End Of The Game
There are times
when we stand on a stage
and there below the glare
of the footlights below
blinding our eyes
are rows and rows
of empty seats
where no one came to see
our farewell performance
to mark the end of the game.
15 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Once there came a man
Once there came a man
Who said,
"Range me all men of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was terrific clamour among the people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who staid in bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unemployment Shame
Rows and rows of boxes
All of them the same
With rooms and rooms of people
Each without a name
Hearts that beat, though breaking
And smiles that mask the pain
Of fading hopes of sunshine
Through windows drenched with rain.
Once lovers, now not speaking
Except to lay the blame
For broken dreams and the poverty
Of unemployment shame.
Empty cupboards and drunken sleep
Are all part of the game
But hungry babies wake them still
On mornings all the same.
poem by Jane Solanrobertson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Long Rows
Millions and millions of crosses
standing in long rows.
Standing as a testament
of man’s inhumanity to man.
Their ages range low to high,
all casualties of a war
in which they answered
their counties call.
Their kin are long dead now,
but the crosses all bare a name
of someone who had they lived
might have gained fame
in another game.
However, here they lie
where the pretty flowers grow
after giving up their life
for their country.
Some are remembered
even to this day
for their acts of courage
others knew so well.
The others are just names
carved in memorials somewhere
as falling in a battle on a foreign soil.
All of them had a life
men, women and child alike.
A life they should have lived
and lived it to the full.
Now all they remain
is names on crosses
standing in long rows.
22 January 2008
This is for all those whose lives have been stolen in wars throughout the centuries.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tombstones!
rows and rows of tombstones,
glaring white in the morning sun...
with open graves before them,
and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost....
the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,
dollar bills blown by the wind...
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,
and not by name....
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped
by time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Honesty
Thousands of thousands people
Among the thousands of rows
Waiting for the entry to the show
Of blitz, glamour and corruption.
The first rows are for the VIPs
The middle ones are for the sycophants
As I am neither of them
So my row is the last one.
Front line is for the hypocrites
Middle ones are for the touts
As I am neither of them
So my line is at the end.
I am feeling lonely
And my row is empty
Could you please for few minutes stand with me?
So that I can show you the real delight
Of life in the path of honesty..
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Serial killers are everywhere! Well, perhaps not in our neighborhood, but on our television screens, at the movie theatres, and in rows and rows of books at our local Borders or Barnes and Noble Booksellers.
No New Ones
I look at a line of empty seats
where students should be learning.
But where are the students
that used to fill this room.
They have all moved on,
but no new ones ever came back.
15 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Performance
We are all performers
on a daily stage,
each of us having a part
to play the best we can
from waking in the morning
to sleeping late at night.
Every performance
is watched from on high
and he sends us a message
when we get our performance wrong.
He tell us in his own way
how to mend the performance
that we gave,
then we go out and start
all over again,
only this time
to right the wrongs we made.
5 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poem about Poetry - His Poetry Collection
i found a poetry book on one of the tables in my office
i opened to read it from one poem to another
i discovered that the man never knew poetry
and wondered why he had to publish it
the words did not dance in my mind,
they all stood glued to the page
my heart did not go ga ga and my eyes
did not wish to jump from one line to the other
there were at least 10,000 words which lied
like rows and rows of quiet, never visited graves
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Walk In The Moonlight
We walk in the moonlight
to buy cake meal and cinnamon
past rows and rows of houses of which the lights wink
with the veldt stripped open into the distance
and you tell my about your childhood days,
about a house on a farm now demolished,
about an inheritance that was not yours
and the old yard may be up for sale.
Stars shine like torches against the sky,
your eyes gleam secretively
with the beauty of a innocent child,
our feelings are suddenly intense and intimate.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Plows
lights glare, clouds rise, flare
in the night, blades split earth, fur-
rows before the storm.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Magazines
you see them everywhere
you know those magazines
yeah I've bought a few
they show you everything
so many news stands
as I'm passing by
but rows and rows of you
are bound to catch my eye
now everyone can gaze upon your body
its good for you - I guess you have no shame
I never knew if how I acted
would make you seek revenge
and now I know
and you're in magazines
but is it really you
in the empty world
I shouldn't be surprised
you're an ambitious girl
with all that naked skin as sweet as honey
Maybe you just really needed money
I wondered if I would be punished for
my voyeuristic pleasure
and now I know
and you're in magazines
and now I know
and you're in magazines
now I know
I tear through pages
of every kind of pose
but its not really you I see
when I look real close
no you're a little bit different
you're a little bit different
you're a little bit different
and now I know
and you're in magazines
now I know
and you're in magazines
I'm alone
and you're in magazines
so it never was you
no
song performed by by Duncan Sheik from Daylight
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sometimes during a ballet I'll look around and see all these rows of intent faces, concentrating on this beautiful thing up on the stage.
quote by Robert Caro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Sitting in today, watching traffic buzzing by, and faces closing in
A victim of regret, it glitters and it fades away, like silver turning grey
Washed it all away, waiting for this dream to end, before it sucks me in
Im climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lights
Im holding out my hand but Im alone
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterday
Crashing on the ground, the silence seems to suffocate, and bury me again
Waiting for a taste, of happiness to lift me free, and carry me away
Im climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lights
I know its just a dream but Im alive
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterday
Im still missing yesterday
Ill wait, Ill wait for you tonight.
