If you find your friend on the sofa at home with your wife, you had better sell the sofa.
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There Shall Be No Blank Space Of This Jalousy
she broke a piece
of the window, a plank of glass
and the cat gets in at night
and sleeps on my favorite sofa
i never like this
i don't like a blank space where a cat slips in
and takes a portion of my sofa
this is strictly prohibited in my world
today the plank of glass is delivered
and there is no emptiness left along the lines of this
space
where the wind is free to
to get in and then move out like nothing happened
between the cat and the sofa.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Red Sofa
The thick red sofa,
Anf of the laughter and joy that it brings in the name of love;
But this had been our place always,
And to warm ourselves from the cold of winter!
The thick red sofa,
This was our place of love and everything!
Both in the hot and the cold weathers to swing with the muse of love,
For this red sofa is all that we have in the room.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sitting On My Sofa
All alone, sitting on my sofa,
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
All alone, sitting on my sofa,
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
You got all your friends,
I got a tv set.
You got your cars,
And this boys never had anything.
Now Im stuck here, sitting on my sofa,
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
You got all your friends,
I got a tv set.
You got your cars,
And this boys never had anything.
Now Im stuck here, sitting on my sofa,
All alone, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Oh...
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sittin On My Sofa
All alone, sitting on my sofa,
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
All alone, sitting on my sofa,
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
You got all your friends,
I got a TV set.
You got your cars,
And this boy's never had anything.
Now I'm stuck here, sitting on my sofa,
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
You got all your friends,
I got a TV set.
You got your cars,
And this boy's never had anything.
Now I'm stuck here, sitting on my sofa,
All alone, sitting on my sofa,
Sipping at my soda,
Sitting on my sofa.
Oh, oh, oh, sitting on my sofa,
Oh...
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How I Wish You Were Here
how i wish you were here
i sit by my window and you
are just beside me and i become your
face tissue and you are some tears
or we could be something else
or could be that i am the microphone
of the videoke and you are the
song or could be otherwise
or i could be the sofa
and you are the guest sipping beer
or a coca-cola or could be that we
are all guests and we are all the singers
and the rest are the songs and the sofa
and the glasses and the wine
and the ham and bread
whatever, i only wish that you are here beside me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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September Rain
September Rain (sonnet)
Most days, on my way to the bar or grocery shop,
I walk past an old man who sits in the shade of
an oak, on a creaky sofa that has lost its place in
the lounge. I usually stop and talk to him, he can’t
remember me from one day to the next, tells me
the same story about his parents, and where he
grew up; Portugal of yore. He isn’t here today, only
the mantle, he wraps around himself when there
is a chill in the air, is flung on the old sofa; a zephyr
whispers that he will not be back. “Will I be that old?
I ask the waning sun. I sit on a sofa on the terrace,
a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, scan the sky,
in the vale where I live and my parents too lived,
we wait for September rain.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Laying Bare And Lovely Still On A State Of Bliss
amidst the softness of the big
sofa
you lay your naked body
your breasts stare at the ceiling
your hair freely falling
on the arm
of that big sofa
you close your eyes on this
baring
you point your toe
to the carpeted floor
your arms are light
as your hands rest
on the furry cover
the silence is sweet and this
time the world is calm
no word creeps on your lips
come to think of it
what is the description
of this bliss?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Native Son
Mount up, move on
May you find the way back home
Down and down we go
Down into bright october
Brothers in arms no more
Now that the war is over
Have you waded in and been to hell
Will you lie upon the sofa
See to the decoration of your shell
Now that the war is over
Mount up, move on
Damn the darkness, speed the dawn
They lost, we won
Try to find your way back home
Native son
Down and down we go
Now that the war is over
Brothers in arms no more
Now that the war is over
Have you waded in and been to hell
Will you lie upon the sofa
See to the decoration of your shell
Now that the war is over
Mount up, move on
Damn the darkness, speed the dawn
They lost, we won
May you find your way back home
Native son
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flight of Fancy
Our sofa was a spaceship.
We soared between the stars
Visiting distant planets
Like Jupiter and Mars.
My brother and I were astronauts
Dad was Chief Engineer
He'd power up the engines
Then through the heavens we'd steer.
We followed a passing comet,
Met some little green men,
Went to the edge of the universe
And all the way back again.
We travelled across the galaxy
Passed the Milky Way.
Even took tea with the Man in the Moon
And all in just one day!
Our sofa was a spaceship
That special afternoon
Oh! What a great adventure!
And over all too soon!
poem by Dawn Ferrett
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Traveling Dream
I am packing to go to the airport
but somehow I am never packed.
