Pictures Of Matchstick Men
Oh
Ah
Oh
Ah
When I look up to the sky
I see your eyes in a funny kind of yellow
I rush to bed I soak my head
I see your face underneath my pillow
I wake next morning tossed and yawning
I see your face come peeping through my window
Oh no
Oh
Ah
Oh
Ah
Pictures of matchstick men and you
Images of matchstick men and you
All I ever see is them and...you
Oh
Ah
Oh
Ah
Windows echo your reflection
When I look in their direction
Gone
Yeah they're gone
When will this haunting stop
Your face just won't leave me alone
Oh no
Pictures of matchstick men and you
Images of matchstick men and you
All I ever see is them and you
Oh you're in the sky
You're with this guy
You make men cry, you lie
Pictures of matchstick men (x6)
I can see those matchstick men (x6)
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Matchstick Men
Pencil figures stand about a page
Matchstick men with little to do
Sketching the unknown romance
A love letter waits, long overdue
Vacant words leave empty lines
Where figures dance or idly stand
Boredom holds off the first word
Or the wanting of something better
To write than those words already
Excluded and cast aside by the mind
Perhaps the matchstick men could assist
Each one holding aloft a sign
Stating a love is evident and in place
A sign which simply reads ‘I love you’
No need for flowing letters of romance
Which thought or boredom fail to pen
Leaving a mass of matchstick men
Standing, dancing and watching
Every open and empty line
They are drawn to fill out time
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Matchstick
Billowing black smoke, tinged with yellow.
Fiery crimson on a skeleton ridge set aglow.
Showers of flames explode, as the eucalypti fuel
This raging infernio - this catalyst that changes its world.
It removes the old, and replaces it with new.
A new world where things grow anew.
It removes the past's misfortunes and errors
Gives a new tomorrow, a chance for a new millennia.
So big, so vast. Those who would put it out, can't come near
For nothing is quite as dangerous as fear.
Even if they do, it would take an ocean, to quell this beast.
To extinguish such a fire manually, tis an impossible feat.
So powerful, so invincible, yet from small doth this thing grow.
It all starts with just a little match, yet behold.
Finite and weak. So underestimated and ignored.
A matchstick. We don't even think about it, it's so small,
Yet it possesses the power to change things like never before.
It can change the world to something we never saw.
True, many matches burn out. Some never even catch fire.
But ever so often, just now and then. Every once in a while:
A little matchstick sets of an unstoppable fire.
Just a twig, with a little phosphorus. A little nothing.
But give it a little strike, and it becomes a big something.
To start a bushfire, tis all you'll ever need:
A little matchstick.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Diamond In The Dark
diamonds in the dark,
lacks all the worth that they inhert have,
a matchstick in ones hand,
priceless commodity to i trapped out there in the cold,
diamonds in the dark,
is what we have become if we have no one in our heart,
we are all full if love,
but what is it if we cant share it out,
a matchstick is at hand,
a slight light from it makes the diamond come to life,
sometimes what we need is a spark,
a small neglected action that makes everything worth,
the diamond when at hand,
in the dark you cant see the beauty that it has,
with a flash of a match,
we see its spendor and its beauty is spread out,
we need the matchstick when we are out,
brings warmth to a lifeless body to cope,
priceless in our hand,
a life giver a worth giver we always tend to ignore,
diamonds in the dark,
a loud cry for help in a room of dumbs,
diamonds in the dark,
fine painting to a class of blind,
what we want in life,
the small things that gives life its worth
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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O Life O Death
At night,
in the mind
into the dark
Something is moving..
Incessantly...
In the heart
horrifying bark
searching matchstick
with palsied hand
frequently
O life O death
Why do you hunt?
Constantly...
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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New Mirror
New Mirror
My wife brought home a new big mirror
She wanted to see all of her glorious self.
I was happy with the old one that showed
my face, upper arms and chest.
This damned mirror makes me look like
a child’s drawing of a man, a rotund body,
matchstick arms and legs. My image took
offence walked away in disgust, left me
standing there in my elderliness, staring
into blank eternity.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Snakebite
Somebody better shake you
Somebody better turn your head around
Im scratching like a wild cat
Im spitting fire on the ground
You got my venom running thru ya
Aint gonna let you run off wild
Chorus
Im snakebite
Im your only man
Snakebite is your lover
Youll never hide, baby understand
Snakebite drags you under
Im snakebite
They call me snakebite
Nobody gonna take you
Nobody gonna touch your rebel skin
Ill break em like a matchstick
Cuz baby thats the kind of mood Im in
My face is tattooed on your shoulder
Your name is scratched into my bike, yeah
Chorus
You got my venom runnin thru ya
If youre gonna run
Go running scared, Im right behind ya
Chorus
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Finally
just like anything that you did in the past
you started like
a
gasoline spilled
on the cemented road
and a matchstick lighted
it and the fire ran
like a will o'wisp
but as usual it was
just a very short
procedure
of a flame
that once lighted
your
paths of pain
your wish for relief
and then everything
simply turned off automatically
and you
began to do something
new & strange
that which shall not cease
your way of
breathing life to another life......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One
just like anything that you did in the past
you started like
a gasoline spilled
on the cemented road
and a matchstick lighted
it and the fire ran
like a will o'wisp
but as usual it was
just a very short
procedure
of a flame
that once lighted
your
paths of pain
your wish for relief
and then everything
simply turned off automatically
and you
began to do something
new & strange
that which shall not cease
your way of
breathing life to another life......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Circular Breathing
Pick up my wings and fly
Into a constable sky.
