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Ramon Eder

Black is the color of the ambitious people.

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Black Is The Color Of My True Loves Hair

Traditional
Black is the color of my true loves hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
I love the ground on where he stands
Black is the color of my true loves hair
Of my true loves hair
Of my true loves hair
Oh I love my lover
And where he goes
Yes, I love the ground on where he goes
And still I hope
That the time will come
When he and I will be as one
When he and I will be as one
So black is the color of my true loves hair
Black is the color of my true loves hair
Black is the color of my true loves hair

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Black in the Water

there's black in the water
and no one can see it but me
I am the only one to blame
pouring my heart out so carelessly
there's black in the water
though it started out clear
its light turned to darkness
in the course of a year

you put in the promises
broken and never remembered
you added the hurtful words
I so silently surrendered
you discarded your lies
and when you looked back
the water, it spiraled
your mistakes turned it black

there's black in the water
the happiness will sink
but I'm used to the color
so I'm tempted to drink
my pain overcomes me,
that I always knew
but there's black in the water
still invisible to you

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Peace fot the Living People

A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.

Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.

Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.

Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Where Are The Temperance People? In Reply To A Query

Where are the temperance people?
Well, scattered here and there:
Some gathering in their produce
To show at the autumn fair;
Some threshing wheat for market,
And others threshing rye,
That will go to the fat distiller
For whiskey by-and-by.


And some are selling their hop crops
At a first-rate price, this year,
And the seller pockets the money,
While the drunkard swallows the beer.
And some 'staunch temperance workers'(?)
Who'd do anything for the cause,
Save to give it a dime or a moment,
Or work for temperance laws,


May be seen from now to election,
Near any tavern stand
Where liquor flows in plenty,
With a voter on either hand.
And these temperance office-seekers
That we hear of far and near
Are the ones who furnish the money
That buys the lager-beer.


But these are only the black sheep
Who want the temperance name
Without living up to the precepts,
And so bring themselves to shame.
And the true, brave temperance people,
Who have the cause at heart,
Are doing the work that's nearest,
Each his allotted part:


Some lifting the fallen drunkard,
Some preaching unto men,
Some aiding the cause with money,
And others with the pen.
Each has a different mission,
Each works in a different way,
But their works shall melt together
In one grand result, some day.


And one, our chief (God bless him),
Is working day and night:
With his sword of burning eloquence,
He is fighting the noble fight.
Whether in lodge or convention,
Whether at home or abroad,
He is reaping a golden harvest
To lay at the feet of God.


Where are the temperance people?
All scattered here and there,
Sowing the seeds of righteous deeds,
That the harvest may be fair.

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The Passionate People

The passionate people
Have a passion for poetry
The passionate people have a passion for books
And they read books
In their spare time

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Black on the Depths

Black on the depths of blackest skies
whence even the levin seems withdrawn,
the cities threaten: burning eyes
ask what dread hand hath slain the dawn.

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Black Is The Dark Of Night

BLACK IS THE DARK OF THE NIGHT

Black is the dark of night
Deep is the quiet and calm –

Waking before the world does
Brings a special peace –

I write these lines
And begin the day
When others still sleeping -

All the world is mine at peace
And when the morning light comes
I will be astonished by the beauty
Of God’s world.

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The Invisible People

When I go into town at half past seven
Great crowds of people stream across the ways,
Hurrying, although it's only half past seven.
They are the invisible people of the days.

When you go in to town about eleven
The hurrying, morning crowds are hid from view.
Shut in the silent buildings at eleven
They toil to make life meaningless for you.

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All The Young (People Of Today)

Young girls
Not so innocent
Will give you wide eyes
Will show you knowing smiles
Young men
An air of independence
Will take you at their leisure
They live for pleasure
All the young people of today
Young girls
An air of mystery
Are dreaming from their towers
They smell of flowers
Young men
They can do anything
They are set to win
With unmatched power
All the young people of today

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Black is the Day Realm Beyond Reason,

Black is the day realm beyond reason,
As in and out of the season we remain steady at the helm.
Always on the verge of pushing over the edge our minds.
Upon the flip side are we to find no place to hide our faith
Before they come gunning missionaries, preaching for fun.
Hoisting grim statuettes of sacrifice upon the host.
As the ghost of a mushroom floods the world in tears.
As we reside within fear, helpless, deranged.
Black for the silence of the form devoid of life.

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The Chosen People

where i live
race issue is
bantered about
like a pop song

it is their eyes
in their acts
even more clear
when situation warrants
it in words

they sound
like two sharpened
swords clinking
in a duel

the sound is
so ominuous
one is left with
sleepless nights
most nights
half a soul
to live with

where i live
the race issue is
all about the chosen people
and the 'messiah'

the chosen ones
reserve the rights to land
the 'messiah' with all his sacrifices
can be led to the cross
when situation warrants it

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Now Tell Me About The Happy People?

alone, despite your presence
i always feel alone, despite the fact
that i have given your parts of myself,
piece by piece, you remove
my body, and then
now, you try to snatch away my
soul, we want a union,
of all these pieces, so we will
not be alone anymore, but that is
never true, inside you
in the most intimate moment
i groaned, i wriggled, i
exploded, only to find myself
this ash, this powder
of a self, all alone again,
and so i ask you, where do you think are
the happy people now?

so they are dead?
too.

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There Pass the Careless People

There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own:
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.

Ah, past the plunge of plummet,
In seas I cannot sound,
My heart and soul and senses,
World without end, are drowned.

His folly has not fellow
Beneath the blue of day
That gives to man or woman
His heart and soul away.

