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The Gap
Distracted, ears filled
with gossip, with chattering
laughter, hissing pots,
baroque music.
This chair's too hard.
My small table's streaked
and sticky,
twisting veins
of old, spilled
coffee.
I seek silence.
Where else to find it
but here,
under this too-
bright spot-
light?
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Size is immaterial.
The ass has large ears;
The horse has small ears.
The horse looks good.
The rat has small ears;
The rabbit has big ears.
The rabbit looks good.
Which ear- large or small,
Stands for beauty?
12.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rabid Child
Lord, please dont take me away.
Rabid child stays at home, talks on a cb
Truckers pass calling out their handles to the kid
Chess piece face and the big duluth call her every day
Hammer down and rabbit ears are the only words they know
Hammer down
Hammer down, rabbit ears
Hammer down, rabbit ears
Hammer down, rabbit ears, hammer down
If you pass the rabid child say hammer down for me
The rabid child
The rabid child
The rabid child
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You may cook in small pots aw well as in large ones.
Pals
Take a hold now
On the silver handles here,
Six silver handles,
One for each of his old pals.
Take hold
And lift him down the stairs,
Put him on the rollers
Over the floor of the hearse.
Take him on the last haul,
To the cold straight house,
The level even house,
To the last house of all.
The dead say nothing
And the dead know much
And the dead hold under their tongues
A locked-up story.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Pushing One Leg Anne
Push me
through the avenue of trees
Anne said
I'm pissed off with the kids
asking how I lost my leg
and so you pushed
the wheelchair
along the avenue
out of sight of others
away from their childish chatters
and ball games
and cries of want and woes
go on you skinny arse
push push
she muttered
and you pushed on the handles
with all your might
over the dry grass
and she rocked
up and down
and side to side
until she bellowed
this will do small fellow
rest me here
and you let go
of the handles
and puffed for breath
and looked at her
sitting there
in the wheelchair
with her bright eyes
and black hair
and she pulled
your hand towards her
and laid it on her one leg
and said
that's your reward
for pushing me
and she rubbed your hand
over the red skirt
the soft texture
warming the skin
you watched her hand
holding yours
her other hand holding
the side of the chair
sensing her softness
beneath the hardness
and brashness
but saying nothing
just taking in
the sensations and newness
and she said
just as well Matron
hasn't seen this
or it'd give her
such a flush
and she laughed
and let go of your hand
and your hand lingered
over her thigh
like a bird set free
waiting to take
to the sky.
poem by Terry Collett
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Gypsy Tinker's unmask face
The old man is travelling along the road and his menders of pots and pans.
Besides money he collects meals as goodwill from the goody-goodies to his starving family.
There are leakages in his pots and pans but he neglects to mend them.
Whoever comes to his shack?
Wholeheartedly who agrees his plight?
If the Nobel prize they decided to grant for a spontaneous smile?
The priority should go to this unsophisticated soul.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song: One Hard Look
Small gnats that fly
In hot July
And lodge in sleeping ears,
Can rouse therein
A trumpet's din
With Day-of-Judgement fears.
Small mice at night
Can wake more fright
Than lions at midday.
An urchin small
Torments us all
Who tread his prickly way.
A straw will crack
The camel's back,
To die we need but sip,
So little sand
As fills the hand
Can stop a steaming ship.
One smile relieves
A heart that grieves
Though deadly sad it be,
And one hard look
Can close the book
That lovers love to see--
poem by Robert Graves
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You cook vegetable soup
You cook vegetable soup
and I look at you
while you cut green beans,
carrots, onions, celery, parsley
and tomatoes into two pots.
There are herbs, spices
and pepper that you are scattering
and two types of soup powder
that you throw in
and the pots steam and buzz
while I am washing the dishes
and the smell
makes me hungry
and I wonder
if the soup
are going to taste as good
as it smells.
We drink tee
and there’s medicine
that you give for flu
to me
and it’s great
to be with you
to read the look
in your beautiful eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Drought and famine..
The drought here is intolerable,
Find no water in few weeks,
The desert is cooler at night,
Moving reptiles water slight,
Power suit human talk climate,
Change and the glacier afloat,
Hearing that feel thirstier,
tipping of cigarette buds, hotter,
Throwing the cover of sweets,
Arrival of tiny pests, uninvited,
Drought in the middle of the mall,
In the middle of the town and hall,
Where the Chinese pots are kept,
All in a row in soil are the plants,
Silent roots dig no more for water,
Drought is declared in the pots,
Where human find no time,
To water these pitiful shrubs,
Where human fail to see the living,
Waiting for water with hope,
Where human throw the empty bottles,
Those collect the trash keep the pots clean.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything has two handles,--one by which it may be borne another by which it cannot.
Six-Toed Tina
There was a young queen who knew a boy's love,
who ruled a great yard and led a small pride.
From her extra toes to her noble ears,
she was incongruent in scope and size.
Yet her purr was the world to one odd child,
for whom every word was a bur unfair.
Calico and beige, with a mange unfair,
she appeared unkept and bereft of love.
Even the boy, so different a child,
was led astray by his diffident pride,
and couldn't quite take her strange paws and size,
until loving rubs made him scratch her ears.
Satiny soft- those tall Bastet-like ears-
made her nightly hunts endeavors unfair,
for Tina teased out sounds tiny in size-
even large rodents in the throes of love-
and dragged them writhing to the grateful pride,
who devoured them whole in front of the child.
Then something died deep inside that strange child,
as a slate of new sounds pricked up his ears.
He sought sensation and elusive pride-
baring it all yet becoming unfair.
Cool was he, and insensitive to love,
paying no heed to it's presence or size.
Yes, women- not felines- zero in size-
became the prize for this once awkward child,
who delighted himself in faking love
'til news of Tina at last touched his ears,
and life was again an affair unfair,
ruled by the cruel and their f***ed up pride.
So clutching her image, he faced the pride,
dreaming of justice, caliber and size,
and what he'd do to those humans unfair-
but now he was grown and not a small child,
and his soul soon mellowed as did his ears.
He'd bury poor Tina and try to love.
Dark days unfair would again test his pride,
but knowing of love would limit their size,
and the child moved on with enlightened ears.
poem by Taylor Rosewood
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Small Talk
Its not the chapters he reads when youre feeling low down
Its not the touch of his skin when you kiss him goodnight
Its not the money he spends when you want to buy a daydream
And not that miracle smile that makes the sky bright
Its not the way his hands behave
When youve turned out the light
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you want to fly, yes it does
Its not the way he believes in you like a religion
Its not the thrill that you get when hes holding you tight
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen (just like that)
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
Information, heart and soul, a whisper, a word
Confessions that have to be heard
Small small talk
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you make it rock so heavenly
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you seem to talk so heavenly
Big words...
Small talk...
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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