He sits wi' sits on his neighbour's coat tail.
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All Alone
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
HER CHILDREN GROWN
WITH FAMILY OF THEIR OWN
SHE WONDERS WHAT HAPPEN
CHILDREN ALL OF THREE
THEY HAVE GROWN LIKE FRUIT UPON THE TREES
GRANDCHILDREN SHE HAS SIX
GETTING HARDER TO REMEMBER THEIR NAMES
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
NO ONE COMES TO VISIT
HER GRANDCHILDREN DOESN, T KNOW HER
HER CHILDREN HAS FORSAKEN HER
SHE WONDERS WHY
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
SHE LOVED HER CHILDREN DEARLY
WANTED NOTHING BUT THE BEST
WORKED HARD AND WENT WITHOUT
HER CHILDREN SHE WOULD DIE FOR
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
SHE WONDERS WHY
SHE THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE AROUND HER
LIKE ALL MOTHERS DO
GET TOGETHERS ON SUNDAYS
SEE A MOVIE OR TWO
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
SHE REEKS HER BRAIN
WONDERS WHAT DID SHE EVER DO
TO GET SUCH COLD TREATMENT
FROM THE BABIES SHE ONCE KNEW
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
THE ANGELS CAME AND CARRIED HER HOME
poem by Verna Ralph
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At his own cost
Perfection sits on a heap of wastage.
Discipline sits on a pack of stresses.
Promptness sits on a sack of neglects.
One thus satisfies others at one’s cost.
20.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Fisherman
He sits by the shore
all day long casting his bait
line after line
into the lake fishing
hoping for that bite
the kind that makes his day
but nothing comes
he sits there alone
only thoughts for company
what goes through his head
while he sits there
watching cold eyed
the open lake before him
is he at peace
or making plans
who could say
he just sits there alone
watching
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Music
The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute.
From my bed I can hear him,
And the round notes flutter and tap about the room,
And hit against each other,
Blurring to unexpected chords.
It is very beautiful,
With the little flute-notes all about me,
In the darkness.
In the daytime,
The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand
And copies music with the other.
He is fat and has a bald head,
So I do not look at him,
But run quickly past his window.
There is always the sky to look at,
Or the water in the well!
But when night comes and he plays his flute,
I think of him as a young man,
With gold seals hanging from his watch,
And a blue coat with silver buttons.
As I lie in my bed
The flute-notes push against my ears and lips,
And I go to sleep, dreaming.
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Strength of Jesus
The strength of Jesus
Ties their hearts;
She sits by the gates of Heaven;
She sits by the weak and the lost;
She sits by her Jesus
Who is the lonely little boy,
And she visits the needy.
The strength of Jesus ties their hearts!
She sits by her because
Jesus shines
within the gates
of the city
Mar 25,2012
poem by TerriJo James
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A Sobering Tale.
Sometimes he sits, sometimes he thinks.
At other times combines the two
More frequently he sits and drinks.
Because he cannot bear the view.
The only view that he can see
through pain filled eyes awash with tears.
He can remember vividly.
The promise of his early years.
When he was young and full of hope.
He had the whole world by the tail
But later found he could not cope,
although he tried to no avail.
Discovering that a drink or two
helped to alleviate the stress
A sorry story nothing new
His life became a complete mess.
He lost his job it had to come.
His drinking led to a divorce.
His wife then claimed the family home.
His life sped on it’s downwards course.
A friend became his enemy
because he let it take control.
It took him over completely.
Dependent now on alcohol.
No longer does he drink from choice
That luxury is now denied.
He drinks to still the nagging voice
which urges him to suicide.
Today he’s just a drunken bum
with nothing to look forward to.
Bar cheap red wine to make him numb
albeit temporarily.
Sometimes he sits, sometimes he thinks
sometimes he can combine the two.
More often though he sits and drinks
There’s nothing he would rather do.
10/10/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Casualty
The old man sits
On top of a brown
Battered suitcase
This now contains
All his belongings
I remember him
He was the toymaker
In our village
He was always a happy man
Now I see him
As we flee
The light has gone
From his eyes
There is fear there
That stops me cold
What does he know?
What has he seen?
He sits there
Waiting for his family
People pass by
Asking him
If he needs help
He says no
He is waiting for
His daughter to come
She went into the fields
To pick some sugar canes
That's when the soldiers
Set the fields on fire
Burning sugar
Caramel
Now pungent
But the first whiff was sweet
That's when the village
Began to burn
The old man sits
And waits for her
I wonder how long
He's been sitting there?
