It was so quiet that morning in Paris that the heels of my two companions and myself were loud on the deserted pavements. It was a city of shuttered shops, and barred windows, and deserted avenues.
quote by Philip Gibbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am Not Alone
The night, it is deserted
from the mountains to the sea.
But I, the one who rocks you,
I am not alone!
The sky, it is deserted
for the moon falls to the sea.
But I, the one who holds you,
I am not alone !
The world, it is deserted.
All flesh is sad you see.
But I, the one who hugs you,
I am not alone!
poem by Gabriela Mistral
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Deserted Heart
The
Deserted heart
Found a new owner today
And that deserted heart
Belongs to me
So now I feel that
I have to give some love
For the deserted heart
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Deserted House
Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide.
Careless tenants they!
All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.
Close the door; the shutters close;
Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.
Come away: no more of mirth
Is here or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.
Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;
But in a city glorious -
A great and distant city -have bought
A mansion incorruptible.
Would they could have stayed with us!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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I am Lost Now
Thoughts of Nothing
Thoughts of Darkness
No Dreams or Goals
No Hopes or Spirit
Only the Remnants of a soul remain
Tattered and Torn, No hope of Revival
I am lost to my self
I am lost to all
Deserted me, my friends have
Deserted me, my soul has
Deserted me, all for a Dream
I am Lost Now
Oh so Lost
No one to run to
No where to go
My only wish is to disappear from memory
To be lost in the depths of time, and space
For I am an Empty bottle
Cast aside without a second thought
poem by Brad Combs
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Small Town U.S.A
Pizza parlors,
muffler shops
7 Elevens
and I-hops
Boarded windows,
shuttered stores
Cracked windows,
unlocked doors
Dry cleaners,
Laundromats
Empty motels
Vacant flats
One street towns
No traffic lights
No city sounds
Few family fights
Friendly dogs
Friendlier people
Highest thing
Grey slate steeple
Houses with porches
rustic family farm
Weather vanes on roofs
Old American charm
Grain silos
Rusty water tower
Windmills
Water power
Sincere supplication
Sunday school prayer
Organ music, seeping out
Rising into clover scented air
Small town America
Barns and bales of hay
People still say “Good Morning”…in
…Small town U.S.A…
poem by David Whalen
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Isolated
There are days when you feel,
you’re on a beach on a deserted island
with no one to talk to,
no one answers your telephone calls,
just an answering machine at the other end,
and don’t you just hate talking to machines,
no individuality and no spirit there.
On the internet, someone is available,
but no one replies to you
and suddenly you get that feeling
you’ve been deserted by everyone.
Your emails are never answered
and you wonder what you’ve said.
No one wants to chat to you
for some reason or another.
You get to feel that you’re isolated
within your own little sphere
and really, there is no one out there.
Finally, you work yourself up
to thinking no one really cares
and you are just isolated
on a deserted island of your own
in the middle of nowhere.
You then begin to pray someone
will answer one of your calls
and drive the desolation away.
21 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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The Leaking Roof
it is raining and here i am stuck
under the roof of a deserted house
the windows are open
nobody has come to close four windows
looking to the street like an insomniac,
the door is creaky like a sore throat
sounding like an incurable allergic sneeze
the crazy wind bangs it from time to time
and i do not mind the routine of noise
for a while a walk to and fro
like i am making a picket
observing the details of how a deserted house
can look like
or feel like: there seems to be a growling silence
abbreviating itself like a scream
cut short by my hands kept inside my pocket
i look up and see the leaking roof
making a rhythm of the dripping beat
of this poem.
i have nothing in mind, i am empty
and emptying still. I take in so much quantity
of silence, the weight of thoughts,
the silly purposeless probe
of what i am suppose to be and where i must be going
after this temporariness of loafing.
The rain stops. I am leaving.
The rhythm ceases.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pavements
there are traces on the pavements
there are eyes on the pavements
sadly looking at us
pavements are like history on strata and decaying leaves
there are booksful of words on the pavements
on the pavements
there are faces
ı haVE BEEN ACquı Nted with
looking at me lonely and sadly
the pavements look as they have come from above
and constructed there
on the pavements
there are many memories carved
there are lonely traces on the pavements
there are eyes on the pavements
we tread on
ı have acquinted with... faces look at me sadly and lonely
the pavements must have drunk from various waters
from many sourCes and fountains
who guesses who passed and gone on this pavements?
there are traces on the pavements
there are faces on the pavements
looking at me..lonely and sadly
when ı walk
and stroll on them lonely and slowly and slowly
Ali TÜRK KESKİ N Translatı on Metin SAHİ N
poem by Metin Sahin
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Brandon
THE house is empty, and the garden alley,
A shadowed aisle of linden and of yew,
A marble vase, a glimpse of river-valley
Translucent white against transparent blue -
A mystery of boxwood and of byway,
Beneath barred windows and unopened door,
And far below the river like a highway
Sweeps on, but brings no travelers any more.
Beauty alone is constant; where she chooses
A dwelling-place, there would she ever stay;
Fortune and friends and fashion though it loses,
Beauty more faithful does not pass away,
But most deserted, most herself she seems
Left to her deep and solitary dreams.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Spring Song
ALL winter through I sat alone,
Doors barred and windows shuttered fast,
And listened to the wind's faint moan,
And ghostly mutterings of the past;
And in the pauses of the rain,
'Mid whispers of dead sorrow and sin,
Love tapped upon the window pane:
I had no heart to let him in.
