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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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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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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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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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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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song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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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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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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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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Bench

Sitting on a bench watching people go by.
Smiles and frowns, Stares and glares
Wondering what they are thinking?
Is it me greeting them one by one
Or me sitting on a bench.
The seat of comfort and distractions
a place to think and read
Feed the birds, Friendly chats
Surprising hellos, A lot of old fellows
wanting the seat, for they are beat!
Everyone's favorite seat
The bench of life

poem by Michael Peterson
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Child of the Dawn

In the small hours of the morning, I sat alone, outside
on a bench that smelled of wood and the old women
that sat there Sunday afternoons to watch the children
playing at the park. I ran my hand against
the smooth wood, a splinter lodging itself into my palm.
I winced and looked into the trees at just the right
instant. The sun was rising behind the branches
like a fish rising through seaweed. Hesitant.
As if afraid of what the water will do to it.
My friend broke into a smile as it was greeted by the pink
and soft orange sky around it, soon giving way to perfect blue.
A pure, motionless blue that went on forever, never
faltering, never ashamed to be the 'sad color'
that was simply a mistake of the People. It knew itself
to mean happiness and beauty. The beauty of the world.
The day dragged on, but it was a nice blue sky day
as the Child of the Dawn traveled across it.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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The Little Park Planted

The little park planted in memory of a boy
who fell in the war begins
to resemble him
as he was twenty eight years ago.
Year by year they look more alike.
His old parents come almost daily
to sit on a bench
and look at him.

And every night the memory in the garden
hums like a little motor.
During the day you can't hear it.

poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Clown With A Frown**********6/19/69

6/19/69

While sitting in the park one day
A man happened to pass my way.
He was dressed up like a clown
With a large and pitiful frown.
As he stopped and turned towards me
I asked myself “ what can it be”
That he continues to stare at me.

He gave a little sigh and sat down by my side
And as he turned towards me
I knew it was something dreadfully.
He said that he lost everything in his life
His home, his children, and his wife.
He lost everything while in his prime
And he thought everything was going just fine.

He had met this woman where he worked
Where she considered all men jerks.
It seemed that she had taken to me.
But that was part of her plan
To get everything she can.

She started going with me to lunch
I never suspected or had a hunch
That it was all part of an elaborate plan
To prove that all men were dumb
That she could use any man just for fun.

So in I fell like a spider in a web
She got me where she wanted me
In a bed.
She had pictures taken while making love
She passed it around the office for
Every one to see, just how she had gotten me.

She sent copies to my boss and wife
While knowing it would be the end for me.
she didn’t care about losing her job too.
She was always in solitude.
So this was the story as it was told to me
And why he would always wear a frown
And by a woman never be put down.

As he got up and left me on the bench
He turned and smiled and said these words.

When you feel life is letting you down
And you’re in despair, - remember me
And what I went through
And soon you’ll climb out of that solitude.

poem by Louis Rams
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Clown With A Frown********6/19/69

6/19/69

He had met this woman where he worked
Where she considered all men jerks.
It seemed that she had taken to me.
But that was part of her plan
To get everything she can.

She started going with me to lunch
I never suspected or had a hunch
That it was all part of an elaborate plan
To prove that all men were dumb
That she could use any man just for fun.

So in I fell like a spider in a web
She got me where she wanted me
In a bed.
She had pictures taken while making love
She passed it around the office for
Every one to see, just how she had gotten me.

As he got up and left me on the bench
He turned and smiled and said these words.

When you feel life is letting you down
And you’re in despair, - remember me
And what I went through
And soon you’ll climb out of that solitude.

poem by Louis Rams
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where did I park my car?