There flowers no balm to sain him
From east of earth to west
That's lost for everlasting
The heart out of his breast.

Here by the labouring highway
With empty hands I stroll:
Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,
Lie lost my heart and soul.

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The Beautiful People

I will not live forever:
I will die and the waves will bury me without any
Sort of sweeter pornography,
But while I lived I’ve had the chance for my lips
To sip sweet liquor,
To believe in the braver paganisms that come rushing
Like the noise of sound,
To sit together with distant friends in an air-conditioned
Theatre and to look together
At the beautiful people,
Those who together best represent the species,
The milk men and astronauts who are floating
Together
Door to door, a careless fraternity without a sound,
Pollinating both of those lips of you and your sister,
While neither I nor your husband are
Anywhere around,
Around.

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The Young People Upstairs

The young people upstairs love boozing sometimes they party
all night
And they play their loud music until the dawn's light
Brighten the dark streets of the sleepy old town
They live for to party and not for renown
Because of them I have lost many hours sleep
But a grudge for them I have no wish for to keep
All night long they sing as they drink beer and wine
But any loss of brain cells is their loss not mine
Neighbours kept awake by their noise ring the police the police on them call
Though that doesn't seem to worry them at all
The noise starts again when the police have gone
And nothing will stop them of partying on
One can say of them they are their own greatest foes
But having said that such is life one suppose.

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The Shadow People

Old lame Bridget doesn't hear
Fairy music in the grass
When the gloaming's on the mere
And the shadow people pass:
Never hears their slow grey feet
Coming from the village street
Just beyond the parson's wall,
Where the clover globes are sweet
And the mushroom's parasol
Opens in the moonlit rain.
Every night I hear them call
From their long and merry train.
Old lame Bridget says to me,
"It is just your fancy, child."
She cannot believe I see
Laughing faces in the wild,
Hands that twinkle in the sedge
Bowing at the water's edge
Where the finny minnows quiver,
Shaping on a blue wave's ledge
Bubble foam to sail the river.
And the sunny hands to me
Beckon ever, beckon ever.
Oh! I would be wild and free,
And with the shadow people be.

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The same people live...the same people die

The same people live, the same people die,
the same people laugh, the same people cry,
as they push on through, life's open door,
the old and the young, the rich and the poor.

The same people love, the same people hate,
the skeptics of heaven, the mockers of fate,
some use the gun, some just don't choose,
the proud and the vain, they win and they lose.

Death takes them all, the end's all the same,
no one can help us, cause no one's to blame,
When the door shuts and the bright lights go dim,
We all follow the same path and we all go to Him.

The same people live, the same people die,
Some still find wealth, while others get by,
the weak and the strong, the slow and the fast,
alone on life's journey, they all stumble past.

It's been this way, since the beginning of time,
To live...it's a joy, to die...it's a crime,
and still, we question and still, we ask why?
The same people live...the same people die.

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The 'Yes' People

What has happened to those,
Who openly expessed their opinions?
Those who spoke about and exposed injustices?

'They were escorted out of town.'

And the folks over there,
With those glazed eyes.
And appearing surprisingly happy?

'They are referred to as the 'yes' people.
They are only allowed to complain,
Amongst themselves.'

And you?
Who are you?

'Me?
I am one of the many tourists,
Who pay good money annually...
To watch this attraction.'

But you 'must' feel an obligation to stop this?
You do...don't you?

'Well,
I do admit there is a conflict of interest.
On the one hand I feel I should do something.

However...
I am told,
Part of the fee I pay...
Goes towards the wardrobes the people wear.

And as I understand it,
The 'officials' are able to claim them as property.
Which helps pay the town's taxes.

And the people could care less,
As long as they are fed and dressed.
With weekends off to drink and party! '

Oh.
Oh?
OH! !

So I do feel I am participating to affect a good cause.

Oh.
Oh?
OH! !

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On the Outside People are Pretty

On the outside people are pretty,
But on the inside they are ugly,
On the outside people talk deeply,
But on the inside they are shallow,
On the outside people are tall,
But on the inside they are small,
On the outside people are charming,
But on the inside they are withdrawn,
On the outside people are sweet,
But on the inside they are sour,
On the outside people are loving,
But on the inside they are judging,
On the outside people are open,
But on the inside they are divided,
On the outside people are happy,
But on the inside they are empty.

The inner and outer worlds must be balanced,
In order to achieve authenticity,
The inner and outer worlds must be synchronised,
In order to achieve equanimity.

For the truth creates simplicity,
And simplicity removes the tension,
For the truth creates clarity,
And clarity removes the complication.

Speaking truth, hearing truth, living truth,
Balances the inner and outer realities,
Making it possible to live an extraordinary life,
Free from tension, complication and duality.

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Let the cleverest people theorize scientifically

Let the cleverest people
theorize scientifically
and try and proof
that the world
and the great universe,
originated cataclysmic
and out of nothing
developed into perfect systems
that is in harmony.

Still stars are constantly burning out
and natural things
are bound by time
and by its own accord,
every thing runs down
as thermodynamics’ second law
teaches clearly.

Let clever and great people
further try and teach
that the Almighty God
is only a myth
and that there’s no God,
or Satan
and that man
is his own supreme ruler
and that everything
only is focused around and about
the here and now.

Let them sprout from a homogenous cell,
fish, ape, gorilla and barbarian
and blinded by their own madness keep on reasoning,
I come out of the hand of an Almighty God
and know that my Father
holds His hand over every thing
and from eternity
He has selected me
to be His child.

Even wise men with time
comes to a fall
and the great God
of the universe,
stays past eternity
and His existence and love
can pass all things, time,
places and situations.

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