Look down on the world and try
To make you out on the distant ground.
Lonely toy in a lost toy-town.
Suspended in spiral sounds---
Sounds of circular breathing.
Im a kite on a silver thread.
Daring lightning to strike me dead.
Harsh echoes of things you said
Banished me to a thinner space
With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face.
Hands cupped to my ears to place
The sound of circular breathing.
Matchbox cityscape below----
I watch lowry matchstick figures go.
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without You in That Big City
away from you
i am inside this big
city
trying to please myself
with its lights
and busy streets
some exotic restaurants
and night
spots
i fell like i am
a car
with a leaking
gasoline tank
i have seen the
path that
i have walked
and there is a line
of the leaking gas
i am afraid that
another crazy guy
with a matchstick
shall put it to flames
inside my heart
another war of fire
another
conflagration shall
happen
and i have no other
place to run
for shelter
who can help me
this time?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pictures
Whoa oh yeah
I've seen pictures
Well i saw you just the other day
And i could not help but look your way
I say you've just got this special look
That has got me completely hooked
Ow
Pictures on the wall
Pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall
Everywhere i stare
Pictures on the wall
The ceiling and the floor
I'm in a metal room
And i cannot find the door
Will this feeling ever go away?
Or will this feeling stay?
Will this feeling ever go away?
'cause i can't live the rest of my life this way
Pictures on the wall
[c'mon]
Pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall
[c'mon c'mon]
Everywhere i stare
Pictures on the wall
[c'mon c'mon]
The ceiling and the floor
I'm in a metal room and i cannot find the door
I see your face in the clouds in the sky
I see your face before my eyes, yeah
I see your face everywhere
And now i don't know what to do
Oh oh
Pictures on the wall
Pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall
Everywhere i stare
Pictures on the wall
The ceiling and the floor
I'm in a metal room
And i cannot find the door
Whoa pictures...
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Money (Thats What I Want)
I saw you just the other day
And I could not help but I look yxour way
You see youve got this special look
That has got me completely hooked
Pictures on the wall, pictures everywhere
Pictures on the wall, everywhere I stare
Pictures on the wall, the ceilling and the floor
Im in a mental room and I cannot find the door
Will this feeling ever go away or will this feeling stay
Will this feeling ever go away
'Cause I cant live the rest of my life this time
I see your face in the clouds in the sky
I see your face before my eye
I see your face everywhere and now I dont know what to do
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of Baseball
As one of the best players ever lived
He is still one of the best icons standing
To him a bat was like a matchstick
Fusing the ball up in the sky burning
Back down like a burning asteroid
6'2" giant waiting to hit the ball
Before the crowd could blink he
Was already putting foot on the
Fourth base he played every game like
A training session but won every one of his games
With full passion living the other teams in concussion noting their heads like bubble heads
while he enjoyed and waved freely like a
Loose thread
Talking behind base ball truth all about Babe Ruth
poem by Atlay Mwenifumbo
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Pictures In My Mind
Sweet nighttime pictures in my mind
have made it hard to sleep.
Can't I change them into dreams,
the kind I want to keep?
They've got me wide-awake in bed
wondering why they're here?
I should be sleeping soundlessly
but they just won't disappear.
Pictures of dancing and sweet romancing,
things that are no longer around,
I need to stop these pictures
and keep my feet on the ground.
Pictures of moonbeams shining
with a glow that warms my heart,
I close my eyes and I see you
and now my eyes start to smart.
The pictures become too blurry
for tears have formed in my eyes.
I wipe them and look for the pictures.
They're gone and I realize
that they were pictures of younger days
when all we ever knew
was passion and sweet embraces.
These were pictures of me and you.