Lost another week, feeling like a leper in, a world of vanity
Its killing me today, addiction pulls you down, you know
And shes the drug I need
Im climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lights
Im holding out my hand but Im alone
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterdayIm climbing high, up above the streets and rows of neon lightsIm holding out my hand but Im alone
Wish I could show you
Wish you could see through my eyes
Tomorrow shines through
But Im missing yesterday.
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Blind!
A red-roofed house is shining to the skies;
A house red-roofed and brilliant in the wind:
A house of colour filled with wandering eyes;
And all the eyes are blind.
A gentle sound of moving fills each room:
A sound of hands, - dumb hands that touch and pry:
A sound of fingers feeling in a tomb
Before they close and die.
A hundred windows face long rows of flowers-
Long rows of flowers, and flowers that sway and dance
Where lidded eyes can gaze for hours and hours;
Blue eyes that shut in France.
poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh So Ordinary
Oh so ordinary
is a hot summer night
when the whirl of a fan
is music in the dark
accompanying
croaking frogs
in the distance
oh so ordinary
is waking to a glowing
herald of break of day
and the frogs
now deep asleep
and quiet
oh so ordinary
an electric coffee pot
percolating
as a toilet is flushed
and a faucet lets go
cool morning water
oh so ordinary
a day goes by
in a rush
while someone
stacks oranges
and red apples
and peaches
and apricots
in perfect rows
oh so ordinary
that someone
pushes the wheelchairs
and lines them in
a large room
perfect rows
and there they sit
oh so ordinary
memories of
a seasick morning
on a day called D Day
and another of
a train station farewell
and that was that
he never returned
and another
of sawing two by fours
under a cloudless blue sky
in a backyard
of a tiny two bedroom house
in East L.A.
and another of
a wedding day in 1942
with just a week
before that train farewell
and I still feel the rice
a handful my brother threw
as if it were yesterday
and another of
peeling an orange
near a stream
in the mountains
in that beautiful place that
just right now
I don't seem
to recall
but I can still
taste
that orange.
poem by Bro. Bartleby
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A accountant at a transport company
Figures on paper glare at me
with the sun hanging bright in a blue sky,
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and drivers walk about talking
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
When the managing director looks in he wants
me to make changes, to do an act of fraud.
Figures on paper glare at me
with a bonus waving,
and my name, my integrity is at stake
and drivers walk about talking
and I wonder how to get out of this trap
when I catch the eye of the managing director’s charming daughter
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
I again check calculations, re-determine and add
and I keep things correct
and my name, my integrity is at stake.
The managing director wants the final figures,
he makes threats and his temper is just under control.
Figures on paper glare at me
while I complete the financial statements
and thousands of things go through my mind
and I keep things correct
and the day rushes past
the managing director’s daughter winks at me, walks down the passage
while busses and lories drive past the whole time,
sirens are ringing in the distance and the wall-clock ticks off the last minutes
and I know that I can loose my job
and thousands of things go through my mind
when the girl walks in with eyes cutting into my soul,
say that her dad is waiting and I feel like caught in web.
Figures on paper glare at me
while busses and lories drive past the whole time
and I hear excited voices in the managing director’s office.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and I know that I can loose my job,
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There’s a place with rows of cypress trees
There’s a place where rows of cypress trees
stand to attention
at the foot of a rocky hillock
and there are graves planted in rows.
As a child could have sworn
that there are ghosts among the graves,
when the wind went through the trees
and shadows move at night
over the graves.
We lived fifty meters away
in a old white house
and it was only
my dad, mom, brother and me.
If I were naughty
or did not want to eat my food
a man with a hat, raincoat and dark glasses
came in through the back door.
In the evenings my dad read poetry
to me and my younger brother
and his voice with the cannibal
and the rider of skimmelperd pan
resounds in me.
Untill a day that cancer
took my dad forever,
fifty meteres further.
[References: Die mensvreter and Die ruiter van skimmelperdpan by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The City
the city was once
a forest of trees
when the pioneers
arrive with their axes
and each tree fell
and the river swollen
mothers had to have
more children
and fathers had to
plow more fields
and plant the rows and
rows of corn
as monkeys on top
of the remaining trees
tease
the grasshoppers
find enough sleep
and the ants keep
on building their
empire on mounds
and mounds of
dry land
that was how
a city was formed
my father said
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I walk next to the tomato beds
I walk next to the tomato beds
in our garden and here and there
are a few fig trees
which are covered with green swelling fruit
right against the main branches.
At the back in the corner and between the tomatoes
are rows of prickly pears
and look as if they have lost their thorns
but if you look carefully
the rows of thorns are still there.
You that I see as the flower
among my flowers
who are tender and soft hearted,
are now piercing the most
as the going away cuts through me
and staying apart, stays a terrible thing
but seeing each other again,
remains a wonderful
and yet every day
I see the fruit of you selfless love.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!