I think I grew a grey watching you procrastinate.
quote by Brandon Boyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching Me Watching You
I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5a
sometimes the wasted time
of regret
one that is always done on the
very first hour of
the morning
are the favorite times of
vacillation
procrastinate, procrastinate
perhaps because you do not really like to do
the oughts
of your life, the bread and butter things,
unartistic, unpleasing to your senses
and so you do always what you do not want to be done
(under a state of sinfulness)
stammering, stumbling upon a shit
and still composed
poised
as though nothing annihilating
happens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Grey World
Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.
Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.
Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.
poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work That Needs Doing… Later.
Work.
There is always work to be done.
Real work, busy work, work I make for myself.
But it doesn’t need doing right away.
And so I procrastinate.
It will bring stress later on
When it is multiplied.
But I’m okay with that.
Now, the real problem is
That I may take time now to relax and enjoy life,
But the thought of work still lingers
To trouble my mind
And prohibit relaxation.
And still I procrastinate.
Free yourself...And Breathe
Think from that place.
Be in that space.
Make it yours...
And breathe.
Free all your doubts.
Toss your troubles out.
Open your windows...
Sniff the air,
And breathe.
Procrastinate.
It's not too late...
To free yourself.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
Think from that place.
Be in that space.
Make it yours...
And breathe.
Procrastinate.
It's not too late...
To free yourself.
Be yourself...
And breathe.
Be yourself...
Free yourself...
And breathe.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
It's not too late.
Be in that space.
Make it yours...
And breathe.
It's not too late.
Be in that space.
Make it yours...
And breathe.
Procrastinate.
Is not your fate.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
Procrastinate.
Is not your fate.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
Free yourself...
And breathe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I really do love Diana Ross; I grew up listening to her records. I grew up in a little town in Mexico, so while we got the music, we never got the experience of watching her.
quote by Salma Hayek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Certain Shade Of Green
A certain shade of green, tell me, is that what you need?
All signs around say move ahead
Could someone please explain to me your ever present lack of speed?
Are your muscles bound by ropes?
Or do crutches cloud your day?
My sources say the road is clear, and street signs guide my way
Are you gonna stand around till 2012 a.d.?
What are you waiting for
A certain shade of green?
I think I grew a gray watching you procrastinate
What are yoou waiting for
A certian shade of green?
Would a written invitation signed,choose now or lose it all, sedate your
Hesitation?
Or inflame and make tou stall?
Youve been raised in limitaion, but that glove never fit quite right
The time has come for hand-me-downs, choose anew, please evolve, take flight
What are you waiting for? a written invitation? a public declaration?
A private consolation?
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jimmy Jet And His TV Set
I'll tell you the story of Jimmy Jet--
And you know what I tell you is true.
He loved to watch his TV set
Almost as much as you.
He watched all day, he watched all night
Till he grew pale and lean,
From 'The Early Show' to 'The Late Show'
And all the shows in between.
He watched till his eyes were frozen wide,
And his bottom grew into his chair.
And his chin turned into a tuning dial,
And antennae grew out of his hair.
And his brains turned into TV tubes,
And his face to a TV screen.
And two knobs saying 'vert.' and 'horiz.'
Grew where his ears had been.
And he grew a plug that looked like a tail
So we plugged in little Jim.
And now instead of him watching TV
We all sit around and watch him.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Bruises I
I can stare into the blackness,
the void of many abysses
behind every dark curtains
I can endure calm and silence
watching pole dancers grind,
watching stars scintillate,
watching still shadows on the walls,
watching dislimned reflections,
watching trees pass me by,
watching ethers wash the screen,
watching my lonely feet,
watching little things sway;
but am I the only one watching
these black bruised visions?
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grey, Grey Sky
Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.
And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.
And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.
My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.
And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.
