If you were to climb up on your desk, walk around behind your monitor and lean way over so you could see the screen, you'd be able to read ""Wordplay"" just as easily as you could sitting in your chair.
quote by John Langdon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wish For Release
Scared to return to the office to sit
in a chair that does not meet the
need for a correct sitting position
as the desk is too high for the office
chair I bought myself and the bar
stool I have is causing neck-ache
I don't know who to ask and where
to go to get my work station fixed
and raise the computer screen so
my head is not forced to hang down
and increase the pain in my neck,
I receive medication to force
my brain to ignore the pain
Will this help me to sit in the wrong
position until I am dead in my chair?
I ardently wish for release in what-
ever way if I cannot be freed from
the chair and the pain...
Saturday 21 June 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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This Early Morning With You Talking And Talking
regret, it is with deep regret that i tell you
that i regret sitting on this
computer chair
and facing the screen
and i am here writing for you
as you talk and talk
and talk and talk
like a quacking duck
oh Adam did not lay eggs,
or have the temerity to hatch them and so the chickens came first
how nice of you
regret that is all i feel now
i could have gone
out and take my walk
i could have read
the most wonderful poetry
of the trail
the line of green mahogany trees
blooming with their summer leaves
the sun finally coming out
with an array of clouds
and white herons
gliding and landing
on ricefields
and grasses creeping
and covering
the mud and the stones
indeed, it would have
been lovelier that way
and i should have
been happier
than simply sitting
and writing
and feeling
what poetry should
not be
this early morning
with you
what a hell!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Write Place
I have a desk at which to write
but I prefer my old arm chair
It is so comfortable, just right
I usually do my writing there.
I have a pc which I use
mainly to edit and correct
The quick outpourings of my muse
as do most poets I suspect.
A pad and pencil are my tools
I use modern technology
but stick to my old fashioned rules
when I’m composing poetry
My desk is very nearly bare
but books abound by my arm chair.
21-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Two Cats Warm
A cat, tabby and tomcat charming
Reclines watchfully on the left
On a desk that once was my daughters but nows
Hides my books and holds
My fan, and frames the window
Black cat crowds me back in my chair
Curving C that never minds
The taby after a spit and spat
In the middle is Artificial Means
By Christine Lavin tapped out
On Second Monitor waits
And the taby washes himself
As I begin my Sensitive New Age Guys
As one taby foot rests on the arm of my chair
Yellow eyes
Pink tongue
Content, now that Black Cat left
And jumps back, shifting back to the top of my
Novel to be
Printer
Forgiveness.
poem by Charlotte Ballard
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How Long Is Short Time
How long or short is Time?
Got up early sat on a chair not reading or watching TV,
time has been running too fast lately into the sand
of a desert that doesn’t bloom; must slow time down
to a trickle. After breakfast I went for a walk and took
no interest in what I saw, back in my chair looking at
the clock, yes the forenoon was endless and I was
hungry, and finally lunch. In the afternoon I went for
another walk, didn’t buy a paper I only get engrossed
in what I read and time flies. Back home I sat in my chair
watched a dipteral circle around, fell asleep and when
I awoke it was seven in the evening, time I had saved
that day had been wasted by me snoozing in a chair.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Wordplay
I've been all around the world
I've been a new sensation
But it doesn't really matter
In this generation
The sophomore slump is an uphill battle
And someone said that in my scene
'Cause they need a new song
Like a new religion
Music for the television
I can't do the long division
Someone do the math
For the record label puts me on the shelf up in the freezer
Got to find another way to live the life of leisure
So I drop my top
Mix and I mingle
Is everybody ready for the single and it goes...
