Memories On A Park Bench
He sat on a park bench
just to pass the time away
when he saw her there
from the corner of his eye.
She was older now,
but her beauty had not faded.
She turned in his direction
and he smiled at her.
At first, she looked at him strangely
until there was recognition.
She smiled back
and then joined him.
They sat there on the park bench
the sun smiling down on them
as the daffodils swayed in the breeze.
For both of them came a flood
of memories of when they were young
before the world spirited them away.
Both had walked down many roads,
had some hard knocks along the way.
Both recalled them now
the way old friends meeting do.
As they sat there
recalling memories from happier days.
All too soon they would be parting
and as they would go,
they would take with them
a little of each other
in the form of memories
that they acquired on a park bench.
5 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Old Man
The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.
Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.
He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.
Everyone spoke about him,
but no one ventured to talk.
Then one day the old man
wasn't on the park bench
and he was nowhere to be seen.
Now a different question was asked.
Day after day, the bench was empty.
Where had the old man gone?
Had he simply passed away?
The questions remained unanswered
because no one ever stopped
to enquire of his name.
I would like to think
that in the dying hours
on the park bench one day
that he had found
what he was waiting for
and then happily he faded away.
12 July 2012
poem by David Harris
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Park Bench
Sitting on a park bench,
the fragrance of the grass
scents the fresh air.
It makes you look more closely
to everything that is there.
The beauty of the day,
white clouds, no black ones of dismay.
A breeze that bends
every leaf and petal to and fro.
Then there are the colours,
a multitude of green.
Everything assaults our senses,
every smell and flower there.
The sun is over my shoulder,
blue skies, and no clouds in sight.
As I sit here on a park bench
enjoying everything, I see.
(7 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
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Lonely
There was an old man
sat on a park bench,
his trousers were baggy,
his hair was unkempt.
It flowed long and white
right down to his shoes
and children would pass by
looking bemused.
A glint in his eye
and a glow on his cheek
he sat all day long
not a word did he speak,
but should you have asked him
why he was there
he'd had given you reasons, I'm sure
with a stare.
He sat on the park bench
eating some berries,
he didn't look sad
and he didn't look merry,
then just when the church clock
struck quarter to four
the old man got up
and he fell to the floor
Nobody noticed him tumble
nobody even passed by
and as sunshine hid behind a cloud
that lonely old man, he did die.
But sometimes as I pass that bench
I have a strange feeling inside
that someone is eating a berry or two
and watching the people go by
poem by Ruth Walters
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Hollow
I sit alone at the edge
of a bench, watching the children
as they laugh
and play.
And they run past me
as I smile back and laugh
with their small voices
and wet hair in their eyes.
And they call me their friend,
as they see me often.
I often sit alone on that bench.
In the dust at the corner
of the sunlit park.
With a sagging tree
just over my head,
dappling my clothes
and shading my eyes
from the sun.
Until I stayed the night.
The sun was shooed
out of the sky
and the moon took
her shift.
The shadows grew longer
and the children left,
calling in the faeries.
They wanted me to dance.
I smiled and stood
in the center
of the pure Beauty.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Old Friends
==============================
Simon & Garfunkel - Old Friends
==============================
(2:35)
P. Simon, 1968
Old friends
Old friends
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends
Old friends
Winter companions
The old men
Lost in their overcoats
Waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city
Sifting through the trees
Settle like dust
On the shoulders
Of the old friends
Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy
Old friends
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fear...
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Young William And Young April
Young William and young April
Met in the park one day.
Young William said to April,
'Why did you come this way? '
Young April said to William,
'I thought I might see you.'
Young William, then to April,
'It's funny, what you do.'
Young April gave to William
A sweet, young childhood kiss.
Young William said to April,
'Don't bother me like this.'
Young April stood in silence,
Not knowing what to do.
Then young William turned away.
Young April, torn in two.
Young William said, 'Don't follow me.'
Away from her he fled.
April then, sat down and cried,
And wished that she was dead.
William never came again.
At least, for many years.
Fearful that young April still,
Might be there shedding tears.
William walked the park again.
It seemed just like before.
Wondering if he might see her.
Young April, there once more.
Young William never noticed.
The roses hid it well.
The place they found Young April.
The place she used to dwell.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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It's like a poem
I met her in a gloomy evening.
The sky was cloudy and it seemed to be rain very soon.
Just smiled and only a hello!
It's a fiery in my heart when she was disappearing
And I remember the dimples on her cheeks when she smiled.
Autumn ended and winter peeped.
Still that fiery complicates my attitudes
And I thought that I will never see her again.
But unexpectedly I found her in the public library.
This time no smile or hello and no dimples too.
She has already changed and left without a glance.
It's almost five years were gone, still a bachelor
I was sitting on a park bench and reading a poem.
