Going West
He sits in his rocking chair,
his dreams cemented in the past.
He wishes he had been a pioneer
packing up everything
and travelling west to start again afresh.
That is for the young men,
but he is an old man who thinks
things like that cannot be done now.
He is too old to start again.
He never tried it when he was young,
now time has passed
and all he can do is rock to and fro.
Wishing he had done it then.
Someone once told him
a long, long time ago
that nothing was impossible.
He smiled at the suggestion,
now he wonders of its validity.
Standing up he takes a deep breath
of the air around him
and coughs a little bit.
He smiles to himself, he is going to do it.
He is going west to the sunset,
the place where all his dream lay awaiting for him.
He will do it tomorrow,
then he sits back in his rocking chair
and thinks of all the beauty there he will find.
25 January 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Marital Agonies
she sits on a rocking chair
but she is not rocking it
her eyes stare at the sea without
a horizon
she spreads her legs looking
for a spot to
rest her toes,
he is out there looking at the sunset
his shadow is consumed
by darkness
he comes home
opens the PC and begins to write some poems
mostly about
funerals
unlike before
there were lots of sunrises everywhere as though
mornings are the only
seasons
he pauses, he hears the rocking of the chair.
the TV is off
he cannot find the letters to form the words.
he stares at the monitor
he is silent.
there is no break in this monotonous sound of silence.
he wishes he were a stone.
she wishes she is a bird.
one refuses to grow further.
the other wants to fly away, no matter where.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Me And My Old Cat Sam
I sit here all alone well
Me and my old cat Sam
Rocking back and fro
As my
Chair squeaks
As I rock
In front of the old fireplace
Just me and my old cat
Sam
Knitting mittens
Singing while my cat sam takes
A nap
I’m growing old
Still alone
Me and my old cat Sam and my
Old rocking chair
As the fireplace is cracking while
The
Red blue flames seem to cracker
And pop
As it
Burn so happily it seem's
My chair squeaks my cat nod as I
Rock
In my rocking chair back and fro
Cheerfully in front of my old
Fireplace
With red and blue flames highlighting
The wall and ceilings
Me and my old cat Sam as he nod’s
I rock back and fro
While my rocking chair squeaks along
With the fireplace cracker and
Popping..
poem by Carolyn Sears
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An Old Rocking Chair
An old rocking chair
stands on the porch.
Many times I sit there
watching people go on their way.
Occasionally one or two
will stop and talk about the day.
We’ll sit and rock,
chatting about the weather
and about kids and home.
All the time
the old rocking chair
rocks back and forth
with me sitting there.
6 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Rocking Bonnie
Bonnie and me in the rocking chair
Hours go by and we don't care
Time can come and go as it may
We'd sit in the chair and rock all day
Pachelbel Canon on the stereo
In time we rock back to and fro
The rocking chair making a creakedy squeak
Dreamy sounds that put her to sleep
She's in a heap across my chest
Comfy and cozy, peaceful, at rest
I kiss the top of her head and her hair
She smells like roses petals wafting on air
More time passes, she's still asleep
Laundry and dishes will have to keep
As soon as I stop she frets a bit
I'll just wear the rocker legs off of it
What's more important than times like these?
Before you know it, the years will flee
Well, time can come and go as it may
We'll sit in the chair and rock all day
Written by Sara Fielder © 2000
NOTE: This poem was written when my daughter Bonnie was a newborn.
poem by Sara Fielder
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Grandpas Rocking Chair for M lady Chitra
On the front porch a rocking chair
nobody uses no one dare
Nor dare they move it anywhere.
Grandpa decreed it must stay there
What grandpa said was what he meant
he left no room for argument.
He simply stated his intent
Though other folk felt different
When Grandpa died the family tried
to set his iron rule aside
You’ll rue this day their Grandma cried
Your Grandpa will not be defied.
They moved the chair to show they could
though grandma did not think they should
She warned them all that nothing good
would come of this. She understood
although she knew Grandpa was dead.
She knew he’d rise in wrathful pride
to reinforce what he has said.
His last command before he died.
The chair was moved despite her pleas.
Her warnings were not listened to.
From that day on they knew no peace
Til grandma told them what to do
The rocking chair must be restored
to where Grandpa said it should be.
They all agreed of one accord
the chair replaced immediately.
Sometimes at night it seems to be
moving gently slowly rocking
Although there’s nothing they can see
they know that Grandpas visiting.
To see his word is still obeyed.
That no one moves his rocking chair.
Nobody will they’re too afraid.
They know sometimes he still sits there.
27-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Vision
Wherever my feet may wander
Wherever I chance to be,
There comes, with the coming of even' time
A vision sweet to me.
