Common sense says that chairs and tables exist independently of whether anyone happens to perceive them or not.
quote by Charles D. Broad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking Tables
How do tables walk as one?
And why do chairs seem to run?
How my rest is desired, and how
Do I kick in the air for relaxation?
My chimney is found with the soot
Of a black utterance, as seemly as light;
The light travels up and down the world,
With smoke, crime is committed, like walking
Chairs and turning tables, this world is one.
With this house may I live alone,
Where wolves like criminals detest you.
Anyone walked a long distance, anyway,
Justice must be allowed, and searched
By the home and heaven.
How do tables and chairs move?
poem by Naveed Akram
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We All Could Use A Big Pinch
We all,
Have been accusative...
About 'something' perceive.
And...
We all,
Have been upset...
Over 'something' incorrect said,
But to others believed.
We all,
Have been 'there' in emotional need.
But choosing to be alone...
With those needs going unknown.
We all wish to be fed,
That which is in our hearts.
But expressed with hot heads.
We all want sometimes,
To be on someone else's mind.
Caring less...
They have their own desires to address.
And when that from them is confessed...
We then expose our centered selfishness.
Oh yes!
We all,
Have been accusative...
About 'something' perceive.
And...
We all,
Have been upset...
Over 'something' incorrect said,
But to others believed.
To leave...
Some with no choice but to voice,
Obscenities heard screaming...
To get that attention publicly!
We all could use a big pinch,
Of more common sense.
We all could use a big pinch,
Of more common sense.
We all could use a...
OUCH!
Why did you do that?
~I thought that was a request.
For a message you needed help to get!
We 'all' could use a big pinch,
Of more commone sense.
With a feeling that is believed...
To leave no one unconvinced! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Happy Heart
i
there are table
specially made for our kind
and some chairs too
they are made for
solo settings
ii
i sit on one of those
chairs
most often
and i eat on such
tables
more than what is
necessary
iii
sometimes people
stare at me
i eat alone, i sip my own cup of tea
alone
and it does not
really bother me
i am familiar with such
feeling
i am at home
and my heart is still a happy
place
for my dwelling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The components of anxiety, stress, fear, and anger do not exist independently of you in the world. They simply do not exist in the physical world, even though we talk about them as if they do.
quote by Wayne Dyer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Wizards of Illusion
Common sense?
Those who are discovered with it,
Are rare.
And leaves those believing...
An ivy league school,
Is where one can get this.
At someone's foolish expense.
With a jealousy directed to a few...
Who obtain scholarships.
As if this promotes and bestows,
An advantage for others that does not exist.
But common sense goes unused,
Frequently...
By those trying to fit their feet...
In shoes too small,
And minds unprepared...
To explain how they are ever going to wear them!
And yet,
Many do manage to amaze shocked masses,
Who eventually become influenced by such trickery.
To the point where they find themselves,
Supporting such 'wizards' of illusion.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Time does not exist
time does not exist
we made it up...
imagine you ask someone
for the time and the
reply 'time is a fabrication of
the mind to cope with change.'
you'd think them to
be strange.
but the more you think about it
the more sense it makes.
time does not exist
when you finally comprehend it
everything else becomes a lie,
science will make no sense
history will not be in the past
time does not exist
what else doesn't exist...?
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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A Poetry To Reckon With
My poetry is like stove in the summer
Or fan in winter
It runs against the popular tastes
And has no practical value
Basho
IT IS I TOO
It is I too, I run against authority
I Quarrel with the mayor I Sue the postmaster
I tell my teacher that she’s teaching the wrong thing I even tell my mother that I did not deserve her
(And she cried when I did not regret saying the same statement all over again) .
What is it it me that fans when things are cold that heats when everything is so warm?
To want the undesirable
To desire what cannot be imagined
Of those that do not exist
And get inside where there are no exits
To love the unlovable
To give up something so important and honorable?
To set aside love and love the lovelessness of a meaningless locomotion.
To sculpt from mud inhuman forms
To read that which must still be deciphered
To swallow that which is vomitable
To stay where others wanted to leave
I have a taste for the unpopular
I voted for the loser
To side with the weak
To speak to those with less sanity
To settle for what is unsanitary
To lick despites
To risk whatevers
To go the whenevers
To leave the dead bury themselves
To enter the narrow gate
To light the post in the midst of day
To sail when the winds are too strong
To smile when your loved ones enter the great divide
To wish happy deaths for friends gone by
Empty chairs and empty tables
To spit on these sorts of things
To be myself and yet to be so unhappy
To be so happy and yet not knowing my name
To speak none where my mind is so filled with sense
To be unknowing about what I do know
To be so funny when seriousness demands
To have worked so hard and to die so untimely
To write without any opportunity to be read
All these…. and the senselessness of these all
To be able to say thank you very much
Now that all of you are dead and gone & all I have are empty chairs and empty tables
(In the manner of Les Miserables)
In some pages of nonmindedness
In an island of don’t touch me
This I say I thank you
So Long.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reflection 0.3
when loneliness is overwhelming
miracles happen
tables speak to chairs and
chairs are amazed to their
new actions
the roof cannot be stopped
telling something to the floor
and the garden too and the fence
and the stair and all of them here
entangled in a relationship of such closeness
that you begin to stop thinking about how to end
and lose yourself
presences are born and they begin to speak
and it is you who has become one inanimate human figure
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Element Of Trust...