I was surprised by seeing them there were two girls and they are twins.
One of them turned and said hello and I saw her dimples again.
They were disappeared as earlier.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Paisley Park (remix)
1 2, 1 2 3
Woo!
There is a park that is known 4 the face it attracts
Colorful people whose hair on one side is swept back
The smile on their faces, it speaks of profound inner peace
Ask where they're going, they'll tell U "Nowhere"
They've taken a lifetime lease on Paisley Park
CHORUS:
The girl on the seesaw is laughing
4 love is the color this place imparts (Paisley Park)
Admission is easy, just say U believe
Then come 2 this place in your heart
Paisley Park is in your heart
There is a woman who sits all alone by the pier
Her husband was naughty and caused his wife so many tears
He died without knowing forgiveness and now she is sad, so sad
Maybe she'll come 2 the park and forgive him
And life won't be so bad in Paisley Park
CHORUS
See the man cry as the city condemns where he lives
Memories die but taxes he'll still have 2 give
(Who?) Whoever said that elephants were stronger than mules?
Come 2 the Park and play with us
There aren't any rules in Paisley Park
CHORUS {x2}
(Paisley Park is in, yeah, your heart)
Your heart (Your heart)
Paisley Park
Your heart {x3}
(Say it is in your heart)
Paisley Park {x3
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Brother’s Fountain
He died last year about this time
I still miss him every day
I think about him all the time
For my brother’s gone away
I have the fountain he once had
There’s a special place in my yard
Surrounded by his favorite Roses
They are beautifully standing guard
I also have in this honored spot
A park bench so I can hear
The trickle of water down the rocks
A sound that is oh, so dear
It brings back so many memories
All the years when we were children
It’s like spending time with him again
Listening to my brother’s fountain!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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The Forgotten Hero
He rambles, solitary along the streets, His body enervated with aching feet,
He’s spent half his life deserted and alone, Heading for destinations unknown.
His clothes are soiled, rancid and torn, The shoes on his feet are totally worn,
A carrier bag holds his only effects, An outcast, an exile one of societies rejects.
Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
But now he is forgotten, just a beggar in the crowd.
He’s an old man now, going on seventy four, A veteran and hero of the second world war,
The medals on his chest, he will not trade, They’re just a small reminder of the price so many paid.
A heroes welcome he received, in 1945, Now he struggles day by day just to stay alive,
By day he sits there begging, with memories in his head, Of the wounded and the dying and the ones he left for dead.
Just a forgotten hero, begging amongst the crowd,
Huddled in a doorway, a blanket, his only shroud.
The blinds of darkness are pulled upon day, It’s time to find a place to stay,
Headed for the local park, He makes his way through the shadows of dark.
It’s minus two and he shivers alone, Stretched out on a park bench, his icicle home,
The sequestered memories of his life flash by, As his haggard body let’s out a sigh.
Just a forgotten hero, sleeping out in the cold,
A park bench as a bed, no place for the old.
He’s found in the morning, by a passer-by, She stares, sheds a tear and asks herself why,
He’s no longer a burden or public liability, now that he’s found his peace, and tranquillity.
On his grave there is no inscription, No cross or stone of any description,
A mound of earth marks where he lay, But he’s still not known, even to this day.
Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
Not even missed by the apathetic crowd.
poem by welshrebel GMR
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In The Shade Near Evening Time
As I sat in the quiet garden
at the back of our hotel,
the scent of flowers
drifted through the air
by a cooling breeze,
surrounding me with fragrance
as I sat on a park bench
in the shade near evening time.
26 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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For You
I sat in the corner of the park
Bring my love and joy
I laughed and was so excited
The birds sing merrily
I sat in the corner of the park
This time of sorrow and suffering brings me
I just stunned and restless
The birds looked at me sadly
I told them that
I am waiting
I do not expect much about you, but
I do not want let you go
When the night turned into the morning
When joy turned into grief
My longing still for you
Not be replaced
I sat in the corner of the park
Strengthen self-
Accept the fact that
Love you the most beautiful thing in my life
Copyright © 2012
Lost In Athens
Lost in Athens
Athens confusing in august, what with the heat and pollution I had spent
The night sitting on a park bench, looking at a white wall on a tall building
lit up by moonlight and I had waited for a movie to begin. Forenoon,
staggered into a church, joined a queue, a priest was handing out bags of
sweet cakes, the old lady behind got none since she had been in the line
three times. I ate a cake and gave the rest to the lady. Grateful she ate
the rest blew up the bag and hit it against a tree and we were surrounded
by an anti terrorist squad. The old lady, a known would be terrorist, she had
been blowing up paper bag all over the town, was arrested, they were going
to arrest me too since I had supplied the bag, but since I was a tourist they
let me go with dire warning. Deep in the park I found a grotto, walked in and
saw baby Jesus inside a looked like an aquarium, he looked like a dead
angel as painted by Caravaggio, Jesus opened his eyes smiled like a street
urchin and began masturbating, chocked I took a step back and collided with
two nuns who laughed hysterically. Escaped the park and found a cellar cafe
drank some ouzo served by a women who looked like horse; she was a pony
that had escaped from a Swedish circus. We hit it off I have always been fond
of horses, especially since according to an Indian chief in, an Alice walker’s
poem said that they make the landscape more pretty. Midnight she closed her
bar and we bareback we rode through the moonlit August night.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Happy Childhood Memories
Happy childhood memories the best memories of all
And my younger years in Millstreet I will always recall
On evenings in Summer up to the mid Fall
In the Townpark at the West End we played gaelic football
My friends of my youth where might they be today
Like me have the years left them balder and gray
Though some of them in the home Parish did stay
In life one might say we just went our own way
Since those days so many years have come and gone
And time does not wait it just ticks on and on
Many of the friends of my youth I may not see again
Though good memories of them with me does remain
And in fancy I chase the football up and down
With my happy young friends in the Park of the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Park Bench
Sitting on a park bench
in an old favourite haunt,
reflections of the past drift
by on origamic clouds in the blue.