I see my mother sitting
In the old familiar place,
And she rocks to the tune her needles sing,
And thinks of an absent face.
I can hear the roar of the city
AAbout me now as I write;
But over an hundred miles of snow
My thought-steeds fly tonight,
To the dear little cozy cottage,
And the room where mother sits,
And slowly rocks in her easy chair
And thinks of me as she knits.
Sometimes with the merry dancers
When my feet are keeping time,
And my heart beats high, as young hearts will,
To the music's rhythmic chime.
My spirit slips over the distance
Over the glitter and whirl,
To my mother who sits, and rocks, and knits,
And thinks of her "little girl."
And when I listen to voices that flatter,
And smile, as women do,
To whispered words that may be sweet,
But are not always true;
I think of the sweet, quaint picture
Afar in quiet ways,
And I know one smile of my mother's eyes
Is better than all their praise.
And I know I can never wander
Far from the path of right,
Though snares are set for a woman's feet
In places that seem most bright.
For the vision is with me always,
Wherever I chance to be,
Of mother sitting, rocking, and knitting,
Thinking and praying for me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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My Rocking-Chair
When I am old and worse for wear
I want to buy a rocking-chair,
And set it on a porch where shine
The stars of morning-glory vine;
With just beyond, a gleam of grass,
A shady street where people pass;
And some who come with time to spare,
To yarn beside my rocking-chair.
Then I will light my corn-cob pipe
And dose and dream and rarely gripe.
My morning paper on my knee
I won't allow to worry me.
For if I know the latest news
Is bad,--to read it I'll refuse,
Since I have always tried to see
The side of life that clicks with glee.
And looking back with days nigh done,
I feel I've had a heap of fun.
Of course I guess that more or less
It's you yourself make happiness
And if your needs are small and few,
Like me you may be happy too:
And end up with a hope, a prayer,
A chuckle in a rocking-chair.
poem by Robert William Service
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Heaven's Rocking Chair
Are there rocking chairs in Heaven
where little babies go?
Do the angels hold you closely
and rock you to and fro?
Do they talk silly baby talk
to get a smile or two,
and sing the sleepy lullabies
I used to sing to you?
My heart is aching for you,
my angel child so dear.
You brought such joy into my life,
the short time you were here.
I know you're in a happy place,
and in God's loving care.
I dream each night I'm rocking you
in Heaven's rocking chair.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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Dream Of The West
Sit down beside me and ponder a while,
dream of the west and what do you see,
cowboys and Indians, ranches and reservations,
horses and buffalo all running free.
Dream of the west as it used to be
with stagecoaches and buck-wagons
racing across the lonesome prairie
chased by Indians or outlaws.
A chuck wagon on a big cattle drive,
with a campfire at the end of the day,
and a cowboy with a guitar
strumming a lonesome tune well into the night.
Just some of the images in our mind's eye
as we rock on an old rocking chair
with a jug of moonshine fresh from the still,
a dream of the west the way we want it to be.
3 November 2012
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Start Living
(Steven Dale Jones/Amy Powers)
He just can't wait to graduate
He's marking time and counting days
He'll toss that cap and watch that tassel fly
So he can start living
Yeah, finally start living
'Cause he's got big plans
And he'll have time on his hands
To start living
Before he knows ten years are gone
A dead-end job, a mortgage loan
He wonders where the chances passed him by
To really start living
Yeah he wants to start living
And soon he's sure
He can finally afford
To start living
He'll read more books
He'll make more love
He'll talk more to the man above
He'll watch the sunset in the west
And visit Mexico
He'll learn to cook, he'll play some ball
He'll write that book, he'll make that call
He'll take the time
Some other time
Someday he'll do it all
Well sittin' in the barber chair
He sees the silver in his hair
Those golden years are comin' right behind
And then he'll start living
He'll really start living
Yeah he feels tired
Ah, but soon he'll retire
And start living
He'll read more books
He'll make more love
He'll talk more to the man above
He'll watch the sunset in the west
And visit Mexico
He'll learn to cook, he'll play some ball
He'll write that book, he'll make that call
He'll take the time
Some other time
Someday he'll do it all
Well the doctor says, I've got bad news
Afraid there's nothing we can do
And all at once the tears are in his eys
He'll never start living
Never really start living
Yeah he had big plans
But there's no time on his hands
To start living
When he sees the pearly gates
He'll really start living
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sisotowbell Lane
Sisotowbell lane
Noah is fixing the pump in the rain
He brings us no shame
We always knew that he always knew
Up over the hill
Jovial neighbors come down when they will
With stories to tell
Sometimes they do
Yes sometimes we do
We have a rocking chair
Each of us rocks his share
Eating muffin buns and berries
By the steamy kitchen window
Sometimes we do
Our tongues turn blue
Sisotowbell lane
Anywhere else now would seem very strange
The seasons are changing
Everyday in everyway
Sometimes it is spring
Sometimes it is not anything
A poet can sing
Sometimes we try
Yes we always try
We have a rocking chair
Somedays we rock and stare
At the woodlands and the grasslands and the badlands cross the river
Sometimes we do
We like the view
Sisotowbell lane
Go to the city youll come back again
To wade thru the grain
You always do
Yes we always do
Come back to the stars
Sweet well water and pickling jars
Well lend you the car
We always do
Yes sometimes we do
We have a rocking chair
Someone is always there
Rocking rhythms while theyre waiting with the candle in the window
Sometimes we do
We wait for you
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Someone 'Is' Dismissed
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits and fidgets...