But now, with spring, my doors stand wide;
My windows let delight creep through;
I hear the skylark sing outside;
I see the crocus, golden new.
The pigeons on my window-sill,
Winging and wooing, flirt and flout,--
Now Love must enter if he will,
I have no heart to keep him out.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Cafe Prague.
Cream coloured coffee
And hot buttered toast
August sunshine
A packet of cigarettes
Talks on love and life
Friends and strangers all together
Days of summer
Seated on outside chairs
Tears and laughter
Mixed in the air
Of the perfect day just us and them
Cafe pavements
The world at view
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Used coffee cups
And ashtrays too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Trendy young girls
And the wannabe author
Auster, Adams and Mr. Salinger
Days of dreaming
The perfect film
In view for all to see
Hello, hello
So good to see you
Was it twelve?
Or maybe it was two
I’ll sit and wait
And think of you
Cafe pavements
For me and you
Pairs, Rome and cafe Prague
Dirty spoons and knives
And glasses too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Teacups and Earl grey
And ice cream sundaes
Black and white life
In full technicolour
Light my cigarette
And I’ll listen all day
Sunshine days
Storm clouds - away
The table over there
Just a smiling man
For today - all alone
Waiting his time
Cafe pavements
The world today
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Beautiful Ladies
And business gents
Paris, Rome and Cafe Prague
Student cameras
And picture painting
Hollywood lifestyle
In the common street
Brando, Dean and Al Pacino
Next to you and me
See you later
Maybe tomorrow
Give me a ring
And we’ll make a date
I’ll sit and think
And wait for you
Cafe pavements
For meetings and lunch
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Perfect tables
And used up chairs
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
poem by Patrick Sant
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For You To Know
I am lonely here like a deserted room
In the city
My windows refuse the orange moon
The sad calls only
Of the sea
Keep penetrating
My writing table has not grown words
Of beautiful shapes
Stunted scribblings only
By the wooden walls
And the lizards’ trails
On the hot ceiling
Keep streaking
such weird
acidity
stinking sticking
the day rains detest
this happening
i am waste liquid
splattered on cold floors
fetid urine
slowly drying throughout summer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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59
for you to know
I am lonely here like a deserted room
In the city
My windows refuse the orange moon
The sad calls only
Of the sea
Keep penetrating
My writing table has not grown words
Of beautiful shapes
Stunted scribblings only
By the wooden walls
And the lizards’ trails
On the hot ceiling
Keep streaking
such weird
acidity
stinking sticking
the day rains detest
this happening
i am waste liquid
splattered on cold floors
fetid urine
slowly drying throughout summer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kind Paris
Kind Paris
under my feet.
The clack of heels
on a cobblestone walk
along the river
encompassed with concepts
from centuries of artists.
The streets,
they sing,
with the accordian
and accoustic.
Kind Paris
under my feet
and my theatrical
and melodic tapping
of heels on wet cobblestones.
poem by Erica Francis
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I would love to hear all types of Christian artists played all over the world. I'd love to hear good, positive mainstream music played all over the place. I'd love to be able to bring music together. But I have not deserted Christ. I have not deserted my faith.
quote by Stacie Orrico
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely & Alone
Lonely when someone feels
Alone is he the only one
He thinks
Never is it the true
For the one is
Always preoccupied
With thoughts and whelms
With friends and foes
With good and bad
Which is always inside the one?
So he should never think of himself
As the one lonely and alone
Who is left deserted in the world
The redeeming feature is that
The lonely and alone is always
The one surrounded with people
And friends and foes
Where he is always left deserted when
He needs them most.
poem by Surabhi Gupta
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Love Is Just A Visitor
Polished darkness groomed for a city
A city of pain
A city of games
A city that will blow your mind
Strangers are libraries
Ships of Venus by the moon
We wrestle with visitors
The normal is tragic and boring
Don’t you love a city at night?
Recluse in the lights
Confused like jazz
She walks into my life like a church
Now I am on my knees
Eclectic as Paris
Driven with the ambition of libido
The streets of Manhattan
Shops in the Village
Coffee like cocaine
She paints like Hendrix was alive
Central Park like Jackson Pollack
She says, “Baby, love is just a visitor
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Murmuring Night
i stroll along
the stray pavements
of crowded and deserted
pathways staring about
like an insomniac doll
if i look confused
if what i speak
lacks clarity
it's because
i'm searching
i'm searching
for life and love
i know it's futility
as much as you do
i once tasted love and life
in fleeting moments though
now
under night's
blanketed sleeplessness
in stoic silence, i murmur...
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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I Love Paris
Every time I look down on this timeless town,
Whether blue or gray be her skies,
Whether loud be her cheers, or whether soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize that...
I love paris in the spring time
I love paris in the fall
I love paris in the summer when it sizzles
I
Love paris in the winter when it drizzles
I love paris every moment
Every moment of the year
I love
Paris, why oh why do I love paris
Because my love is here
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Paris
Nat king cole
(cole porter)
(can-can)
Every time I look down on this timeless town
Whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize:
I love paris in the springtime.
I love paris in the fall.
I love paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love paris in the summer when it sizzles.
I love paris every moment,
Every moment of the year.
I love paris, why, oh why do I love paris?
Because my love is near.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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