The Mystery Remains
Sometimes when I am working
I notice shadows moving
out of the corner of my eye.
Their shapes are assorted,
animal and human,
but when I look around
the shadows are gone.
I know some act as a warning
of some imminent thing to come.
Don’t ask me how I know,
just suffice to say I do.
Throughout my life,
strange and unexplained things
have happen to me.
It is if I’m channelling energy
from some unknown source.
I remember back in the 1960’s
when I was just beginning writing,
I made a friend in London
and we planned to get together
to write some songs.
I received a letter about a week before
I was to go and meet him.
Reading the letter,
he seemed filled with the joys of spring,
but then I thought of a conversation
in which he said he was going
to give up writing all together.
A week later, I had that conversation with him
almost word for word
only for real this time.
To this day, it baffles me
why someone feeling happy
and looked forward to something.
Would a week later want to chuck it all in,
but it really happened that way
and the mystery remains
with me to this very day.
3 March 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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End Of The Week
I get out of work
And then I throw away all of my cares
I get out of work
And then I wash the week out my hair
Monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday
Its hard as could be
But by old friday evening
Were free, were free, were free
End of the week
The weekend started
Been working so hard to play
End of the week
Its time to party
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Youre tasting freedom
No one to push you around
End of the week
And life has a reason
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Street are alive
You know everybodys going somewhere
You put on the slide
You gotta beat the crowd just everywhere
And all the music all the dancing
Get you so high
And all that sweet romancing
Oh my, oh my, oh my
End of the week
The weekend started
Working so hard to play
End of the week
Its time to party
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Feels good now
Feels good now
End of the week
End of the week
Its real good now
Real good now
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is No Poem To Begin The Week With
THERE IS NO POEM TO BEGIN THE WEEK WITH
There is no poem to begin the week with
Emptiness is the beginning
I try to think
I try to listen to some internal rhythm
I write words down
My thoughts are simple and self- referential
The green- yellow light is there outside my window
The world is moving
Am I writing a poem or simply writing whatever sentences come into my mind?
I sometimes think poetry never stops being written within me
At other times I believe I am just ambitious and pretentious
Today this is the beginning
These lines these words
A poem to begin the week with?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Week In Week Out
IIs there something more?
Surely there must be
You can't lose everything
So you're quite happy
To live with nothing more
Than a life-long shopping list
You tick off on credit
Well you'll pay for it
Week in and week out
Your lucky charms will always let you down
Maybe next week, we'll see
Maybe
You stand in life completely still
Feel really truly unfulfilled
Week in week out
Where are you going to turn?
When all ambition fails?
Why try any more
If human nature's stale?
Invite the hand of God
To touch the lucky few
There's no such thing as God
Nor easy money too?
Week in and week out
These lucky charms will always let you down
Maybe next week, we'll see
Maybe
You stand in life completely still
Feel really truly unfulfilled
Week in week out
Week in and week out
Your lucky charms will always let you down
Maybe next week, we'll see
Maybe
You stand in life completely still
Feel really truly unfulfilled
Week in week out
song performed by by Ordinary Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Spooky Life
At times, my life borders on the paranormal,
witnessing things and hearing things
I cannot readily explain.
Ghosts enter and exit my life on a regular basis.
I’ve witnessed a ball of light fall from the night sky
and then return back to the heavens.
I’ve seen a house burn down until there was nothing left
and a year later I witnessed it do it again
on the anniversary of the first time.
I’ve seen a woman open a door and enter a room,
but when I went to find her moments later,
there was no one there.
I had a conversation with myself to a friend
and a week later, that conversation
took place word for word for real.
It may sound spooky,
but it brings me no fear
as not of it can hurt me
and only I can do that with fear.
(28 June 2011)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Week End Letter
Lets re-read your week end letter.
Lets spend the afternoon together.
I know that you and I will feel much better
When we can write and talk together.
Here in this week end letter
The outside world has nice weather.
Wish we were together, it would be better
But for now there's no together
So lets re-read your week end letter
Lets spend the afternoon together
poem by Darlene Joy Hilliard
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Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.
He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.
He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart --
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a match last week.
So he asked all the bushies who came from afar
To visit the town last week
If the'd dine with him, and they said "Hurrah!"
But there wasn't a drop in the whisky jar --
You should have been here last week,
He said,
I drank it all up last week!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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I Thought Id Write To Juliet
I thought Id write to juliet, for she would understand
And when someone is already dead they can no longer let you down
Instead I find myself talking to you, as my oldest friend
Tell me how I can advise someone, that I dont even know,
To welcome death
For I received a letter that is worth reporting
And though it may raise a cynical smile
It leaves a sinking feeling
Like when a soldier in a story says to the sergeant...
Have you seen my pride and joy? ...
You know the rest...and its no joke...forgive me please as I quote...
This is a letter of thanks, as Im so bored here in I cant
Say where.
So Im writing to people that I may never meet
And I was thinking if something you said...
Im a female soldier, my name is constance.
I enlisted in the military needing funds for college
Im twenty-three years old and if I do get home alive
I imagine I may think again...
