Don't expect to be offered a chair when you are visiting a place where the chief sits on the floor.
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Don't expect to be offered a chair when you visit a place where the chief himself sits on the floor.
Expect Your ………….You!
Expect your friend to be not better than you;
Expect your neighbor to not forgive you;
Expect your country not to goad you;
Expect your siblings to but discourage you;
Expect your children to not care for you;
Expect your spouse to rather hinder you;
Expect your love to always forget you;
Expect your home sometimes to ignore you;
Expect your native place to not honor you;
Expect the world to disregard you;
Expect your enemy to well hate you;
Expect your Maker to much love you;
Expect your God to never forsake you;
Expect your Lord and God to never abandon you.
poem by John Celes
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The Visiting Aunts
This is a memory from my childhood, when I was about Nine years old.
The visiting Aunts have come through the door,
They haven't been here for six months or more,
Their presence is such an incredible bore,
Well I think so!
The visiting Aunts are so out of date,
I soon noticed that when they came through the gate,
Their dresses date back to nineteen-o-eight,
Well I think so!
The visiting Aunts have kisses that smother,
With whiskery chins as one will discover,
Each one is just as bad as the other,
Well I think so!
The visiting Aunts look all around our place,
Tutting and waving their hands, so the lace
Which encircles their wrists shakes a pace,
Why don't they go!
The visiting Aunts are staying to tea,
They're both very fat and will eat more than me,
There'll be nothing left, just you wait and see,
I told you so!
The visiting Aunts they gossip away,
About this and that and 'not in our day',
They never will listen to what others say,
I really feel low!
The visiting Aunts say it's a disgrace,
The way I'm allowed to get dirt on my face,
And go running around with an undone shoelace,
Well, I can't tie a bow!
The visiting Aunts have had 'forty winks',
Mother had said they will go soon, she thinks,
They're both motionless like a couple of sphinx,
Why don't they go!
The visiting Aunts are off down the lane,
Thank goodness they've gone now, they're really a pain, .
I hope that they never visit again,
Please, days go slow!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Grandpas Rocking Chair for M lady Chitra
On the front porch a rocking chair
nobody uses no one dare
Nor dare they move it anywhere.
Grandpa decreed it must stay there
What grandpa said was what he meant
he left no room for argument.
He simply stated his intent
Though other folk felt different
When Grandpa died the family tried
to set his iron rule aside
You’ll rue this day their Grandma cried
Your Grandpa will not be defied.
They moved the chair to show they could
though grandma did not think they should
She warned them all that nothing good
would come of this. She understood
although she knew Grandpa was dead.
She knew he’d rise in wrathful pride
to reinforce what he has said.
His last command before he died.
The chair was moved despite her pleas.
Her warnings were not listened to.
From that day on they knew no peace
Til grandma told them what to do
The rocking chair must be restored
to where Grandpa said it should be.
They all agreed of one accord
the chair replaced immediately.
Sometimes at night it seems to be
moving gently slowly rocking
Although there’s nothing they can see
they know that Grandpas visiting.
To see his word is still obeyed.
That no one moves his rocking chair.
Nobody will they’re too afraid.
They know sometimes he still sits there.
27-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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If Someone 'Is' Dismissed
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits and fidgets...
Wishing their presence is missed.
Too many perceive they have the power to do this.
As if the one that has been dismissed,
Sits making adjustments...
In a chair doing nothing,
But looking at thumbs as a twisting of them is done.
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits with wishes to be enlisted...
Into a clique of forget-me-nots full of 'wannabees'.
And usually they are the ones issuing approvals,
To those fearing rejection.
Too many perceive they have the power to do this.
As if the one that has been dismissed,
Sits making adjustments...
In a chair doing nothing,
But looking at thumbs as a twisting of them is done.
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits and fidgets...
Wishing their presence is missed.
How foolish would this be...
If someone sat seeking for an authority,
To approve the choosing of what they do...
And 'who' they should do it with.
If someone 'is' dismissed,
They should be glad of it.
