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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Bright Colors
bright colors hang
on a horizontal pole
a white bench a red
pail and purple clouds
yellow sand black
sea grass and lavender
shadows umbrellas
on alternate orange and
white and saffron and
yellow green and crimson
blue sea with white foams
escape from a shrinking world
to the sea breeze and solitude
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Lying In The Park
On the green grass
And a blue sky
Peace and sunshine
Peace and sunshine
Soon,
Soon Im going bye ? ? ?
Now I just want ? ? ? city
Lookin for the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Yeah yeah yeah
See the momma
Down walking the dogs
Down by the fountains
Down by the fountains
Child, child
Eating sandwich and sweets
And your sitting by my fountain
Cooling my feet
In the park
Just before dark
Birds sing so smooth
But the park shut soon
What we going to do
Fine we gonna have to move
But Ill see you tomorrow
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Yeah yeah yeah
Feel the warm breeze
Cool by ? ? ?
Seen my good friend
Seen my good friend
So, so
In the afternoon
And we take us for your city ? ? ?
Lookin for the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park baby
See that young girl
There she goes man
See that rich bum
The old men playing chess
See that young girl
With that flower dress
See that young girl
With the flower dress
Well soon Im going bye
Now I just might move on
Looking for the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park baby
Ill be there
Ill meet you there
Oh baby
Yeah
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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To The Eyes Of The Newcomer
a green plain
a series of hills
some big mountains
tips reaching the clouds
the sun shines
the wind blows
a leaf falls
the first touch of the hand
on the petal of a white flower
whiteness
and blueness and scents of flowers
and trees
cool, warm,
in solitude
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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A Place Of Romantic Mood!
Romantic mood comes whenever we see a park!
One such park is a centre of attraction in our town;
Green lawn all around the park with open space wide
And trees with wide branches giving shade make it
A romantic place for lovers and tourists to enjoy here!
The parks of this kind I have seen in hill stations where
The climate is a plus point for tourists’ attraction there!
Varieties of flowers of different colours and fragrance
And fountains ejecting high up water give thrilling joy!
Blue sky, green grass lawn, fountain waters cooling all
And tall trees of big branches giving shade all over there
Make the park a small paradise for lovers and tourists!
For regaining joyful mood and relaxing in romantic mood
Where can we go for except the park of paradise here?
poem by Ramesh T A
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A Nice Day
Walk the steps to old monuments
White silk clouds
Awareness of the joy within
Awareness of the soldier
Awareness of the homeless
Old man feeds pigeons
His park bench on a groomed lawn
This blue sky has answers
An old friend is taking photos
Everything I am is here
The sun on my face
Breeze through my hair
Monument of a civil war general
A real killer of Indians
Worked for the railroad
Helped clear the west
Native Americans in nameless graves
No monuments
This killer gets streets named after him
The rich get their names on libraries
I don’t buy any of it
I’m glad it’s a nice day
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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They do indeed
One day...Not sunny, nor gloomy
at a dust washed park bench, where
I used to meet my shadow, and
talk about circles until recently
I met this innocent bystander
a poet and a preacher, he was
sitting on the wooden bench, silent
doing nothing except counting clouds
'What's you doing, O' innocent bystander? '
'Is you counting the bastards up on you? '
Ignored me completely, he carried on counting
wearing a blank expression on top of an empty one
Give up that easy, I absolutely did not
sat next to him, hoping for the best
looking up at the few grey splatters
trying to fix some connection between us
The silence got louder, whilst he
the preacher/poet, kept doing what's worth
and what wasn't, for me until suddenly
I jumped from inside, yelled 'Enough already! '
'You're the first I talked to, in years of loneliness! '
'Isn't it rude to ignore a person completely? ' asked I
He simply gazed at the blue sky frowning, drowning
in to a most calm pensive sleep with open eyes
Without even looking at where I was, not moving
slow as a gazelle running through the barren deserts
breaking the ringing silence, vibrated his vocal chords
'Lad, try to keep in mind new pages do smell good! '
poem by Pamuditha Zen Anjana
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Green Ricefields
green ricefields spreading to a distance
some white herons circling and landing finding a hiding place
for a while gone and then the wind comes from the trees swaying
the white herons in a flock of fives fly away again
to another rectangular spread of a green ricefield
a scarecrow stands in the middle of the place
the clouds arrive turning from pale to grey to blue
the sun has come in full grandeur
i am just amazed, sitting on a bench praying
simply watching and wondering
they all say that i am lazy and doing nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Truth-Bank(1)
Blue sky
Wandering clouds
White poetry magnificent
Breeze on the cutting-edge of the cloud
Singing the song of the future
Investing truths royally
Branches of the light of a grass
Green green fresh fresh
Sharing clarity all over the sky
In the truth-bank
Invest for the future
Infinity of the power of supply and
Invisible poetry
Blue sky
Black And White
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever shown him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life became a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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White And Black
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever showed him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life was a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 257
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy Dog 3
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Day In Th Park
in the park kids play
people lay on the grass
water fountain lines past the slides
no one brought a bottle
sitting on a bench talking to him
then comes the silver car
the gun five to the
front three to the back
gun smoke fill the air
the car speeds off
with a black perminate mark on the pavement
though fainter then the red
which washes with the rain
but it stays in the heart
should he die not her
he died she pulled though
he told god take him spare her
poem by Lexxiey Scott
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A Man and a Statuette
A man reads an old paper sitting on a bench in an isolated park.
A wearisome whisper of a female!
'Brother any interesting news in the paper today and do they still in a search of me? '
'Where are you? ' Man asked.
'I am just in front of you and your friend woman' Statuette replied.
'I am sorry I cannot see you as I am a born blind'.
'Then how do you read the news paper? 'She verified.
(This neglected park of huge trees touch the sky and you never see a flower. The secret whisper and the lament of a rebellion that haunt in constantly. Only the Fruit bats fly here and there in the awful night.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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