Im sleeping with my eyes open for fear of attack
Your words are a comfort, theyre the best thing that I have
Apart from family pictures and, of course, my gas mask
I dont know why I am writing to you
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I get readings, I sometimes get five a week. You'll feel like a schizophrenic by the end of that week. I don't know who I am any more. You'll be in conversation with a friend and start spitting out dialogue.
quote by Josh Holloway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Chair
We sat at the table talking
when we noticed from the corner of our eyes
the door seemed to open and close again.
No one took much notice of it;
each thinking it was a draft that had caught it.
Then we watched amazed
as the chair at the far end of the room
began to move on its own.
Each time it caught our attention the chair stopped.
Turning back to our conversation
from the corner of our eyes,
we watched the chair move again.
Each time it inched closer
towards the table where we sat.
Our guests and we were hypnotised
by the spectacular of the moving chair.
We had lived here for many years
and nothing like this had ever happened before.
We all watched intently the chair
with not a word being spoken.
Whatever was moving it
could clearly not be seen.
Someone smiled and said,
“That is a neat trick you must tell us all
just how you’ve done it.”
I shook my head and replied,
“It is not us doing this.”
Faces paled at the thought
of the chair moving on its own.
The chair then stopped
and the outline of a figure appeared,
its eyes were flaming red
and it stared intently at us all.
“Who are you? ” Someone asked.
“Who do you wish I be? ” The reply came
from a voice that seemed to surround us.
You could see the fear begin to inherit everyone’s eyes
as the eyes of whatever looked around at everyone.
A crackling laughter then arose.
“Who are you? ” I asked,
“You are frightening everyone.
I tell you now you were not invited;
your presence is not welcome here.
Be gone I say, be gone and leave us in peace.”
The flaming eyes stared at me
as if to devour my soul.
Outside a lightning bolt struck,
its explosion made us jump.
When we looked back,
the chair was where it should be
and the flaming red eyes were gone.
Was this an hallucination
or did we really see a ghost.
Whatever, when we returned to talking,
we abandoned the conversation
of strange phenomena we were discussing
before our encounter.
15 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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89
ask me
ask me what i wish for in my life
ask me what i do everyday
i will have lots of answers, my wish to be with you at the end
as she once wrote it, was a lie, my wish to hold your hand when
we meet again, as she once confessed was also a lie,
my wish is a lie, i will tell you now, my wish to love you forever,
still a lie, ask me then what is it that is true?
it is only me that is true, from the very beginning of my birth
it is only me
that is true, loving myself, working out to love myself first, so that
i may love you as my first wish, then you must ask me what i do
everyday,
office work,7: 30 to 11: 30, back to office work,1: 30 to 5: 00
it is not me there,
we talk, it is not me there in that conversation,
it is all work, it is all this obligations to my earth,
i owe my birth,
but i go back in my hole, this home, one day, and everyday,
face the computer, plant my feet on the floor, glue my bottoms
on the chair, bind my finger on every letter of the keyboard
where i heave some sighs,
hurl my words, run the lines that never stop, and mimic some great
men and women,
i sit all night shunning sleep, i write, ask me what is happening,
i am making myself a self, now look at me carefully,
i may be true at least when i begin writing
the first word in this
poem,
ask.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ask Me
ask me what i wish for in my life
ask me what i do everyday
i will have lots of answers, my wish to be with you at the end
as she once wrote it, was a lie, my wish to hold your hand when
we meet again, as she once confessed was also a lie,
my wish is a lie, i will tell you now, my wish to love you forever,
still a lie, ask me then what is it that is true?
it is only me that is true, from the very beginning of my birth
it is only me
that is true, loving myself, working out to love myself first, so that
i may love you as my first wish, then you must ask me what i do
everyday,
office work,7: 30 to 11: 30, back to office work,1: 30 to 5: 00
it is not me there,
we talk, it is not me there in that conversation,
it is all work, it is all this obligations to my earth,
i owe my birth,
but i go back in my hole, this home, one day, and everyday,
face the computer, plant my feet on the floor, glue my bottoms
on the chair, bind my finger on every letter of the keyboard
where i heave some sighs,
hurl my words, run the lines that never stop, and mimic some great
men and women,
i sit all night shunning sleep, i write, ask me what is happening,
i am making myself a self, now look at me carefully,
i may be true at least when i begin writing
the first word in this
poem,
ask.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First Week/last Week... Carefree
Can we run that again
Is that a womans voice I hear?
I said, lets wait and see. Ill see for myself
Thats a phrase I repeat
To myself
Made a reference to me and
Thats myself too
What progress I have made the first week
First week
First week
First week
Every sentence I use
Refer to women and their names
I heard the voice first last week
I heard it myself
Made a reference to me
Thats myself
This reports incomplete
I see for myself
Every appointment has been moved to last week
Last week
Last week
Last week
Oh...
Ah...
Oh...
I heard the voice first last week
I heard it myself
Made a reference to me
And thats myself
This reports incomplete
I see for myself
Every appointment has been been moved to last week
Last week
Last week
Last week
Oh...
Ah...