And so as I lie here next to you
and wait for sleep to come,
I content myself with these scenes I've had
for I remember where they're from.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Foolish
My cloud
And everything here is mine
Nobody lives here but me
Unless I say they can
They go when I tell them
Oh conversation begins at a time
When I wish to talk to it
Where I wish to go
Go takes me there on whatever I wish to travel on
Travel keeps me safe
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
My life treats me well
Life is nice to me
Shooting down the obstacles one by one
Like a matchstick sonisphere
Disappearing in the air
Yeah which lets me breathe what I choose to breathe
And mornings only come when I call them
When Im rested
And rest it comes when I ask it
Then he guides me through the unknown
And the unknown becomes the known
When I say
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
cause youre all mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine
Yeah youre all mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine
Yeah youre all mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine
Yeah youre all mine
I love it here
I am it here
I live it here
Yeah I am it here
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
And youre so beautiful
song performed by by Imogen Heap
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Photograph Of You In B & W
i keep it in one of the pages of my
favorite book, a love story that is never
finished, i keep on reading it till the
wee hours, like a dream cut from the sound
of the heavy rain, cats and dogs,
i keep it there and kiss it all night long
and when i sleep i place it on top of my chest
my heart beating like a drum to a dream:
making love with you is a routine and i
have not heard about my heart complaining
about a deprivation, no more, no more,
there is this phenomenon of being fed-up,
routine that makes a familiarity and arrives
at the conclusion of forgiving and forgetting.
i look at old letters. Your picture in b & w
the photograph of you looks like an old stamp
of a letter that i have no plan sending to you
anymore. Got these tired hands. this scissor
this matchstick, this trash can, and the final
solution. This is the end of pain.
The dispositive portion. No costs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silence
Opium heals,
applying a chemical bellows
to the Vital Heat;
a golden silence.
At what cost!
Matchstick limbs out of Auschwitz,
fever-bright eyes.
Such sweet poison!
Music heals,
early music;
Greek Olympian music.
Clusters of notes with open phrasing
dancing on the surface of the Void
and tumbling endlessly in,
leaving no trace.
The unmatchable healer
is Silence itself.
Into it everything
subsides;
half-formed phrases,
the concatenation of thought,
the sword-play of tongues.
All vanish
like snowflakes
in a raging furnace.
He who has found
the silence,
which lies behind sound,
as the sky lies
behind planet, star
and cosmic dust,
he does not pursue
the clatter of sound.
poem by Brian Taylor
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What Is Really The Gift You Give Me On My Birthday?
what you hand is a box with a reb ribbon
you say it is your gift on my birthday
and i open it
it is an orange cake
with sweet mango slices as toppings
and a lone cherry on top of
a mound of chocolate
and some green candles
telling me my exact age
and this matchstick
to light the wicks
the cake is on the table
and i stand right there surrounded
by all of you
singing the birthday song
and the time comes for my
making a wish and the blowing
of the little flames of my age
after the party you all live one by
one like stars fading at dawn
and i am left alone with all
the litters and the laughters
that stick on the walls and
curtain and the giggles that
spill on the table cloth
the gift is not the box
it is not the cake it is not the cherry
it is not the little green candles
that speak of my age
it is not the flame because i
blow them all
it is not even the wish that i make
for myself because they are all mine
secretly seeping in the crevices of my cranium
what is the gift really that you give me on my birthday
i know it and you know it
how can we not tell each other sometime?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shes On The Zoom
Well she got up every morning and she waited in the cold
Got on the stinking yellow school bus and did what she was told
And she stared out the window, all the way down to high school.
She went to home economics just like all the other girls
Making chicken a la king and peanut butter swirls
But she knew in her heart there had to be something better somewhere.
Well the boys in the school, they were just a bunch of fools
And they acted like a bunch of bad bumpkins.
But she went out with this guy cause she knew a girls gotta do something.
He showed her pictures of his car (pictures of his car!),
Pictures of his room (pictures of his room!)
Ohhhh, shes on the zoom, shes on the zoom.
She wasnt meant to stick around here, and be some quarterbacks wife
She wasnt meant to stick around here, be barefoot and pregnant the rest
Of her life...
Well she got up every morning and she waited in the cold
Got on the stinking yellow cab, put the money through the hole
And she stared out the window, all the way down fifth avenue.
She went on all the cattle calls just like all the other girls
And she waited by the phone in her rollers and her curls
But she knew in her heart there had to be something better.
Well she ran into this guy who was down at 54
Had a lot of gold and chains and he got her in the door,
And he knew so many people, and he made her lots of pretty promises.
He showed her pictures of his car (pictures of his car!),
Pictures of his room (pictures of his room!)
Ohhhh, shes on the zoom, shes on the zoom.
He showed her pictures of his car (pictures of his car!),
Pictures of his room (pictures of his room!)
Ohhhh, shes on the zoom, shes on the zoom.
Ohhhh, shes on the zoom, shes on the zoom.
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem For A. M.
i know of a guy
who hates pictures
he does not own
a camera despite
his money
a fact that he lost most
of them
in anything
except pictures
by social conventions
as he is in this
circle
somehow he cannot escape
pictures taken
but he would see to it
that his body is covered
his face behind
the rest of the other
happy faces because
no matter how he
tries to expand the size
of his smile
his sadness still invades his
eyes like
a skin disease
without cure
i tell him once about this
noticeable phenomenon
and he breaks into tears
like a mad woman
put inside bars
there is this fear
this certain sadness that
stays within
somehow we are able to hide it
as strangers knowing how to conceal their names
on ships which are about
to face the storm
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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