(chorus)
Ha La La La La
Now listen closely to the verse I lay
(Ha La La La La)
It's all about the wordplay
(Ha La La La Love)
The wonderful thing it does
Because, because
I am the wizard of ooh's and ah's and fa-la-la's
Yeah the Mister A-Z
They say I'm all about the wordplay
And it's time to get ill I got your remedy
For those who don't remember me
Well let me introduce you to my style
I try to keep a jumble
And the lyrics never mumble
When the music's makin' people tongue-tied
You want a new song
Like a new religion
Music for the television
I can't do the long division
Someone do the math
For the poeple write me off like I'm a one-hit wonder
Got to find another way to keep from goin' under
Pull out the stops
Got your attention
I guess it's time again for me to mention
The wordplay
(chorus)
I built a bridge across the stream of consciousness
It always seems to be a flowin'
But I don't which way my brain is goin'
Oh the ryhmin' and the timin'
Keeps the melodies inside me
And they're comin'
Til I'm running out of air
Are you prepared to take a dive into the deep end of my head
Are you listening to a single word I've said
Ha La La La La
Listen closely to the words I say
Ha La La La La
I'm sticken' to the wordplay
Ha La La La Love
The wonderful thing it does
Because, because
I am the wizard of ooh's and ah's and fa-la-la's
Yeah the Mister A-Z
They say I'm all about the wordplay
Ha La La La La
I'm all about the wordplay
Ha La La La La
Stickin' with the wordplay
Ha La La La Love
I love the wonderful thing it does
Because, because
The ooh's and ah's and fa-la-la's fall back in love
For the Mister A-Z they say
Is all about the wordplay
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A House Is Not A Home
(burt bacharach / hal david)
A chair is still a chair
Even though theres no-one sitting there
But a chair is not a house
And a house is not a home
When theres no-one there to hold you tight
And no-one there you can kiss goodnight
A room is still a room
Even though theres nothing there but gloom
But a room is not a house
And a house is not a home
When the two of us are far apart
And one of us has a broken heart
Now and then I call your name
And suddenly your voice appears
But its just a crazy game
When it ends, it ends in tears
Darling, have a heart
Dont let one mistake keep us apart
Im not meant to live alone
Turn this house into a home
When I climb the stairs
And turn the key
Oh, please be there
Still in love with me
Im not meant to live alone
Turn this house into a home
When I climb the stairs
And turn the key
Oh, please be there
Still in love with me
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodby Mass
Sitting on a hard chair try to sit straight
Sitting on a hard chair this moment won't wait
Listening to the speakers they're talking about you
Look at all the people all the people you know
Sitting with my back straight it becomes hard to hear
Some people are crying it becomes hard to hear
I don't think you'd have liked it you would have made a joke
You would have made it easier you'd say "tomorrow I'm smoke"
Sitting on a hard chair how far we have come
Trying hard to listen to your friends who have come
Some of them are famous and some are just like me
Trying hard to listen trying hard to see
Sitting in a hard chair it's over time to stand
Some people are crying I turn to grab your hand
It's your daughter saying thank you
You, you would have made a joke
"Isn't this something," you say, "tomorrow I'm smoke
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Four Three
the bank so crowded.
Usually I am lazy,
queued in crowded.
took my pension.
Queue hour and hour.
to wait
in front the monitor screen
was waiting for the official teller
shouted called my number,
'one four three! '
I rose from the chair of my place
to be waiting for hours.
Afterwards put forward
the savings book
that already amount
was written
in order to make
ends meet
every a month.
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goodby Mass - In A Chapel Bodily Termination
Sitting on a hard chair try to sit straight
Sitting on a hard chair this moment wont wait
Listening to the speakers theyre talking about you
Look at all the people all the people you knew
Sitting with my back straight it becomes hard to hear
Some people are crying it becomes hard to hear
I dont think youd have liked it you would have made a joke
You would have made it easier youd say tomorrow Im smoke
Sitting on a hard chair how far we have come
Trying hard to listen to your friends who have come
Some of them are famous and some are just like me
Trying hard to listen trying hard to see
Sitting in a hard chair its over time to stand
Some people are crying I turn to grab your hand
Its your daughter saying thank you, you, you would have made a joke
Isnt this something, you say, tomorrow Im smoke
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vissions From My Window
Pollution, death and dispair
vissions from my window, sitting on my chair
Endless disease surrounds our air
vissions from my window, sitting on my chair
Every minute gone by, worser conditions
many believe, they are solved with petitions
Lesser accolades, for a job well done
hospitality fading, generosity gone
Tensions growing, can be cut with a knife
education failing, changing our life
Brung on by people who do not care
brung on by people who wont play fair
Vissions from my window, sitting on my chair.
poem by White Tiger
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The Book
Standing at the door, to your room, I lean against the frame,
I am frozen, I whisper your name.
The chair at the desk, where you always sat, to work
is in place, unmoved, in the dark.
I sigh, holding my breathe, I switch on the light
I say your name, adjust my eyes to the sight.
Everything is in its place, unmoved, just waiting
on your return, digital clock on desk blinking
in even rhythm, as time moves on,
unaware, uncaring that you are gone.
on the wall, family pictures of the past
moments in time, captured, held fast.
Afraid to break the silence, to enter the room, I wait
and for a moment I pretend you are just late,
that I will turn as I hear your footsteps on the stair
and see you standing, smiling, blue eyes full of care.
and then, that moment, that hope, has past
one heavy foot forward, I enter the room at last.
An inspiration, to me, to all of us, friends and family
you dealt with your illness, with strength and dignity,
I can still hear your laughter, your silly jokes,
remembering your love for books and gadgets.
reminiscing, I notice on your desk, a book
lying open, page marked, I move to have a look
As I read I start to smile, your last message,
the lyrics from Life of Brian, a circled passage
'Always look on the Bright side of Life'
for my children and my wife.
poem by Julie Duff
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Not Here To Monitor, Edit Or Censor
'Why is it,
Some of your writings I can easily access.
And others I can not?
And why the inconsistency,
Of your name on diffent lists? '
I write, submit, that's it.
There is enough I have on my mind,
Than trying to figure out...
The logic of someone's organization.
I am not here to monitor, edit or censor.