1
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

had a coffee at the center
caught up with some friends
watched a movie
and bought some stuff for home
and now I can’t find my car
though I’ve searched past 10 minutes

where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

no, that’s not mine
that’s a Mercedes;
that one’s too shiny;
and maybe it’s this one
- no, mate,
we won’t go any nearer
this car is too clean
mine will look like
it’s not been washed since Noah

where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

2
well, yes, help me look out...
it’s an old Nissan
blue faded into white;
no, nobody ‘ll steal that
and the only people
who’d give it a second look
will be the traffic police
who’d wave as if to say:
Pull over, Sir;
let’s have a look at
your rego and front tyres

now, where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

well, damn,
I’m sure it hasn’t moved
it’s not that sort with smart technology
self-park, self-drive or with sensors;
it’s like an old useless dog
completely lost without its master

where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

now that we’ve looked
about 30 minutes or more
I’m not sure if this is the right level;
Oh, did I stop at Yellow Level
or Blue or Green or Pink?
was it level 1 or 2 or 3 or 9?
it’s completely out of my mind

where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

ah, there it is
that old boneshaker;
thanks mate, for helping me look
You were saying you want a lift –
yes, come - I'll dropp you…no trouble…
yes, it’s just on the way…
Hey…Where you going?
What? Don’t want a lift?
You’d rather walk home?
Hey, what’s wrong with my car?
OK, suit yourself…
at least I found my faithful car…

where did I park my car?
it was Level 5, Yellow Sector
Lot 125
all the while
and that beauty was here each second
an old helpless dog, waiting for its master

poem by Raj Arumugam
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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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Invisible

Did you spot the girl
Who sat all alone,
On a bench in a playground
Outcast and unknown? ......

The mates meet up early
To recall and recite
From the programmes they watched
On the previous night

The girl on the bench
Her eyes dart pensively
She doesn't join in
As she has no tv

The mates meet for break
Strong opinions they share
On what clothes they like
Trends in labels to wear

The girl on the bench
Turns away in her shame
She doesn't join in
Shabby clothes on her frame

The mates meet for lunch
The school rings with loud prattle
The alpha females
Choose a cage they can rattle

The girl on the bench
muted through her own choice
She doesn't join in
scared of her own small voice

The mates have a moan
At their parents restrictions
Loving guardian's angst
They interpret as friction.

The girl on the bench
Knows the deal she's been dealt
She doesn't join in
Little love has she felt

The mates gather up
Final bell has been rung
The school empties out
All except one...........

The girl on the bench
Sadly stands and walks home
How she longs to fit in
And not feel so alone.

poem by Stevie Taite
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Aunt Edna and Her Black Mask

Your Aunt Edna
had asthma
and she carried around
a big black

asthmatic mask
which frightened
the life out of you
especially when

she put it over
her mouth and nose
and her eyes went
big and dark

and she said
it's ok Tony
nothing to worry about
it's to help me breathe

and she managed
to laugh
and you kind of relaxed
and watched

as she sat down
and closed her eyes
and breathed in
and her breath

came back
of its own accord
and then she put
the mask down

and she was herself again
and her dark hair
was curled and wavy
and she looked like

an actress when
she wasn't gasping
for breath
and didn't have

that awful mask
over her face
and some days
she took you

to the park nearby
and watched you
run and play
or sat with you

on a bench
when she needed
to catch her breath
and you liked the park

with its tall trees
and wide green spaces
and the green
painted railings

that went all around
and there was that
gateway you went in
and you remember dogs

running and their owners
throwing sticks or balls
but you just sat
with Aunt Edna

as she put on her mask
to find her breath
and you and she
not knowing then

that hiding behind
the asthma
was ugly Mr Death.

poem by Terry Collett
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En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Old Man

Related quotes

Lonely

Memories On A Park Bench

A Place To Sit

Park Bench

Old Friends

Was He A Child?

And You Don’t Remember Me

Ol' gents on a bench(in the park after dark)

Hollow

A Park Bench

They do indeed

Bench

Child of the Dawn

The Little Park Planted

Clown With A Frown**********6/19/69

Clown With A Frown********6/19/69

where did I park my car?

In The Shade Near Evening Time

Invisible

Aunt Edna and Her Black Mask

En.Citatepedia®.ro

The Old Man

Related quotes

Lonely

Memories On A Park Bench

A Place To Sit

Park Bench

Old Friends

Was He A Child?

And You Don’t Remember Me

Ol' gents on a bench(in the park after dark)

Hollow

A Park Bench

They do indeed

Bench

Child of the Dawn

The Little Park Planted

Clown With A Frown**********6/19/69

Clown With A Frown********6/19/69

where did I park my car?

In The Shade Near Evening Time

Invisible

Aunt Edna and Her Black Mask

En.Citatepedia^®.ro