Oh...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet
Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...
and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write –
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;
or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…
write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...
write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…
write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;
write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
‘Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;
write as if you are the only being on earth
who can tell them this; as if tomorrow, if tomorrow comes,
you shall visit them every one, at home,
and look them in the eye; write as if
you love them more than they will ever know;
write as if you were offering to live their lives with them;
write as if you were a force of nature in yourself:
as if whatever earthquake, hurricane or flood might do,
whatever law or love may greatly do,
whatever gods or men can speak, in fullest force,
this you may do, because the sound of poetry is such;
yes, write ‘as if’ – but know you really write ‘because’…
write as if – no, write because –
you know that only poetry can tell
all, that must be told, and must be known;
and as all hearts melt in the heat of your own love,
be in no doubt – and see that all are in no doubt too –
that life was never, never more serious,
never more glorious, than it is right now;
write all this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Am Far Away From Where I Am
I AM FAR AWAY FROM WHERE I AM
I am far away from where I am-
I often am-
It is not that there are two sides of me
Or three or four
It is not that I know anything about who
My real self is-
I suppose ‘I am' all the time I am conscious
And what that means I also don't know-
There are so many questions and so many questions -
I am here now
I am writing this
Soon I will be on my way to Minchah
I have done the shopping today
And walked from ‘Rami Levi' in the rain
My wife and I have talked and talked
About many things
I spoke with my daughter also
This afternoon I will meet with a friend
Another ailing friend will have to wait next week for a visit-
I know that all the details of a life
Do not tell us what a self is,
But without our histories
What are we?
I felt that I was far away from where I am when I began this poem,
Now I don't know exactly where I am-
Far or not-
I am just sitting writing here
A rainy day in spring
And nearly seventy years behind me-
My real self is a question
And I will ask it I suppose as long as I continue thinking
On this earth -
I don't mind not knowing
I after all assume I do know-
Life has many contradictions
And unsolved questions-
Who we really are even to ourselves
Is one of them-
Thank God there has been so much Love and Goodness
From other people in my life
And that there is still now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Love Ain't Nothing But A Four Letter Word
She was waiting alone at the station praying for her train to arrive
Thinking bout her destination, the tattered bag had all she had in life
She turned her back on her family, she turned her back on her friends
She turned her back on a married man when she took off that wedding band
She said, Im giving up, silver clouds have turned to grey
Had enough, theres got to be a better way
Giving up, you know youve gotta walk
Theres some things in life still worth fighting for
Aint no big secret so forget all you heard
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
For some its for better, for some its for worse
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing
This time he said was the last time, last time he said just the same
In your heart you know that theyll be a next time
That your battered bones would have to explain
Givin up, nothings changing but the score
Had enough, every night love turns to war
Give it up, gave it all and wanted more
It aint nothing worth dying for
Its no big secret so forget all you heard
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
For some its a blessing, for some its a curse
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing
Forget your mamas rosary beads to get you through this time of need
You know you gotta cross that line
You take it one day at a time
Had enough, the silver clouds all turning grey
Im heading for a better day
No big secret so forget all you heard
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
For some its for better, for some its for worse
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing (it aint nothing now, baby)
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing (nothing now, baby)
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
Love aint nothing...
Love aint nothing but a four-letter word
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horoscope
At one time, I used to read
my horoscope every day,
just to see what the stars
had in store for me.
It always seemed that
they were writing
about someone who wasn’t me.
The things they said were going to happen
and the dates they gave all went by,
but nothing ever happened.
They even asked those who wrote it,
did we get it right?
It made me wonder if they knew
what they were doing
or was it just one big sham.
I got tired of reading them
and now only do it for a laugh,
because whatever they say
is never going to come true.
Well, at least not for me.
Therefore, if you read your horoscope
and read religiously
just take it with a pinch of salt
is the advice I give to thee.
No one can predict
what will happen just to you.
Now I just like the mystery
that each new day brings
and it is much more fun that way.
19 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Mutual Head Club
Well it's getting colder and you're getting distant
and I just keep thinkin
that I never meant it to be like this (to be like this)
You know what comes next (so do I)
Youre begging for a way to gracefully bow out
and say goodnight
It's worse than you think
On your way home, you should have known
you never listen to me
Im only complaining to keep myself busy, sweetie
Im only complaining to keep myself busy, sweetie
I cant say I blame you
but I wish that I could
Im sick of writing every song about you
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
song performed by by Taking Back Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wicked Postman
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Letter To Heaven
An old man was sitting at his table one day
Writing a letter to pass time away
His little granddaughter climbed up on his knee
Saying wont you please write a letter for me
Oh what must I say in this letter I pray
Tell mommy I miss her since she went away
I coming to see her real soon I hope
He choked back a big lump that rose in his throat
He sealed it and wrote on that big envelope
To God up in heaven youll get it I hope
He stamped it and handed it to her to mail
Her big eyes were shining her little face pale
She was crossing the street to the box oer the way
And when she stepped out never looked either way
A big auto hit her and sped away fast
The little girls prayers had been answered at last
The postman was passing and picked up the note
Addressed to the master and these words he spoke
Straight up into heaven this letter did go
Shes happy up there with her mommy I know
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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