Not getting enough rest,
Is what I do best.
I have written everyday since the age of seven.
And there are still naysayers who believe,
I can not chew gum and walk at the same time...
Without being assisted.
I am a writer.
I do not critique.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Taj
the screen of the
computer monitor if it has thoughts i guess
may think that i am crazy
smiling at nobody, nobody, but
(don't laugh)
me...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jim Jim
jim jim
your ever so prim
sitting there in your chair
making fun as you do
wondering what next to do
jim jim
you're a fun friend
thank you for being there
evn thow your just sitting there
jim jim
your ever so prim
just sitting there inont know
your chair
whats next you ask to do
oh i dont know
lets have a brew
maybe then you can tell me all
whats going on
oh lets have a ball
jim jim
your fun to know
you make me laugh
did you know
jim jim your ever so prim.
for my friend jim mcElderry...(x-factor winners dad) ...the end
poem by Christina McIntosh
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Thinking I Was There to be The Only One!
She enjoyed her men packed.
He enjoyed his women stacked...
And full of chested love,
Kept bared
But they were not demonstrative.
And no one ever strayed...
To betray what they had together.
Who gave what and why is the question.
And who learned what lesson from this?
'You all are being too delusional'.
She enjoyed her men packed.
He enjoyed his women stacked...
And full of chested love,
Kept bared.
Preferences and prerequisites.
Sitting on a desk somewhere,
Collecting dust.
With references preferred,
And none to spare.
Mixed with preferences that are dated and timed.
These are new visions on the horizon,
Of my sunset?
And I'm a one on one kind!
With prerequisites.
Sitting on a desk somewhere,
Collecting dust.
And I'm thinking her kiss is for us.
When she has him and me on her mind...
For lust!
At the same time?
'Poppa don't arch his back for that! '
Preferences and prerequisites.
Sitting on a desk somewhere,
Collecting dust.
With references preferred,
And none to spare.
And I'm thinking her kiss is for us.
When she has him and me on her mind...
For lust!
Preferences and prerequisites.
Sitting on a desk somewhere,
Collecting dust.
With references preferred,
And none to spare.
She enjoyed her men packed.
He enjoyed his women stacked...
And full of chested love,
Kept bared
But for him.
Not for the whims she dared to expose.
I never thought I would think of her,
As a cheap 'ho'!
And There I stood.
Hiding in the bushes while another man,
Made her squeal louder than I could.
Louder than a man's man can.
Preferences and prerequisites.
Sitting on a desk somewhere,
Collecting dust.
With references preferred,
And none to spare.
Thinking I was there to be the only one!
Thinking no one like me could do her.
'And then...
Like a miracle,
You found your ass awakened!
Right? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Chair Don't make the Man
People see me in this chair and whisper look at that poor man over there. They believe my life is wasted all because I’m in this chair. Well I got some to say that I want you all to hear. Just like clothes don’t really make a man neither does a chair. The chair is just what I use to get me for here to there. Just like people who walk use their legs to get them everywhere. Because besides the chair I’m just like you; I laugh, I cry and yes I have sex too. Now that you all know the next time you see me don’t whisper look at that poor man over there. In fact don’t say anything just remember the chair don’t make the man.
Bedtime Song
Who would you could find:
Maybe a month to monitor closely
your every sleepless night,
bring it down shutters and you do not mind
shining light in the dark.
Or sunlight at dawn to
only illuminate your sleeping room.
Turn and continue to sleep.
When you wake up, you see the light at the screen.
A small message that you are eagerly awaiting.
You did not come to understand:
And she has found that.
You read: SONG FOR GOOD NIGHT.
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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Prima Vera (Spring)
The westerly has ceased it doesn't get
dark before seven, time for evening walks,
and let stillness read my thoughts.
Under a carob tree three stones one on
top of the other and old man sat here,
he saw everything till he lost his shadow.
No one sit on his throne, like sitting on
a tombstone, the stone-chair belongs to
him, his everlasting memorial.
Time to walk home, feel hungry,
the mundane always takes precedence.
Spring is here and life is beautiful.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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If Only
With great sorrow I read these lines
over and over: ‘Your body is a pure
reflection of the balance of thoughts
that you think' - a headache caused
by my addiction to taste and quick
pick-me-ups; attempts to break this
enslavement by sitting still without
sensory stimulation except for
words on paper and a screen with
pictures in between - terms which
do not sing, meaning unrelated to
spelling & sound is all that counts
The only sensation the unalloyed
boredom of being ensconced on
a high chair to straighten my back
only the air-con's soft susurration
And voices - relaying information on
work problems - if only I had access
to metaphysical thoughts to lift me
up like a spiritual Indian Fakir
My body would have been happy to
exist in limbo without experiencing
any kind of sensory stimulation, a
sense of taste is the only thing
That makes me think I'm alive - the
official lines on death, destruction
and fraud leave me cold - dead
in my chair - dying some more
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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