Quotations and Literature Forum

And another

Poverty of a Child

Glassy eyes stare back from beneath sunken lids,
The toll of fever stares back at the beholder
Imploring silently
“Help me, hold me,
Comfort me.”

Yet still the footsteps pass
Pleading eyes come to naught
Darkness ravages the tender soul,
Innocence dies as strangers continue to pass by,
Heeding not the plea of the ravaged child.

Broken bleeding lips stretch to the sides,
A parody of a gleeful smile,
Mocking the joy of the child next door,
Saying ‘Thank you’ in ways half forgotten
When the feet stop to help,
Or when they merely might.

A trembling, quavering hand reaches out,
A silent plea more poignant than words,
And even harder to ignore.

Wrists too thin,
Bones clearly defined,
Tremble with the slight effort
As the footsteps pass on,
Leaving nothing but emptiness in their wake.

Curses follow from the ones bent but not broken,
Only accusing silence from the ones broken,
And not even that from the ones beyond repair.

This is the poverty of a child.
This is homelessness,
This is the fever,
This is the hope,
This is the sorrow,
This is the anguish.

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Sanctuary: a small safe place in a troubling world

Very nice...especially the imagery of the poor child...If I might ask you where did you get ur inspiration from?

I honestly have no idea, I was living in the woods for the summer and wrote that staring at a tree.

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Sanctuary: a small safe place in a troubling world

A BEGGAR WAY



You wanna test the wild?
You won’t last the trial.
Dumb bastard child.

Just wait a while and watch ‘em fall.
Don’t ya know I’ve had ‘em all,
With the conviction of an atom bomb.

No matter the course, we brought the cause.
I came with physics without the laws.
They may be great; but not the Boss.

So stick and move, stop and stare.
Smoke will rise and clear the air.
When was life ever fair?

No need to wait; I’m in the zone.
Lovely death; this winters’ snow.
When it stops, I’ll let her know.

Make or break, leave it be
Two point five, seeming three
Riding hard, bringing me.

Some sweet grace, memory lifted
Turning tables, poles have shifted
Going for the heart, totally missed it.

Late at night, without a doubt
I heard a man scream and shout
He had no shame, or favored route.

I met this man upon the road
He said “Follow me, and you’ll know.”
He sang, “Whey-hey… Hey-yah… Hey-yoh.”

So I tagged along, into the woods.
I passed his home and wooden tools,
As he sang his song meant for fools.

A big straw hat and a gourd of wine
“Look to the stars and watch ‘em shine.
Now you know what’s yours and mine.”

_________________
Have Fun, Good Luck.

Brazen Leaves


O, brazen leaves, boldly rustling in the north breeze.

Will not quite give it up!
Life ebbing; dry, wrinkled, lifeless looking.
Yet the will to be remains.

O, brazen leaves, resisting the autumnal prerogative.

Hanging on! Resisting the forces of time,
Somehow hoping time will stop; a moment frozen
to keep forever, like summer in the Arctic climes.

O, brazen leaves, dried and brown.

Knowing deep down that as the other leaves have died
and fallen to the ground,
so will the rest that still hang on.

O, brazen leaves, that know not time nor temerity.

Heavenly hope having high expectations,
half-dead; yet noisy, cajoling, like a group of good friends.
Pushing one to ponder this visible proof of rebirth, of resurrection.

O, brazen leaves, boldly rustling.

[Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.
Henry David Thoreau (1817 - 1862)

I haven't done much recently, but here are my two new ones.

Untitled

What is this I feel
Clawing at my heart and mind?
T'hasn't an English name
nor one in any hundred languages
It is all there is
Yet it is nothing
It is like happiness but softer
Sadness but sharper
Madness but smoother
Hate but finer
Desolation but stronger
Joy but cloying
Indifference but all-reaching
T'hasn't an English name
nor one in any hundred languages
It is all there is
Yet it is nothing
It simply is,
Yet is too much to bear


Life in A# contrast

You ask me what my favourite song is
And I'll tell you any of a thousand
But if you wanted the honest truth
My favourite song
is ours.
Its the song formed by
our heartbeats
off-setting each other it syncopated drumline,
our breathing
the steady pound of the bass,
out cries and screams
rising, falling like the strings,
the pain of longing when apart
like all brass seats clamouring to be heard,
our content sighs together
whispering out like woodwinds,
and the passion kindled between us
a constant thrum of bass guitar
with heart-pounding riffs of the lead.
This
is our our song.
And my favourite of all.

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I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. ~Voltaire

Nice one Jeff.

You too, InkScratch.

The subtle, and not so subtle tones...

"the steady pound of the bass..."
I had to read it twice to make sure I
read it right...

"O, brazen leaves, dried and brown."
I caught a visual of these leaves being brighter than the other colors
for this one instant, even though this color isn't normaly brighter than
other colors. It was like all the other colors were dull in contrast to this
leafs' color for a brief moment. Weird, I know...

I have a poem in the making... not sure what to make of it.

_________________
Have Fun, Good Luck.

awesome poetryyyyyy....u people are great poets

Thanks. What you say is absolutely true, everyone here is great. We should get it published ;D

_________________
I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. ~Voltaire

"Chasing a dream"
by TH

*Note- For those of you who are musically inclined,
this is more of a song than a poem. It's in C and Am.
The hooks are done in C9# (?) and then scaled down a few frets.
It's one of my newest songs, and I like how it came out.
I wish I could sing it to the forum, but you'll just have to use your
imagination, instead.*



I woke up this mornin’
You were on my mind.
I had to see you again,
So I closed my eyes.

Drift madly awake,
Waitin’ for sleep to come.
Guess I’ll start my day,
My dream was done.

I only wanted to see you again.
Why is it so hard?
To see my friend?
I only wanted to see you again.
Why is it so hard?
To see my friend?

So I start my day,
With a heavy heart.
No better way,
To make a start.

Story of my life.
It was always somethin’
The same damn wish,
Fourteen years and runnin’.

I only wanted to see you again.
Why is it so hard?
To see my friend?
I only wanted to see you again.
Why is it so hard?
To see my friend?

As I lay me down,
My day comes to an end.
No dreams come around,
I’m just lost in my head.

A memory, but no,
Fumblin’ through the dark
Many places to get lost
In this lonely heart.

I only wanted to see you again.
Why is it so hard?
To see my friend?
I only wanted to see you again.
Why is it so hard?
To see my friend?

_________________
Have Fun, Good Luck.

If there was a way for you to record it Tushka, you could post it on youtube or something similar...

I really want to hear you intend this to sound like!

_________________
Sanctuary: a small safe place in a troubling world

Our hands are tied by money
Our wrists are bound by time
Resources form a bal and chain
Around our very minds

Bound in our honest youth
To repress our imaginations
Tethered to a deceptive truth:
There is only one education

Fear spread like wild fire
Ignited by blazing ink
Immunisations protect us
And tell us what to think

"THE USEFUL WOUND"


sometimes theres this driving force in your life

driving you mad n trying to force you

to do things you wouldnt dare do in ordinary circumstances

it may not relate to people you love

but it does have a small corner in your heart

where it hurts you always

it is that useful wound that burns you

each time you think of falling back and not doing

what your ultimate wish and desire tells you to

gives you power to break all boundaries

and show them, what you're made of

it might be a person, incident or accident

not matters for the cause is one

to let the humans break free of their limitations

it is that- the useful wound

there to hurt you and keep you up

the one thing which does more good then damage

" the useful wound"

geez... not a poem really

Tamperer, poetry, prose, thoughts - whatever - its great - thank you

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The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
e e cummings (1894 - 1962)