But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs.
poem by Grace Hutton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonely grey lady at McDonalds
Lonely Grey Lady At McDonalds
She has hunched over shoulders, looks under the weather
Grey streaked and unbrushed hair
Wears old worn out shoes and threadbare sweater
Seems lonely and lost, filled with despair
Lips move without sound, hands gesture at no one,
No one’s close by, no one’s around
Lonely old lady, so restless and winsome
Sadness and sorrow seems to surround
Sitting for hours, alone, sipping one coffee
Watching other customers come and go
Peering into other’s lives, staring intently
As if she could know them by watching them so
Two tables over, another lady is watching
The old lady talking to no one, and then,
Rises and walks to her side, smiling and nodding
Gives to her, her own sandwich and then pats her hand
Grey lady accepts it without saying a word
Nods slightly to acknowledge the kindness
Seems nervous and skittish, eyes like a wild bird
Stares into space, gaze distant and mindless
Aura of emptiness abounds within and around her
As she painfully rises and prepares to depart
Her invisible companions, talk and surround her
As she shuffles away, her life in her cart
Grey lady leaves me with a sense of wonder
That some people, so lonely, suffer so much
It seems indifferent fate, shreds some lives asunder
While blessing others with caring families warm touch
Most people live, complacent and uncaring
Of the family and friends that surround them
While many grey ladies exist, gesturing and staring
Sentenced for life in their own private sanctum
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grew Up Fast
We grew up fast
And no one seemed to notice
We grew up fast
And we grew up alone
Mom and dad
Were never what we wanted
We grew up fast
And we grew up alone
We grew up along
Well you know who I am
So dont treat me like Im someone else
Well you know what I am
So dont treat me like Im someone else
You never act like that with no one else
We grew up fast
When lies were just a fact of life
We grew up mad
Cause we never had a home
We faced the past
And forgave the revolution
We grew up smashed
And we grew up alone
We grew up alone
Hey my brother
I got no fight with you
I just cant lie down
Hey my brother
I got no fight with you
I just cant lie down
No, I just cant ride down
I just cant ride down
Well you know who I am
So dont treat me like Im someone else
Well you know what I am
So dont act like Im something else
Well you know who I am
So dont treat me like Im someone else
You know where I am
So dont act like Im somwhere else
You never talk like that to no one else
You never scream like that for no one else
You never suck like that for no one else
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching For Shapes
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Influences now are things that are all around me
Changing shape as they move around in an open mind
Coloured in by the images I find
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
Like electric sparks they danced by an open mirror
Closing doors never looking round but its not goodbye
Theyll be there till Im taken out I know
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
In my mind theres a space thats full of painted pictures
Things I did that I went through, but cant recall
Now and then theres a flash of the unknown
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
(watching for shapes that grow)
(watching for shapes that grow)
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You know I grew up watching the TV series The Rifleman.
quote by Tom Selleck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By The Sea
See those two sitting together
under a cloudy sky.
Gently holding hands,
watching passers by.
The ocean seems to beckon
with frothy waves and surf
and the next tide coming in
may surely be their last.
Silently sitting together
under a rainy sky.
Eating chips, watching ships
comfortable in their old togs.
Having a choccy ice cream,
finishing sentences off.
Always a nod or a smile,
they never seem to be cross.
Take a sly peep as we pass them.
See now, they've gone off to sleep
D'ya think, some day,
when we're old and grey,
they may be you and me?
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Time To Find
People say they have no time to find,
To exercise their bodies or bring a peace...
To their minds.
But they do seem to schedule a time,
To eat.
Be lazy,
And procrastinate.
Hate people do,
The obedience of discipline.
But claims to maintain a faith...
For the right things to do.
And for them to begin.
Hate people do,
Those who sacrifice and succeed.
With a critiquing done of them openly...
To keep their insecurities,
And condoned weaknesses defended...
To continue doing what they please.
People say they have no time to find,
To exercise their bodies or bring a peace...
To their minds.
But they do seem to schedule a time,
To eat.
Be lazy,
And procrastinate.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I thought I'd gone to heaven, because I grew up watching Roy and Gene Autry.
quote by Lee Majors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Chord of Colour
My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.
My Lady clad herself in green,
Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;
Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
Amid the live grass fearfully.
My Lady clad herself in blue,
Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
The throne of him that sat thereon.
Then knew I why the Fashioner
Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;
And ere 'twas good enough for her,
He tried it on Eternity.
Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree
Sat, like an owl, the evil sage:
'The World's a bubble,' solemnly
He read, and turned a second page.
'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,
'God keep you in your weary wit!
'A bubble--have you ever spied
'The colours I have seen on it?'
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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