our foundation is respect
in the house, it is the floor
we all sleep on it, out tables and chairs
are placed on it,
in fact, what we eat, to include the appetizers
and desserts is all based on
that menu of respect
it's when i told you that we may grow
together in this
but you can always take a different
direction perhaps another
point of view another perspective
to see the same object that i hold
and cherish
we go smoothly on this
we appreciated different flowers
on the same glass vase
assuming much that
the fragility may break
and we can still collect the pieces
in one wedding
the mother speaks about trust
as she gives away her
daughter for the man of the hour
and when it was my turn to speak
i speak the same about
respect and she added trust
which honestly i cannot even
mention
because all the while
a life lived in mistrust
from my point of view
always learns
how to survive
find a way when things go wrong
when betrayal as a
common instinct like a tiger
eats the pawn
i have told you
i always doubt and recalling Descartes
i think, therefore, i still exist
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Happiness
The great stone Hall is silent
that is now millennia old.
Through the western windows
shines a glorious sun.
It floods the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
and illumines every one
until the wraiths that gather
cry out in their joy,
'Everything is gold!
Whatever is, is gold! '
A majestic cloud
emerges from the southern sea,
slides across the western sky
blotting out the sun.
Light through those western windows
pales to a thin grey day.
It dims the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
pales every one
until the wraiths in the shadows
cry out in dismay,
'Gone is gold, the gold is gone!
All joy has passed away! '
poem by Brian Taylor
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Before the beginning
Why does the human race exist?
Unanswered questions will persist.
Philosophers and scientists
All try to penetrate the mists.
It seems as if each answer found,
leads to a question more profound.
It often seems the evidence
flies in the face of common sense.
Some premises I accept as true
may seem quite different to you.
The things we know or think we know.
Frequently prove to be not so.
It all depends how we perceive
the so called facts which we believe.
Is there a God it would seem so.
I can believe but do not know.
We cannot prove it either way
and so unanswered questions stay.
Unanswered now as they have done
since mans history was begun.
Although we ask we get no reply
Is God still there or did he die?
16/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Tables and Chairs
The tables resent the chairs, apt to sit
Like the people who sit, forming froth
And food, tables so clean, a likeable soot.
This may disguise chemistry, even biology,
Between the anger and hatred is beauty,
Fully we admire them who talk of it.
The table is sweeter with food than the chair with people,
And who does not eat on this furniture of the soul,
This future of living, kindness is adored,
For we are abhorrent in conversation, in laughter.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams.
quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hairdresser
Have you understood tables and chairs?
Underneath the bench are a number of hairs.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Everything from the little house was in the wagon, except the beds and tables and chairs. They did not need to take these, because Pa could always make new ones.
quote by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Common sense and sense of humor are the same thing moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing.
quote by Clive Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Common sense and a sense of humor are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing.
quote by William James
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our best theories are not only truer than common sense, they make more sense than common sense.
quote by David Deutsch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Orient Express
One looks from the train
Almost as one looked as a child. In the sunlight
What I see still seems to me plain,
I am safe; but at evening
As the lands darken, a questioning
Precariousness comes over everything.
Once after a day of rain
I lay longing to be cold; after a while
I was cold again, and hunched shivering
Under the quilt's many colors, gray
With the dull ending of the winter day,
Outside me there were a few shapes
Of chairs and tables, things from a primer;
Outside the window
There were the chairs and tables of the world ...
I saw that the world
That had seemed to me the plain
Gray mask of all that was strange
Behind it -- of all that was -- was all.
But it is beyond belief.
One thinks, "Behind everything
An unforced joy, an unwilling
Sadness (a willing sadness, a forced joy)
Moves changelessly"; one looks from the train
And there is something, the same thing
Behind everything: all these little villages,
A passing woman, a field of grain,
The man who says good-bye to his wife --
A path through a wood all full of lives, and the train
Passing, after all unchangeable
And not now ever to stop, like a heart --
It is like any other work of art,
It is and never can be changed.
Behind everything there is always
The unknown unwanted life.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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