Stripping back the years
to fragmented pictures of a time so far away.
Dewdrops on petals sparkle
under a morning sunrise
as waking creatures scamper
across the plains of Solomon's heights
where mushrooms create
fairy circles in the shade.
Captured by the moments
time slowly slips away
into the partitions of yesterday
when young lives knew
no boundaries they could not reach
in their quest for heavenly love.
Pictures of youth sail past
in momentary glimpses
as years entangled with the fury
within responsibilities reaches
and age wears on the body from youth to old.
As still above us the sky remain solitary.
The sea moves on its solitary quests
as our frowns grow deeper on our foreheads,
and still lies a park bench holding
in all the raptures of the young and old
who sat upon it to ponder for a while
on the thoughts of their lives.
25 October 2012
poem by David Harris
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Does The Park Have A Poem Today?
DOES THE PARK HAVE A POEM TODAY?
Does the park have a poem today?
Purple Berebis, Pale yellow leaved Ligustrum
That Shimrit Ginnot (Of Blessed Memory) planted.
The sunlight on the morning road-
The fresh wind of autumn-
The bench upon which Rabbi Eliezer Yakov (Of Blessed Memory)
Used to sit,
And on which I sit now.
The Beauty of God’s world
On this the fourth of the Ten Days of Repentance 5770.
How cool the wind
How warm the sun
In this holy place now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Was He A Child?
Was he a child? (NARRATED 7/9/10)
I was feeling down and out depressed and in despair
My chest was feeling tight My mind up in the air
Like so many others I was living from week to week
I was all the way down to my lowest peak.
Nothing seemed to console me, so I decided to take a walk.
Sat on a park bench when with me, a child started to talk.
What’s wrong mister? You look like you lost your best friend.
But don’t you worry, for soon it will end.
Its just like when I play baseball, and I want to hit a home run
And when I don’t do it, I feel like getting a gun.
My coach always tells me that I can’t always hit a home run.
As long as I get on base, that’s all that has to be done.
I looked at this child, he had a big smile on his face
He took me back- to another time, another place.
Well I’ve got to run mister to meet my family
For they are always there to hug and comfort me.
I thought: now here is a child with wisdom
Who seems to know more than me.
How is this possible? How can it be?
I turned to thank him and to tell him to have a nice day
But he was gone, he just slipped away.
I got up off the bench and looked all around
But he was not in sight, and nowhere to be found.
I felt a sense of freedom, like a burden taken off of me
For all those cares and worries, no longer bothered me.
WAS HE A CHILD?
poem by Louis Rams
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Ol' gents on a bench(in the park after dark)
Ol’ gents on a bench (in the dark in the park)
Two grizzled ol’ gents
On a bench in the park
Talking sagely of baseball
In the late evening dark
“ya think there’s baseball in heaven? ”
Mused Shecky to Levi
Levi furrowed his brow deeply
As he sighed soft reply
With an old man’s wet wheeze
He sonorously said
tis fairly certain we’ll know
Shortly after we’re dead
Let’s make a deal, they solemnly proposed
Whoever goes first will return to reveal
If there’s bleachers to seat and hot dogs to eat
And heavenly bases to steal.
As fate would have it, Shecky passed on that very night
And the next night Levi on their bench sadly sat alone
When out of the night, giving Levi such a fright
Levi heard Shecky’s ghostly voice intone
“Levi, oh Levi! I have good news and bad
Levi, there’s baseball in heaven” Shecky said with delight
And the bad news my ol’ friend I hate to relate
is…you’re the starting pitcher tomorrow night.
poem by David Whalen
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