Quotes about alleys, page 11
Speak Not Of God!
we dreamed of god,
and created war!
pointing,
with dismembered fingers...
prophesying,
with bellies gorged!
we kill that which
we do not understand,
that which we fear...
that which most reminds us
of something hidden deep within.
is god made of stone?
be there no remorse,
no compassion, no conviction?
even stone gods weep,
who are we trying to fool?
how many women and children sacrificed?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ghost
I used to walk over my emotions
in the rain, sometimes the snow
Still I just don't know
where the nighthawks go
Flying high-diving low
I used to walk in the night
Alone, unafraid where the red lights
Turn to green through the alleys
Once again past the gates made of tin
I turn thinking of her skin
Turn again and again
Singing softly, mumbling curses
Never coming to an end
I've seen the day come crashing down
Seen it rise up again
Seen Love come in and walk out the door
Seen relationships turn to snow
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poem by Midnights Voice
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Dangerous Crime
Dangerous men walk for the reasons known to mankind,
Their manhood is derived from active thinking and strategy;
If they walk then talking and getting ahead of others comes to the senses,
Munching cigarettes is appalling, too many are beguiled by addiction.
Then, the alleys are safer when they are not, when they skilfully require mercy,
Roads must come with vehicles, with trucks of enormous strength
To run over the dangerous criminals who pervert the course of civilisation.
Dangerous men talk like business of a higher force, the very truth behind them,
It requires somebody’s insult, it requires somebody’s force,
And then the police arrive at their doorstep, forcing an arrest.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Mother's Fear
Memories,
Of a bundle
Of innocence
God blessed me with.
Fear,
Grasped my heart
The day
My daughter was born.
Will
She be loved
By those
She herself deeply loves.
Can
She bravely endure
The tests
Set down by Fate.
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poem by Renu Beri
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To Live And Love Some More
we open our eyes
must always
open our eyes for
new surprises
we do not close it
for the twists
and turns of life
everyday is a disclosure
every hour
an unfolding of buds into
flowers
spreading scents
pleasing us with its petals
and bright colors
handing us more of
those memories
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Snowy Day in Winter
It is another cold day of winter
The snow is falling every where
far away as the eye can see
The tiny flakes tossing in the air
The snow covering the trees and shrubs
the alleys, streets and parks
Every thing is painted white
It is quiet and serene
The beauty and elegance are in display
When soon it is over
The kids will go out and play
They will throw snow balls
and having fun
Some will love to chisel sculptures
and snow man
Time for dinner
Every one at the table
having hot hearty meal
time to relax
Mammy and Daddy
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poem by Sherif Monem
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September, 1918
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Night in the Gardens of Port of Spain
Night, the black summer, simplifies her smells
into a village; she assumes the impenetrable
musk of the negro, grows secret as sweat,
her alleys odorous with shucked oyster shells,
coals of gold oranges, braziers of melon.
Commerce and tambourines increase her heat.
Hellfire or the whorehouse: crossing Park Street,
a surf of sailor's faces crest, is gone
with the sea's phosphoresence; the boites-de-nuit
tinkle like fireflies in her thick hair.
Blinded by headlamps, deaf to taxi klaxons,
she lifts her face from the cheap, pitch oil flare
toward white stars, like cities, flashing neon,
burning to be the bitch she must become.
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poem by Derek Walcott
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Death Has Dominion
Officer Burks brings Max
the Bloodhound
into the alley
and Max immediately
strains at his leash.
He's onto the scent
of a killer.
Nose to the gravel,
Max sniffs back and forth,
slobber dripping
from his hammock lips,
his head never rising.
Burks knows Max
will corner the killer,
but not so fast.
He almost trips when
Max breaks his leash
and charges forward,
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poem by Donal Mahoney
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Alley littered with Yesterdays news
hanging on the high brow off urbans nocturne,
Impotent bowels weigh down the boulevard,
there is too much shit with no place to go.
how it stinks
Boulevard
has its dirty mouth, no clean clothes, and a taste for liquor
Boulevard
Has no job, and a hangover that leaks when it storms,
Decency is rotting under milk crates with the rest of them.
The harlequin all meet on the corner cafe
ready to eat up your baby dolls,
oh what sad girls walk up and down the boulevard.
Spotlights show vermin through projector still screens,
chalk white bone painted caricatures on alley walls.
By day its worse,
dried up like a desert.
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poem by Jerome Moore
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