Since there has been a lifting from them,
Any kind of restrictions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ritual
Tonight at sunset
it feels as if you will be back
and I prepare a place
at the table for you,
as if you are going to be there
to eat with me.
I am silly,
as I know that you
are visiting your cousin tonight,
but the dogs are restless
and the black cat
climbs on my lap
and I put two plates in place.
l’Envoi
With an additional chair, glass and candle
I wait till dark
and the food is already cold
when I eat it later
and tomorrow when you are back
still feels far and distant.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Going West
He sits in his rocking chair,
his dreams cemented in the past.
He wishes he had been a pioneer
packing up everything
and travelling west to start again afresh.
That is for the young men,
but he is an old man who thinks
things like that cannot be done now.
He is too old to start again.
He never tried it when he was young,
now time has passed
and all he can do is rock to and fro.
Wishing he had done it then.
Someone once told him
a long, long time ago
that nothing was impossible.
He smiled at the suggestion,
now he wonders of its validity.
Standing up he takes a deep breath
of the air around him
and coughs a little bit.
He smiles to himself, he is going to do it.
He is going west to the sunset,
the place where all his dream lay awaiting for him.
He will do it tomorrow,
then he sits back in his rocking chair
and thinks of all the beauty there he will find.
25 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Big Green Chair
Look over there. See the big green chair. Its my favorite place, the chair over there.
I sit there quite often thinking of this and sometimes that. Sometimes when I sit there I wear a hat. Pink of course, nothing else would do. I even have pink shoe, the other one blue.
When I'm sleeply sometimes I crawl up in the big green chair. It smells of dad, his name is brad. But only mom call him brad, to me he's dad.
But my favorite thing about the big green chair is when dad calls my name,
Lainey, my dear, come and sit with me here in my chair, my big green chair.
poem by Brad Milner
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Cogitation
if this chair does not exist
will i, this, chair, me, who asks,
if this chair, exists at all,
can i, exist, too? will i be dependent
on the thought of a chair
a thought of me that i think i
can touch, that i think thoughts
touching this thought of a chair
does the chair think about me,
i ask, looking for that therefore
beside the chair that i thought
is a chair, that i thought is I,
am, therefore, a chair, thinking
chair, on four feet?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Father's Chair
Parliaments of Henry III., 1265
There are four good legs to my Father's Chair--
Priests and People and Lords and Crown.
I sits on all of 'em fair and square,
And that is reason it don't break down.
I won't trust one leg, nor two, nor three,
To carry my weight when I sets me down.
I wants all four of 'em under me--
Priests and People and Lords and Crown.
I sits on all four and favours none--
Priests, nor People, nor Lords, nor Crown:
And I never tilts in my chair, my son,
And that is the reason it don't break down.
When your time comes to sit in my Chair,
Remember your Father's habits and rules,
Sit on all four legs, fair and square,
And never be tempted by one-legged stools!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Expect More
Expect more,
From yourself...
Before your self respect,
becomes enclosed
Behind shut doors.
Expect more,
Not less.
When your best,
Has been ignored.
Expect more,
Or you'll be next...
Left when your intentions,
Begin to bore.
Expect more,
From those awake.
But the exchange makes them snore.
Expect more,
If a game played becomes too straight.
And you must be that whore!
To gain the attention,
Some express you adore.
Expect more...
From them and yourself to win.
In this life expect more.
Don't accept what is suspected.
Don't throw tantrums and fits...
Just to keep limits explored!
