I grew up with the white picket fence. My dad went to work nine to five, and he had a station wagon.
quote by Matt Dillon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Picket Fence
i've cut off the curls
I shaved half my face
Became half the man you asked to replace.
I'm willing to save you
You said you're worth saving
But half of my appetite's lost half it's craving
Stand in the mirror
That's me beside you
The one with the smile, the one who abides you.
Don't mind the madman
The killer, the lover
He's slowly fading one into the other.
Where is that white picket fence
That i painted myself in the late days of april?
Where are the daffodil mountians?
I know that they're somewhere around here by the garden.
You say that you're happy
Well you should know better
I see that you've sewn up that rip in your sweater
That some lover tore off you
That left you both shaking
That bled deep inside you the wound you'd forsaken
Where is that white picket fence
That i painted myself in the late days of april?
Where are the daffodil mountians?
I know that they're somewhere around here by the garden.
Don't fear i will save you
Don't shout you'll awaken
The corpse in the desert staked out beside you
I cut off his wing
And shaved half his face
But i thought that i saw his eyes...move
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand-Pa's Whim
While for me gapes the greedy grave
It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
To paint our fence.
Yet that is what I aim to do,
Though dim my sight:
Jest paint them aged pickets blue,
Or green or white.
Jest squat serenely in the sun
Wi' brush an' paint,
An' gay them pickets one by one,
--A chore! It ain't.
The job is joy. Although I'm slow
I save expense:
So folks, let me before I go,
Smart that ol' fence.
Them pickets with my hands I made,
When young and spry;
I coloured them a gleeful shade
To glad the eye.
So now as chirpy as a boy,
'Ere I go hence,
Once more let me jest bright to joy
Our picket fence.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walking Along
sad old picket fence you befriend me as i walk by
poem by Jenaphor Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Marriage Is...
Making those dreams of a white picket fence come true
Having a hand to hold
Changing your last name
Not always agreeing, but always working it out
Knowing everything about someone and loving them anyway
Having a grocery shopping partner
Sitting on the front porch complaining about the noisy hooligans next door
Building a relationship with your best friend
poem by Gabriella Jellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Delivering The 'Jabs
My dislike for backstabbers,
Developed many years ago...
When I began to notice,
How easily they were able to do this.
With the use of their lips unseen,
Delivering the 'jabs'.
And...
Had the ability to pretend,
Not to be involved in the process.
While attempting to play innocent.
As they strategically moved,
Back and forth...
From both sides of a picket fence.
Like someone too familiar with doing a tango.
So no one would be aware of steps out of place.
Or the hopping of a fence done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Welcome Wagon
We are the welcome wagon girls
We're here to still your milk
If we drink it, we wont hurl
It goes down smooth as silk
We promise not to take too many
Just the right amount
I'll promise not to let Ms Jenny
Try and do the count
All we need to do right now
Is choose chocolate or white
I know there is a brown cow
But white, that don't seem right
Before we go out thru the doors
Make sure they're not the same
The chocolate's mine, the white is yours
Hey, this sounds like a game
Now the welcome wagon is filled
With milk for one and all
We'll try not to trip and spill
As we venture down the hall
poem by Kevin Seales
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Storm, Momentary, Forever
Then summer said goodbye
to the station. Lifting its cap,
the thunder took souvenirs,
hundreds of shots on the fly.
The lilac went black. And that
instant, gathering whole armfuls
of lightning, the far clearing lit
the white station-master’s shack.
And when the whole roof ran
with a fierce torrent of malice,
and, like charcoal onto a sketch,
the rain crashed down on the fence,
consciousness started to flash,
here, it seems, flooding in play
even the corners of mind
where it’s always bright as day.