Wishing their presence is missed.
Too many perceive they have the power to do this.
As if the one that has been dismissed,
Sits making adjustments...
In a chair doing nothing,
But looking at thumbs as a twisting of them is done.
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits with wishes to be enlisted...
Into a clique of forget-me-nots full of 'wannabees'.
And usually they are the ones issuing approvals,
To those fearing rejection.
Too many perceive they have the power to do this.
As if the one that has been dismissed,
Sits making adjustments...
In a chair doing nothing,
But looking at thumbs as a twisting of them is done.
Do not believe for one second,
One dismissed sits and fidgets...
Wishing their presence is missed.
How foolish would this be...
If someone sat seeking for an authority,
To approve the choosing of what they do...
And 'who' they should do it with.
If someone 'is' dismissed,
They should be glad of it.
Since there has been a lifting from them,
Any kind of restrictions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Easy As a Peach Pie Eaten
Who proclaims that being busy,
Is as easy as a peach pie eaten.
And...
Who declares that happiness,
Takes no effort to possess?
And who is it that says these things,
From the comfort of a rocking chair?
When all that's done is a rock with a stare.
As dust sits beneath it,
With reminisced wishes right there.
Who proclaims that being busy,
Is as easy as a peach pie eaten.
And...
Who declares that happiness,
Takes no effort to possess?
And how about those who live life,
Excited with this gift.
While others say their lives are charmed,
But those burdens unseen still exist.
'How is that done? '
It's a mind thing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Fathers Chair
My fathers chair still standing there
All alone since the long night
Now its three years on and I still feel
Hell come home, well be alright
So wheres this healing time brings
I was told the pain would ease
But it still hurts like the first night
That night my brother, my mother and i
Were looking up at a distant star
And wishing we could reach that far
And back in the house
And alone for the first time
We told each other we cared
We avoided my fathers chair
I watch my family, we hold on
We are strong and well be alright
The clock continues counting down, all the while
And every child will share the long night
But do the spirits meet again
Why am I still so filled with doubt
Is my soul everlasting
And the far distant future
When I knew youd be gone
Came too fast and stays too long
Why do they leave the weak of spirit
And take the strong
When the world turns sour
And I get sick from the smell
And I cant find no comfort there
I climb into my fathers chair
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Did You Sleep?
You pushed away your rocking chair
Your seven years of living
Choose to think it over, you could try
You held beauty on your knee
You felt you were so giving
You made one feel special, then goodbye
Now tell me where did you go?
A long way from me
Was it someone I know?
Search your soul
A long way from me
'Cos I need to know, how far you'd go
Where did you sleep?
Tell me who's gonna show
It's so in you're nature
To keep your face well hidden
Make a fox feel proud, you're so sly
Cannot play this game
My heart's tired, are we sinking?
You made me once feel special, say goodbye
Now tell me where did you go?
A long way from me
Was it someone I know?
Search your soul
A long way from me
'Cos I need to know, how far you'd go
Where did you sleep?
Tell me who's gonna show
INSTRUMENTAL
So push away you're rocking chair
That seven years of giving
No time to think it over, so don't try
Now tell me where did you go?
A long way from me
Was it someone I know?
Search your soul
A long way from me
'Cos I need to know, how far you'd go
Where did you sleep?
Tell me who's gonna show
Now tell me where did you go?
A long way from me
Was it someone I know?
Search your soul
A long way from me
'Cos I need to know, how far you'd go
Where did you sleep?
Tell me who's gonna show
Where did you sleep last night?
Where did you sleep last night?
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beyond The Sunset
We all know of heaven
and all know where it lies,
beyond the sunset
of our passing lives.
We look to the west
at sunset in hope to see
a glimpse of heaven
that waits for us there.
