One man often talks another off his bench, and seats himself upon it.
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Talks About Love
Once in a lifetime....
Down at the end, the end of the line
There's a girl who waits for love
She is the one he's hoping for
But there's another one she's thinking of
She doesn't know his name, doesn't know his face
She'll recognize the feeling in any case
She'll be swept away by the flies inside
Make her beautiful, make her come alive
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, nobody cares
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, she believes in love
She falls and she falls but never laughs
In the arms of the one she wants
Fights for a dream she's never seen
In a world of rocks and stones
Ands she knows it's there, knows it does exist
A feeling oh so real, almost divine bliss
Takes her breath away, a gem beyond compare
Makes her weak in the knees, she knows that love is rare
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, nobody cares
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, she believes in love
The measure of time
Will prevent what's mine
She believes in once upon a time
Once in a lifetime
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, nobody cares
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, she believes in love
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, nobody cares
She talks about love, nobody listens
She talks about love, she believes in love
song performed by by Vitamin C
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm not as surprised in going from playing 1,000 seats to 4,000 seats as I was from 100 to 500 seats.
quote by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talking.... (Who Listens?)
even the silence of the night talks,
small children talk in their dreams;
old people talk staring out windows...
trees talk shedding leaves,
empty buildings talk to ghosts;
dead bones talk to the wind...
the wind talks those who mourn.
the hungry talk to their oppressors,
the prisoner talks to the walls.
the desperate talk to the noose,
lovers talk with simple touch.
soldiers talk to their fears,
the unborn talk to our decisions.
the moon talks to the night,
and the night talks to the dawn.
the soul of man talks,
and calls it god.
the conscience talks to the heart.
death talks to the living....
who listens?
who really hears?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Poet Talks To Himself
A poet talks to himself
And hears his own praises
And does not believe them.
A poet talks to himself
And hears a critical word
And knows he is right.
A poet talks to himself
And imagines others are listening
And love his dreams as if they were their own –
A poet talks to himself
And in the talking plays
In many voices -
A poet talks to himself
And in talking to himself
Feels more and more alone -
Where are the holy listeners?
Where is the love which is not absurd?
A poet talks to himself
And prays he is secretly being overheard-
And wonders why God should want words
From a mortal so small.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Money Talks
(myles goodwyn)
Published by northern goody two tunes, ltd./capac - ascap
I work so hard just to get along
Before I know it, all the moneys gone
I do my best just to make headway
And save some money for a rainy day
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks, I said
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk, talk about it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk
I find it rough just to pay the rent
Before I know it all the moneys spent
I work hard and toe the line
And learn to take one day at a time
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks, I said
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk, talk about it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, lets talk
We pay our taxes just like they say
And man it hurts to give the money away
A penny saved, a penny earned
You do your best, and you still get burned
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks, I said
If money talks, its not talkin to me, if money talks
I work so hard, just like you (just like you)
But someday thingsll change
If money can talk, this is it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk, talk about it
If money can talk, lets talk
If money can talk, we should talk
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Money Talks
Scene: into flashs den - a night club
Scene: in flashs den, a night club partly converted into an office.
Sung by flash, floosies and spivs:
Show me a man who says he can live without bread
And Ill show you a man whos a liar and in debt.
Theres no one alive who cant be purchased or enticed
Theres no man alive who wouldnt sell for a price,
Money talks and were the living proof,
There aint no limit to what money can do
Money talks, money talks.
Money cant breathe and money cant see,
But when I pull out a fiver people listen to me.
Money cant run and money cant walk,
But when I write out a cheque I swear to God I hear money talk.
Money talks and, baby, when youve been bought
You pay attention everytime money talks.
Money talks, money talks.
Money talks and theres no doubt about it
Money talks and we cant live without it,
Whats the point of living unless youve got money?
I just couldnt function without money.
Money talks, money talks,
Money talks, money talks.
Show me an upright respected man
And Ill have him licking my boots when I put money in his hand.
It rots your heart, it gets to your soul,
Before you know where you are youre a slave to the green gold.
Money talks and were the living proof
There aint no limit to what money can do.
Money talks you out of your self-respect,
The more you crave it the cheaper you get.
Money talks, money talks.
Money buys you time and people listen,
Money can buy a smile and make life worth living.
If youre ugly money can improve you.
I just couldnt face the world without mazuma.
Money talks, money talks.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A poem for Wantok about loneliness
Wan
Tok
Wan
Tok
Three
One
Talks
To
A
Tree
One talks to a tree. She has nobody.
The tree talks to her. She has gone crazy.
Isn’t it lonely?
It could be more. It is in fact tragedy.
One two three. One two three.
Want to tree. Want to be a tree.
Want to talk to a tree. Wane to tree.
Wantok talks to a tree. She has nobody.
That could be a phenomenology.
Wantok talks to a tree.
She has nobody.
Birds flew away.
The clouds drift away.
The sun sets on the park
Wantok still stands.
Wantok talks to a tree.
Indeed that is very lonely.
what a tragedy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My American Niece The Talker
She plays with her dolls hours on in
singing them songs that
never end.
Wishing on them when missing
their feet to go to a doctor to
get a sweet treat.
Ever moving she talks walks talks
television on she turns it off
yes she talks
Even after tiredness over takes her
eyes glazed over in rapture
she talks.