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Better Moment
there has never been a better moment
for it is silent
in the isolation is born the seeds of creativity
inspired by the passion for need
a hemisphere contained by the white picket fence
and a garden of words, to reach beyond the sphere of a world we know
boundaries lost, by a driven ambition
simpler days, humbled by the greatness of an oasis
there has never been a better moment
poem by M. Rene Riel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We observe that nothing creates fascists like the threat of freedom. Pleasantville is the kind of parable that encourages us to re-evaluate the good old days and take a fresh look at the new world we so easily dismiss as decadent. Yes, we have more problems. But also more solutions, more opportunities and more freedom. I grew up in the '50s. It was a lot more like the world of Pleasantville than you might imagine. Yes, my house had a picket fence, and dinner was always on the table at a quarter to six, but things were wrong that I didn't even know the words for.
quote by Roger Ebert
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Heart Like A Sad Song
(written by annie roboff and arnie roman)
She loves the ones with all that wounded pride
The ones who carry all that hurt inside
Who never seem to find a place they belong
Shes got a heart like a sad song
And she will give them all the love she can
Even when love wont give her half a chance
And she will stay with them till all hope is gone
Shes got a heart like a sad song
Theres a wedding picture she still keeps
Of the girl she was and the man he seemed to be
He left her the house with the picket fence
And walked away with her innocence
Theres a wedding picture she still keeps
Of the girl she was and the man he seemed to be
He left her the house with the picket fence
And walked away with her innocence
Now from the moment that love comes to call
Shes waiting for that other shoe to fall
Goodbyes the only thing that shes counting on
Oh, shes got a heart like a sad song
Shes got a heart like a sad song
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The wagon
I pushed a wagon through a muddy road
I pushed and I pulled all for naught
The wagon did not move nor did it stir
Its rear wheels stack in the murky mire
I withdraw thinking...
This wagon did not want to see the truth
This is why it will never change course or move
A wagon is a wagon
It trots the roads or be dragged on
It lives its life and endures its truth
It is only me
From whom the truth may hide
This plain truth engraved on a rock
Yet boggles taunts and tantalize in a mock
copy rights 2010
Or in the early days we didn't have the bus, we had a station wagon.
quote by Mel Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women are like cars: we all want a Ferrari, sometimes want a pickup truck, and end up with a station wagon.
Its Not Heaven
(olivia newton-john/randy goodrum)
Heres your lunch money
You better hurry for the old school bus
Did you clean your teeth this morning
I know you hate it when I start to fuss
Heres the letter for your teacher
Your dinners in the freezer
Five minutes in the microwave
Dont wait for me this evening
Im probably working late
Your dad is coming over
With his new lover
And I dont wanna be around
So Im gonna do some shopping
Ill buy you those stockings
Ill be back in half an hour
Oh its my anticipation
Thered be a confrontation
I know how much it breaks your heart
Lets be pleased for him--hes trying
To make a brand new start
Its not heaven but its all weve got
You have to understand it
I wanted ozzie and harriet
With a picket fence around it
But that was all an illusion
Now were living in reality
But were gonna have a happy ending--you and me
Well spend the weekend playing
I hope it wont be raining
When we go to the game with dan
I know you think hes boring
But this time dont ignore him
Wont you give him half a chance
No hes not as fun as dad
But theres good as well as bad
In hanging on to yesterday
Im not trying to replace him
Guess Im really trying to say
Its not heaven but its all weve got
You have to understand it
I wanted ozzie and harriet
With a picket fence around it
But that was all an illusion
Now were living in reality
But were gonna have a happy ending--you and me
Together I know well survive
Rebuild our lives together
One day at a time
Its not heaven but its all weve got
You have to understand it
I wanted ozzie and harriet
With a picket fence around it
But that was all an illusion
Now were living in reality
But theres gonna be a happy ending
Wait and see
Yes theres gonna be a happy ending
For you and me
You better hurry for the old school bus
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Has Standards to Maintain
Are you a joke?
Or is this an inappropriate time,
For your life to be lived.
And your dreams of securing a house,
With a white picket fence...
Seems too rich in delusion.
And undernourished.
Lacking in an acceptance of reality.
And you laugh at 'me' and my perceptions,
Quick.
One of us desires for yesterday to make a comeback.
And the other refuses to accept anything from yesterday,
At all.
Including those delusions,
Assembled for a fast marketing of trash repackaged.