I keep remembering more things
I keep forgetting.
Secretly the clock is bolting
forward ten minutes at a click
instead of one. Each time
I look away, it jumps.
Now I remember I have to find
the cats. I have four cats
even when I am asleep.
One is on the bed and I slip
her into the suitcase.
One is under the sofa. I
drag him out. But the tabby
in the suitcase has vanished.
Now my tickets have run away.
Maybe the cat has my tickets.
I can only find one cat.
My purse has gone into hiding.
Now it is time to get packed.
I take the suitcase down.
There is a cat in it but no clothes.
My tickets are floating in the bath
tub full of water. I dry them.
One cat is in my purse
but my wallet has dissolved.
The tickets are still dripping.
I look at the clock as it leaps
forward and see I have missed
my plane. My bed is gone now.
There is one cat the size of a sofa.
poem by Marge Piercy
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Togetherness Is Gone
My wife,
Stop cleaning the house
Please come here
To accompany me
My husband,
The house is dirty
We aren't able to pay the maid
You've already retired
My wife,
Don't cook
It's a holiday
Let us eat outside the home
My husband,
Don't eat outdoors
We need efficient
You've already retired
My wife,
Let's keep me company
Why the rush to sleep
It's still early
My husband,
I have to get up early
To clean the house
And prepare breakfast
My wife,
I have to go this morning
My friends were waiting
Long we don't meet
My husband,
Be careful on the road
Greetings for your friends
But, why not breakfast?
My wife,
You have fallen asleep last night
I see you sleeping soundly all
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I'm sorry
I don't welcome you home
But, why should sleep on the sofa?
My wife,
I have to go again
I have social activities
With my old friends
My husband,
Don't forget dinner at home
You look very dapper
Although not wear perfume
My wife,
sorry, we were very busy
I had dinner with friends
Happy dinner, dear
My husband,
I woke up too early
But you're not at home
Where are you?
My wife,
I came home at midnight
I have to go early in the morning
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I just finished washing clothes
I've found the clothes that you wear today
But, why the smell of perfume?
poem by Hasanudin Sofyan
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Gazing At Sunflowers
Your first wife’s friend
came in with her
for a coffee and chat
and you were sitting
on the sofa
with the sleeping cat
and she looked
at the Van Gogh print
of sunflowers
over the mantelpiece
above the open fire
did you paint that?
the friend asked
staring at it
through John Lennon
type glasses
no you said
it’s a Van Gogh print
oh she said
peering closer
I do like flowers don’t you?
Yeah you replied
sunflowers have a way
when Van Gogh
pushes them through
and she stood in silence
taking in the print
and flowers
and colours
and you noticed
she had a run
in her stockings
from the back
of her knee
to where
her thigh disappeared
beneath her drab dress
and your first wife
came in and said
oh you’re not looking
at that painting are you?
He knows all about
those arty types
with their odd ways
and weird eyes
and her friend said
turning round
scratching her ass
I know nothing
of art and such
it’s way out
of my class.
poem by Terry Collett
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Ginger cat (Villanelle)
I am a spoiled, lazy ginger cat
I am lying on the sofa all day long
And yes, i am a cat that is very fat
I am posh and proud to be your pet
I n your eyes i never do wrong
I am a spoiled, lazy ginger cat
I will not chase that dirty rat
I am OK, on the sofa is were i belong
And yes, i am a cat that is very fat
You can bash the rat with a bat
Cook him in a pot, feed him to Mr Chong
I am a spoiled, lazy ginger cat
Other cats see me and they frat
I am a top cat, i lead with a midnight song
And yes i am a cat that is very fat
I am that fat cat who sat on the mat
all morning, until you heard the gong
I am a spoiled, lazy ginger cat
And yes, i am a cat that is very fat
poem by Milica Franchi De Luri
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Are You Coming To Me?
you have been hasty,
In your speaking,
We have been at love
For years on end,
When will you come,
To my little home,
To share my little pleasures
To be with me,
On the sofa and bed,
I am waiting
With patience,
Which I feel is monumental,
All my home too is witing,
For your soft touch,
Your susing them,
Come be with me,
I have been waiting
So long for your presence,
All day and night,
Come home, come home,
Be with me, lest
I will end up thinking,
When you will come,
May be to the grave.
Ravikiran Arakkal
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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Daughter
and some other father at the club
says, has she flown the nest yet?
and it sounds so crude
you don’t want to answer.