A place that is wonderful
and peace reins everywhere
beyond the sunset none ever wants
to come back from there.
We go there with our dreams,
hopes, and ambitions
to rest forever
doing the things we want to do.
Beyond the sunset,
we reunite with old friends and loved ones
never with any worries
as our long sleep transcends.
28 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Want To Be The One Who Yah Yahs
I don't want to be that singer,
Of a long song gone.
Or be the one defeated,
By two unmoving feet.
I don't want to feel them stuck as if cemented,
With a sitting to waste time away.
I don't want to be that singer,
Of a long song gone.
Not any time of any day.
I don't want to be that singer,
Of a long song gone.
I...
Want my happy yah yahs.
I want that in my voice and strong.
I want my yah yahs there and a part...
Of my happiness all day long.
I don't want to be that singer,
Of those blues that sap.
I don't want to be the one that sits,
In a rocking chair to reminisce like that!
I...
Want to be the one who yah yahs.
I want to turn my yah yahs into art!
I want to hear my yah yahs rise,
To echo all over the place.
I don't want to be that singer,
Of a long song gone.
I...
Want my happy yah yahs.
I want that in my voice and strong.
I want my yah yahs there and a part...
Of my happiness all day long.
I want my yah yahs to never stop,
Drop to fizz or plop!
I don't want to be the one to sing,
About a dues I've paid.
With a blues with me that stays.
I...
Want to be the one who yah yahs.
I want to turn my yah yahs into art!
I'm going to yah yah until someone decides I disturb.
And they threaten to call the cops.
And when those cops arrive they will know,
The yah yahs I've got will not be stopped.
Since I'll shout my yah yahs from the top of roofs.
These yah yahs I've got come from the bottom of my heart!
There I discover my truth.
Dedicated:
In remembrance to Ernie K. Doe,
That great New Orleans singer and composer.
I will always remember when I first heard his song,
'Mother-In-Law'. To this very day...that song is 'hot'!
'I'm sittin' in la la,
Waitin' for my yah yah...
Uh huh,
Uh huh.
I said I'm sittin' in la la,
Waitin' for my yah yah...
Uh huh,
Uh huh.'
~Mr. Ernie K. Doe~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes
In your old nursery
we ride the rocking horse
of your childhood
colours sad & faded
paint peeling
I clasp your waist
enchanted
as you ride back into
your dreams
eyes closed
you tell me
you
use to rock like this
& dream of me
whoever I was to be
& now
here
we are
you smile
from very far away
tell me
I am
your dream
come true
as you drift dreamily
from little girl to young woman.
I more than
delighted to be
your Prince Charming.
The grinning rocking horse
galloping free
from fairytale
to Reality.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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The Tale Of The Trucker's Life
The young bride sits alone in her house,
waiting for her farm hand husband to return to her lonely bosom.
Enters the husband, tired, and cranky.
He goes to the stereo, hooks up his headphones,
and falls asleep listening to country, and western music.
The bride long since gone to bed alone.
The young mother, and her toddler son
in front of the TV watching movies while the
husband/father works third shift at Wal-Mart 25 miles away.
The mother takes her son to his baseball games,
explains why daddy can't come,
because he decided to be a truck driver.
She is mother, father, and sole teacher to there young son.
She wipes away his tears when he is hurt,
Comforts him when he is sick,
and makes excuses for the absent father
who never has acted like he loved their child.
Who wipes away the tears that the
mother/wife sheds every time she sees
how much their son misses his daddy.
Their little boy puts his arm around his
mother's shoulders and with a hug,
he says, 'mom it will be all right.'
Does the trucker miss his family?
Does he feel the same pain, and sorrow?
He must not care, for he stays gone sometimes four,
sometimes six weeks in a row,
only coming home long enough to make love.
Never does he interact with his son, not really.
The wife, and son now lay in the cold, hard ground,
never to rise again. Now it is too late
for the old trucker to tell them how he really felt.
He sits alone in an old rocking chair,
staring at old, faded photos of his wife,
and son, but he is not in any of the pictures.
He stands in front of the pearly gates of Heaven,
he sees his wife, and son just on the other side,
But they don't recognize him.
So goes the tale of the trucker's life.
poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
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Rock The Discomfort Away
The rocking movement to and fro
brings me comfort in my chair.
It soothes the discomfort in my heart
that is so hard to bear.
It dulls my mind and overtakes
the thoughts that one by one
have not subsided all day long
and weigh on me like a ton.
Now as I rock my mind is numb,
unfeeling and unmoved.
The repeating of the motion
if nothing else has proved
that the troubles that are mine
can all be rolled into one.
So I must not stop this rocking
lest they weigh on me like a ton.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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