One has standards to maintain.
The other?
Has a sanity to protect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Finding The Good
I was once told take the good out of every situation. But where is that? The wind has blown the grass flat. The glass was broken. So it cant be half full any more. When I'm sober, I see the tears poor. I walked out the door, never to turn back. I was once told take the good out of every situation. Just where is that? Its like some hidden contract. Where do I sign? Read it. Oh never mined. I get on a train to nowhere, anywhere but here. To hell with the white tailed dear. It will snow then it will go like they always do. I was once told take the good out every situation. Just where is that? Tell me where is it? I must have missed it by miles. Maybe I lost in a file. I feel just like a child. Its all pretend. The white house with the picket fence. All the lies are slowly choking me. Please console me. For my misery hates your company.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I drove my Mercedes Benz
due to snow through a picket fence,
in the town of Detroit
but no airbag deployed.
I haven't seen winter snow since.
quote by by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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On the Boundary
I Love the ancient boundary-fence,
That mouldering chock-and-log.
When I go ride the boundary
I let the old horse jog
And take his pleasure in and out
Where the sandalwood grows dense,
And tender pines clasp hands across
The log that tops the fence.
’Tis pleasant on the boundary-fence,
These sultry summer days;
A mile away, outside the scrub,
The plain is all ablaze,
The sheep are panting on the camps,
The heat is so intense;
But here the shade is cool and sweet
Along the boundary-fence.
I love to loaf along the fence,
So does my collie dog,
He often finds a spotted cat
Hid in a hollow log;
He’s very near as old as I
And ought to have more sense,
I’ve hammered him so many times
Along the boundary-fence.
My mother says that boundary fence
Must surely be bewitched;
The old man says that through that fence
The neighbours are enriched;
It’s always down, and through the gaps
Our stock all get them hence,
I takes me half my time to watch
The doings of that fence.
But should you seek the reason
You won’t travel very far,
’Tis there a mile away among
The murmuring Belar:
The Jones’s block joins on to ours,
And so, in consequence,
It’s part of Polly’s work to ride
Their side the boundary-fence.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Ode to the American Meta-Narrative
I was born fitted to a flannel suit,
A white button-up shirt with a collar—
Gray coat and black tie. Diffuse and dilute,
I disappear in suburban culture.
I have a synchronized watch on my wrist.
My hand clings tightly to a flat brief case
Filled with forms and documentation.
My whole body is clenched firm as a fist,
Locked into my usual standing space
While I wait in the tunneled train station.
I make my living on salaried pay,
Repeating the same, standardized work-week.
I settle to function mindless today—
Mechanic'lly programmed, anti-unique.
In my managerial position,
I'm empowered to think critically
Upon my pecuniary options.
I'm focused of finances, decisions
Based on reports made bi-annually:
The business of affirmative action.
Caged in a chromium jungle, I live
Safe and secure, far from some wilderness.
My natural inclination might give
Me intuition to seek happiness.
Under the guise of heart-felt sincerity,
Suggesting that I'll keep comfortable
Conforming myself to the nine to five.
Transformed, a beast of practicality,
I've become savagely reasonable,
Tamed to have some hope that I may survive.
I've built myself a synthetic brick house,
Captured and kept by a white picket fence.
I've built myself a fam'ly with a spouse.
Our estate is the perfect residence.
Ev'ry night, I relax by the TV
To watch evening programs in my chair
While my eyes rest, or—rather—while I sleep.
The lullaby broadcast news sings to me,
Makes me drowsier the longer I stare,
Until my consciousness I can no longer keep.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Filemon
Early in the morning
before the first coffee cups are set
and the first brew is made
Filemon arrives.
At a time I see him
riding a big black bicycle
and how he struggles
to get all the parcels
to the post office.
Later he drives a blue-grey station wagon
from which he carries a load of parcels
and never there’s a difference of a cent
on the money that he banks
and even when he’s doing his work
to the best of his ability,
a decision is made
that he must stay a messenger
and have to drive people and parcels around.
poem by Gert Strydom
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