Time doesn't matter to the talker of dolls
every one learned to walk and talk.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Pathetic Contenders
clinton she talks like
a conceited maid
in the white house
fighting for a raise
obama he talks like
a man who needs
more assurance
he has improved
though - thanks
to the votes for
coming in
mccain he talks
like a man who
has had it all
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Straight Talk
You say youre well and satisfied,
But your body tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you think or what you want.
She says shes truly gratified,
But her voice tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know how you feel or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
He says hes never petrified,
But his eyes tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you need or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
For you and i.
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
Then the world is one.
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Straight Talk
You say youre well and satisfied,
But your body tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you think or what you want.
She says shes truly gratified,
But her voice tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know how you feel or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
He says hes never petrified,
But his eyes tells me something else.
What is it, baby? tell me, tell me,
Speak up, give it to me straight
Or well never know what you need or what you want.
Unless we teach each other what we really feel,
How are we gonna communicate and get ourselves together?
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
For you and i.
Im watching your body talk,
Im listening to your double talk.
Straight talks the only way,
Straight talks the shortest way
Then the world is one.
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
(straight talks the only way)
(straight talks the shortest way)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bench
Sitting on a bench watching people go by.
Smiles and frowns, Stares and glares
Wondering what they are thinking?
Is it me greeting them one by one
Or me sitting on a bench.
The seat of comfort and distractions
a place to think and read
Feed the birds, Friendly chats
Surprising hellos, A lot of old fellows
wanting the seat, for they are beat!
Everyone's favorite seat
The bench of life
poem by Michael Peterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Man
The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.
Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.
He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.
Everyone spoke about him,
but no one ventured to talk.
Then one day the old man
wasn't on the park bench
and he was nowhere to be seen.
Now a different question was asked.
Day after day, the bench was empty.
Where had the old man gone?
Had he simply passed away?
The questions remained unanswered
because no one ever stopped
to enquire of his name.
I would like to think
that in the dying hours
on the park bench one day
that he had found
what he was waiting for
and then happily he faded away.
12 July 2012
poem by David Harris
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My Secret Garden
I dream of a secret garden
Filled with roses
And a bench that seats two
I dream of a majestic fountain
With sparkling water
That brings life to those near
I dream of a blue sky
That watches over
The beautiful creatures of my world
I dream a dream of romance
That warms you
In a cold, unsafe outside world
I dream this would be real
But I know
That this dream will stay dreamt
poem by John McClay
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Toilet Seats
While I am emulating Keats
My brother fabrics toilet seats,
The which, they say, are works of art,
Aesthetic features of the mart;
So exquisitely are they made
With plastic of a pastel shade,
Of topaz, ivory or rose,
Inviting to serene repose.
Rajahs I'm told have seats of gold,--
(They must, I fear, be very cold).
But Tom's have thermostatic heat,
With sympathy your grace to greet.
Like silver they are neon lit,
Making a halo as you sit:
Then lo! they play with dulset tone
A melody by Mendelssohn.
Oh were I lyrical as Yeats
I would not sing of toilet seats,
But rather serenade a star,--
Yet I must take things as they are.
For even kings must coyly own
Them as essential as a throne:
So as I tug the Muse's teats
I envy Tom his toilet seats.
poem by Robert William Service
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I respect people who feel things passionately. I do. But when someone is a judge, that is not what they should bring to the bench. It is not really passion, except in rare instances, that serves the bench well. It is, rather, an ability to understand the law and follow it.
quote by Charles Schumer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Talks To Rainbows
She's a little lost girl in her own little world
She looks so happy but she seems so sad
ah ah oh yea oh oh oh yea
She's a little lost girl in her own little world
I'd like to help her I'd like to try
ah ah oh yea oh oh oh yea
She talks to birds she talks to angels she talks to trees she talks to bees
She don't talk to me
Talks to the rainbows and to the seas she talks to trees
She don't talk to me
Don't talk to me
You know she drives me outta my mind
You know she drives me outta my head
You know she drives me outta my mind
You know she drives me outta my head
She talks to birds she talks to angels she talks to trees she talks to bees
She don't talk to me
Talks to the rainbows and to the seas she talks to trees
She don't talk to me
Don't talk to me
She's a little lost girl in her own little world
She looks so helpless
song performed by by Ramones from Adios Amigos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the House, Republican prospects have been buoyed by several successful rounds of redistricting, which have sharply reduced the number of competitive seats and given the Republicans a national advantage of at least a dozen seats.
quote by Thomas E. Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Invisible
Did you spot the girl
Who sat all alone,
On a bench in a playground
Outcast and unknown? ......
The mates meet up early
To recall and recite
From the programmes they watched
On the previous night
The girl on the bench
Her eyes dart pensively
She doesn't join in
As she has no tv
The mates meet for break
Strong opinions they share
On what clothes they like
Trends in labels to wear
The girl on the bench
Turns away in her shame
She doesn't join in
Shabby clothes on her frame
The mates meet for lunch
The school rings with loud prattle
The alpha females
Choose a cage they can rattle
The girl on the bench
muted through her own choice
She doesn't join in
scared of her own small voice
The mates have a moan
At their parents restrictions
Loving guardian's angst
They interpret as friction.
The girl on the bench
Knows the deal she's been dealt
She doesn't join in
Little love has she felt
The mates gather up
Final bell has been rung
The school empties out
All except one...........
The girl on the bench
Sadly stands and walks home
How she longs to fit in
And not feel so alone.
poem by Stevie Taite
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