storms
A deluge of thoughts blanket me...
Once steadied by the shade but no more
The rain is now steadily pouring
And in the background a Requiem Mass opens sorrows door.
So many years ago beloved friend...
You joined two very lonely lives
Learning of your much too early departure belatedly
Tears now overcome mine eyes.
Cancer and its ruthless ravaging...
Over took your brillant blue eyes
My Matron of Honor-you shall always be
Even though this heart of mine cries
HollyPark will always be the beginning...
Where you and your better half led me
And i will always hold your memory dearly
Even though now, i must grieve.
A candle will always burn for you, dear one
Because of your blessed friendship, beloved Joyce
You've been with God and His Angels now 6 years
I do understand our loving Gods choice
I tried to find you so many times...
In this computer age of lost friends
Tell you when i learned about your passing- -it was nearly my end.
Oh such a heavy heart i now have
A weight boring in the middle of my core
Know that it is my Soul reeeling
As your Requiem Mass has opened Sorrows Door.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Encouraging underground uranium mining on the Colorado Plateau um, the federal government was the only purchaser of uranium ore to try to manufacture uh, atomic bombs.