You’re sitting on the sofa,
she’s behind you at the table,
she’s silent, you can feel her
growing up inside. You know
you mustn’t turn and look at her –
she’ll hate you for looking her dream
in the face.
Two years ago, she’d have come to sit
beside you on the sofa,
say nothing, put her head
on your shoulder.
Now, she’s in that between place, that place between.
In the between, she lives all the opposites. Simultaneously.
The world’s never been so exciting, all-possible,
or so scary, void; and these together;
she’s never felt so strong, or so vulnerable; both;
she knows she will be somebody; feels like nobody;
she’d like to have every boy, throw them away
to prove her power; yet wait to find if
there’s just the one; she wants both of these
(she, girl to goddess, Princess now a Queen,
she owns all men, yet gives herself to one) .
She’s living simultaneously in dreams
and chill realities.
You know all this,
and cannot, must not interfere.
This morning, you felt like the ideal family,
held in a golden glow of understanding.
Tonight, she’ll dress up for the boy and the dance, gloriously,
and you’ll be torn between fatherly pride
and the feeling that you’ve never, ever known her;
share that terrible place between
where there are only opposites.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Toast
'Toast', he said, (drily) , 'toast'.
Then a third time, 'toast'.
Only then did the quivering figure on the sofa seem to hear
How he wished it would stop, the quivering, that is,
And the babble of questions.
They were watching 'New York Law And Order'.
Not a good thing for his brother to be watching, perhaps,
Given his state-what had the doctors called it?
Psychotic depression, complicated by alcohol withdrawal,
Complicated by cocaine withdrawal, complicated by what?
Malnutrition? How could a person become malnourished
In America today? In New York City, with all those delis?
With all those pizzarias?
Johnny enjoyed the show, he told Timmy
Though the noise and violence were scary-
It had a strange way of getting under your skin.
(Timmy especially hated the sirens)
'Toast' is what Miguel would become, Johnny explained,
Soothingly to the figure propped sideways on the sofa
If he touched a hair of his head-here in Center City
Or home in New York, (where he belonged)
Oh, how he wished he'd go home-
He was beginning to get tired of all this
Three week-ends in a row now, but how do you tell
Your own brother to scram? It was a dilemma.
Frankly, ...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Morning in our Family
Morning in our Family
“Ok, bye Daddy, I’m going”
Floats across the drawing room
From my daughter, dressed in sari.
Blue and greed are SCB colours,
Where she works for last 12 years,
Now looks like a walking Bank!
Very few MBAs stick to same job
Greed impels them, and fear of stagnating,
She is of a different breed!
Money doesn’t matter much to her
She spends freely; gives generously;
Saves minimum; behaves like a non-MBA.
My wife is on the other sofa,
Talking to Zorro and the other cats
By turn, but fond and proud of her daughter.
Joti leaves early in the morning to Bank
Via Gym in Churchgate, and she and wife
Reach back home only after 9 o’clock.
I go to office in the morning, in past
After going to gym or swim or both,
But not now for I seem to overexercise.
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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The Quiet Inside Your Poem
it is there
quiet on the sofa
beside
a white cat
sleeping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ideology has shaped the very sofa on which I sit.
quote by Mason Cooley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dog Trap
s/he got a new dog &
like many dogs before it,
it shed & it jumped up on the
sofa, the comfy chair in the
living room, etc.-
in regards to the prior dogs in
her/his life, s/he had
"suffered" the hair deposits,
the smell of dog, be it dry or
wet, and the rest of the
litany of petty problems
which dog owners will claim
when going to great lengths
to tame & beat their happy dog
into submission-
one day,
s/he came up with an idea
as to how to get the dog off the
chair & the sofa-
s/he got up early in the morning,
wrapped the chair in a sheet &
then subsequently wrapped that
sheet in electrical tape, masking
tape &
that really sticky gray duct tape,
all with the adhesive side facing up-
after the chair was engulfed in tape,
s/he left the house &
went to work.
low & behold,
when the once-frustrated dog owner
returned to her/his abode that evening,
there was a whimper coming from the
living room-
the dog, a shaggy dog whose resemblance
to a frayed towel
was uncanny,
had gotten itself stuck on the tape &
the pulling of its hair in the attempt to escape
the tape-engulfed chair,
was too much for the poor dog,
who had been undergoing the pain for
who knows how long-
the satisfied owner
talked conceitedly to the dog,
asking it what the problem was
(as if the poor dog had any idea what
this horrible human was babbling) &
then got down on her/his knees to
help the dog from the trap that had
worked out just the way the owner
suspected that it would,
because the dog never set foot on the
chair or the sofa again.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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