Expect more!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Monobloc Poetry
man sits
on mono bloc
facing a woman
standing beside
a mono bloc
chair, man looks over
the window
woman leaves
mono bloc chair
solo mono bloc
on a monologue
monochromatic
point of view of
a mono bloc
chair overlooking
a window without
sun
night rain
fog and dog howl
mono bloc chair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Reaction About Breaking
i sit on a chair
and it breaks and i fall
on the floor
but i rise and looks around
with no one
really seeing what happens
just a while ago
and then i touch my bottom
and then alone by myself
i laugh the
hardest.
crazy, but i like the legs
of the chair splitting into
useless limbs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Old Man And His Chair....
the leaves of years
swiftly fall
the winds of change
the summers of acceptance
are quicker
the branches of time
have turned bald
a man is alone
but not sad as you expect
it thinks of a boat
sailing
it knows of a place
beyond his chair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beyond The Old Man's Chair
the leaves of years
swiftly fall
the winds of change
the summers of acceptance
are quicker
the branches of time
have turned bald
a man is alone
but not sad as you expect
it thinks of a boat
sailing
it knows of a place
beyond his chair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No-Name The Cat
The cat and I stare at the room
No-name the cat, the cat and I,
She stares at me, I at the gloom
The house lies still as a vaulted tomb.
She sits and waits, No-name the cat,
Sits and waits for a sign from me
But I in the corner chair am sat
And make no sign for No-name the cat.
We’re all alone, alone are we
No-name the cat, the cat and I
Only the two, No-name and me
Yet once in the past we numbered three.
Now on the floor, between us two
No-name the cat, and me, lies you.
Your eyes are staring, your cheek is slack,
Your tongue’s thrust out and your face is blue.
The cat and I stare at the room
No-name the cat, the cat and I,
She stares at me, I at the gloom
The house lies still as a vaulted tomb.
30 June 1999
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Mothers Day
Mothers day
is not like valentine day
where you care for your mother like money
since in 2012 it was on monday
mothers love and care
its so good that it floats in the air
although mothers take care for the hair
since they sit bossy on the chair
children celebrate them and rejoice
while drinking coke and ice
een the mother sits while eating rice
since their day is so nice
we dance and sing
as the father gives the mother a valentine ring
she sits on the chair relaxing
since she doesnt need to be working
we thank all the mothers since they are not mean
as their day is tight like a skinny jean
their work is sweet like a dream
all you have to do is say
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY
poem by Tanaka Chirombo
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A Chair Is No Longer Just A Chair
it is your experience that
gives you more meaning to all those which
you think
have been too common and
insignificant,
perhaps
now you must have realized as you sit upon a chair
that someone used to sit there
and that someone waited for another to be with her
that on the same chair
there were some fears
and pains and even longings
and hopes
unrealized and by then
you see that chair not just a chair
you sit there
and you ask it
for this chair though muted by wood
will always have
a story to tell....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Floor
[verse]
The bed gives
Cupboard might break underneath you
Hard as I try
The table might shake
Could break a leg when I do what I do
I'm all about mine
[chorus]
Consider the love we made
When pleasure can be found
In and all around
The right place is on the floor
Why don't we get down on the floor
I won't leave you wanting for more
If we get down on the floor
On the floor
[verse]
Comfortable spot
When I get you hot
A place to lay your head
Was it Socrates who said
Good to the last drop
song performed by by Brian McKnight from I Remember You
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Someone Keeps Moving My Chair
Mr. horrible
Mr. horrible
Telephone call for mr. horrible
But before he can talk to the ugliness men
Theres some horrible business left
For him to attend to
Something unpleasant has spilled on his brain
As he sponges it off they say
Is this horrible?
Is this horrible?
Its the ugliness men, mr. horrible
Were just trying to bug you
We thought that our dreadfulness
Might be a thing to annoy you with
But mr. horrible says, I dont mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair
Would you mind if we balance this glass of milk
Where your visiting friend accidentally was killed?
Would it be okay with you if we wrote a reminder
Of things well forget to do today otherwise,
Using a green magic marker, if its alright
On the back of your head?
Mr. horrible
Mr. horrible
Were not done with you yet mr. horrible
You have to try on these pants so the ugliness men
Can decide if theyre just as embarrassing as we think
We have to be sure about this
But mr. horrible says, I dont mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair
Someone keeps moving my chair
Mr. horrible says, I dont mind
The thing that bothers me is
Someone keeps moving my chair
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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