He looks to every face
And says her name
Every girl he stops
And examines to see
If it might be her
The old man sits
All alone.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Judge presiding
Judge presiding
~
he sits aloft
looking down well dressed
an educated man
but a man nether the less
he has his own sins
vices, faults
they are left behind
in the changing room
with his casual wear
and coat, for now
he sits there listening
to every detail
every word of evidence
building his picture
of a legal precedent
hoping the jury helps
guide him to a conclusion
that serves the law well
its no easy task
the law is not perfect
but he's been educated
at some expense
to make these decisions
the verdict remains open
judge presiding
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Bar Talk 1
unless you snuggle up to me
no
placing a stool
no
as she sits and sits again
poem by Michael Oliver
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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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A conservative is a man who just sits and thinks, mostly sits.
quote by Woodrow Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A conservative is a man who sits and thinks, mostly sits.
quote by Woodrow Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vine
The wine of Love is music,
And the feast of Love is song:
And when Love sits down to the banquet,
Love sits long:
Sits long and arises drunken,
But not with the feast and the wine;
He reeleth with his own heart,
That great, rich Vine.
poem by James Thomson
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She Sits On Seven Hills
The burning of the Great City that she sits on!
For she sits on seven hills;
But this warning is to the world because of Rome! !
And like a fluttering sparrow or a flying swallow,
But the end will come and only few people will be saved.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Neighbour
Neighbour
is good
Friend...
Neighbour is
good relation...
Neighbour is
Your brother...
Neighbour is
Your sister...
Neighbour is
Your mother...
Neighbour is
father and gran father...
All are thear...
Neighbour is
Not neighbour...also
your family...
Love it...
Help it...
Enjoy it...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Girl Who Is Lonely
There she sits,
All alone and in the dark,
No body cares,
Whether she is even there,
She questions to herself,
Does anyone care about me?
And wonders whether she is even seen,
She sits alone,
Feeling invisable,
Feeling scared,
All of these emotions inside,
Not knowing how to hide,
She tries to stay strong,
She tries to be brave,
To hide all of the pain inside,
She thinks of all of her past,
Wondering what she ever did wrong,
What she did to deserve all of this,
She sits alone,
No more tears to cry,
No more words to speak,
A single person speaks,
Startling her,
She looks around,
To find she is the only one there,
The one being spoken to,
She begins to feel part of the world,
And feels visable.
poem by Charlie Bones
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No-one
In my big old lonely house
I often hear things that aren't really there
For example the rustle of my paper
As no-one sits in my chair
And the squeak of old rusty floorboards
As no-one goes up the stairs
In my big old lonely house
I see things that don't exist
Like the wagging tail of a young Border Collie
As by the boiler no-one sits
Or a piece of fresh green mistletoe
Under which no-one kissed
In my big old lonely house
I smell things, but it's just lies
Maybe the rich heavy fumes of petrol
As up the road no-one drives
And the lovely sweet scent of perfume
As no-one sprays annoying flies
In my big old lonely house
I feel like I'm not really here
And now, here all on my own
I'm turning into no-one I fear
For I am old, and I am dying
And when I scream, no-one hears
poem by Amy Darnbrook
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Four colours
It is Brhmin
Who cracks his head
To seek knowledge
And sits supreme.
Fully secure.
It is Kshatrya
Who whips his ego
To seek power
And sits on the throne.
Fully in pride.
It is Vysya
Who stirs his desire
To seek wealth
And sits on the cushion.
Fully in comfort.
It is Sudhra
Who toils his limbs
To seek perfection
And wait for recognition.
Fully in satisfaction.
We lost many strains
In the process of revolt.
17.10.99
[Indoaryans lived as four different castes over centuries till the last centurary.]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Atra Cura
Before I lost my five poor wits,
I mind me of a Romish clerk,
Who sang how Care, the phantom dark,
Beside the belted horseman sits.
Methought I saw the grisly sprite
Jump up but now behind my Knight.
And though he gallop as he may,
I mark that cursed monster black
Still sits behind his honor's back,
Tight squeezing of his heart alway.
Like two black Templars sit they there,
Beside one crupper, Knight and Care.
No knight am I with pennoned spear,
To prance upon a bold destrere:
I will not have black Care prevail
Upon my long-eared charger's tail,
For lo, I am a witless fool,
And laugh at Grief and ride a mule.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Patience, Patience
the child with a black coat
on this cold day
sits there beside a brick
church of spanish
architecture
the yard is quiet except
for the sound of the flapping
of doves feedind on some
rice grains
the boy has a black hair
and his feet are stained with
mud his fingers dirty with
some sticky sauce
he spreads the rice grains
from his palm to the
muddy grounds
the doves hover and land
on the spot where the grains
are freely spread
he sits with them
surrounded
the doves are watching him
and he watches carefully each
dove that eyes on his grains
he likes to snatch just one
to bring home to mother
the doves are too careful
it is just the rice grains nothing more
eye to eye
both wait for what shall happen next
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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