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Little Boxes
Every time we move,
we pack our little things in boxes,
and some inside our mind.
These are the special things;
we do no want to leave behind.
The special things we have,
that spell out love there.
The precious things we own,
that hold so many memories there,
whether they be large or small.
The little boxes we pack,
we make them all secure,
and mark them handle with care.
For nothing can replace,
the precious things we have there.
(20 June 2007)
poem by David Harris
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Boxes
On our first date he told me of
the box,
‘Pandora's Box',
would I have him open it or not?
Would I let him go that far?
Should we wait a while?
Would I let him lift the lid?
This kind of made me smile.
Boxes were his weapons
for such a life he'd led,
and to frighten little souls like mine
he'd wrapped a box to send.
What would I find within it,
what would its inners be?
Would I find some demons
or would I find a key?
So I thought on this a moment
and then I answered thus,
'If I asked you that question
would you hesitate or trust? '
With this he shrugged his shoulders,
he grinned and winked his eye.
'I'm not frightened of mere boxes
I dare you, do or die! '
So I told him 'Open it,
let its dust spill out.
for whatever lay beneath its lid
would edify, no doubt."
So he spilled out all its secrets
of pranks and devilry,
of worldliness and foolishness
like an artist's gallery.
I listened with wide eyes
to this colourful display
until the torrent ceased
and he put the box away.
Most people have their boxes
some large some very small
but the saddest people in the world
don't have a box at all.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Only Within Their Reach
Many living inside their boxes,
Peek.
Not realizing dust collects,
Under their feet.
Or there is fresh air outside,
To breathe.
Although they believe,
The sky above them...
Is only within their reach.
And they from within their boxes...
Have the right to dictate,
How high others should fly...
At what height and pace.
And which dreams those they choose,
Are approved to seek.
As well as the ones they can also deny.
Although they secretly wish,
Their insecurities would free them...
To experience such ambitions.
But fearing many living inside their boxes,
Peek.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Elegy to Imagination
It seems it was just yesterday
When a tree
Was not a tree
Trees were in fact
Giants
Was it really that long ago
When my daddy
Was not only a daddy
But a superhero
A knight in shining armor
And a horse, all in one day
And boxes
Oh how wonderful they were
They were cars
And houses and trains
And beds and so much more
But now,
A tree is a tree
My dad is a dad
And a box
Sadly
Is a box
Where hath this imagination gone?
When did it disappear?
I'm not completely sure
Somewhere between childhood
And the present
But I have a passport
Back to the imagination
Of my childhood
When it gets dark
And the walls close in
At least my jacket
Is not a jacket
For a split second
It is a monster
But after a split second
I run out of time
And I am back
To the reality
That jackets are jackets
And boxes are boxes
Oh, how i miss
When boxes were train
poem by Mollie Myers
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People have to talk about something just to keep their voice boxes in working order so they'll have good voice boxes in case there's ever anything really meaningful to say.
quote by Kurt Vonnegut
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Study In Aesthetics
The very small children in patched clothing,
Being smitten with an unusual wisdom,
Stopped in their play as she passed them
And cried up from their cobbles:
Guarda! Ahi, guarda! Ch’ è be’ a!
But three years after this
I heard the young Dante, whose last name I do not
know--
For there are, in Sirmione, twenty-eight young Dantes
and thirty-four Catulli;
And there had been a great catch of sardines,
And his elders
Were packing them in the great wooden boxes
For the market in Brescia, and he
Leapt about, snatching at the bright fish
And getting in both of their ways;
And in vain they commanded him to stafermo!
And when they would not let him arrange
The fish in the boxes
He stroked those which were already arranged,
Murmuring for his own satisfaction
This identical phrase:
Ch’ è be’ a
And at this I was mildly abashed.
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Value of You
Never did I realize my need
To have you around
Never did I show appreciation of you
Never did I realize the value
Of your in-put
As spiritual guide or other
Never did I see your worth
Words were not enough
I knew you were hurting
I felt your pain
Never could I express myself
With all the negativity around
All issues were placed in boxes
And so were you
Never did I know where to place you
Now with all the other boxes gone
I know where you belong
poem by Persian Khushi
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What You Mean to Me
The Value of You
Never did I realize my need
To have you around
Never did I show appreciation of you
Never did I realize the value
Of your in-put
As spiritual guide or other
Never did I see your worth
Words were not enough
I knew you were hurting
I felt your pain
Never could I express myself
With all the negativity around
All issues were placed in boxes
And so were you
Never did I know where to place you
Now with all the other boxes were gone
I know where you belong
poem by Persian Khushi
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Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing.
quote by John Mayer
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Diamonds In The Mine
The woman in blue, shes asking for revenge,
Man in white -- thats you -- says he has no friends.
The river is swollen up with rusty cans
And the trees are burning in your promised land.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.
Well, you tell me that your lover has a broken limb,
You say youre kind of restless now and its on account of him.
Well, I saw the man in question, it was just the other night,
He was eating up a lady where the lions and christians fight.
And there are no letters in the mailbox
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in the mine.
(you tell them now)
Ah, there is no comfort in the covens of the witch,
Some very clever doctor went and sterilized the bitch,
And the only man of energy, yes the revolutions pride,
He trained a hundred women just to kill an unborn child.
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
Oh no, there are no, no grapes upon your vine,
And there are, there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in your mine,
And there are no letters in the mailbox,
And there are no grapes upon the vine,
And there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
And there are no diamonds in your mine.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Hands
In lack of
red,
I paint
you in
blue. I do
put
away the knife
in the chest
of drawers.
The clothes are
clean
in the closet
under the bed
old
photographs bits of
dust &sweat sighs and moans
are withering,
in boxes.
like long not heard Bach's
toccata.
Staccato fucking and
kissing miracles
two familiar
faces are, stuck in
the boxes.
Here,
long
nothing's happening.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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Having no ointment and box why do you pose as hairdresser.
A good name is better than precious ointment.
Moving
There’s confusion to find things,
to prepare the kitchen, the rooms
when the hallway and lounge,
the garage is standing full of boxes
and we are like nomads,
as if every thing is ready
for the next removal
while we find small treasures,
precisely plan how to arrange our house,
our new life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Time cures the sick man, not the ointment.
Underlined
My mother, that once
wrapped Christmas gifts
and candy for all of us
tells me about how money
is scarce.
No more
fancy ribbon curling, handwritten
notes, loving sentiment. Her
hands smooth and soft, mastering
the task into the early morning
hours while my father would
comment about her lack of sleep
because of us.
My mother would attach
little notes, her writing round
and curvy, underlining love and
kisses. Months of wrapping and
placing gifts for each child. The
delight of opening them one by
one first on Christmas morning.
.
There is a small corner
by the tree where her gifts
and candy would topple over
The paper and ribbon filling up
the room in sequence. The
music boxes playing sweet
Christmas songs.
And I still have the
Porcelain snowbells and
music boxes,
the little Christmas cards
where she underlined love
and kisses.
poem by Louise Marie DelSanto
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