The Table
This table is reserved an invitation for two,
only one sits alone and the other chair is bare.
He waits and waits as the hours creep through.
Stares at the empty space and wonders where are you.
He looks at his watch as another hour ticks by,
looks at the door to see who is coming through.
He feels eyes staring, probably wondering whom
he is waiting for as the minutes turn to hours.
The empty chair remains bare
as outside the sun sets as night begins to call.
This table is reserved for two, but where are you?
He thinks of all the reasons why you could be late
for this most important date.
He has rehearsed his lines of what he purposed to say.
The box with the ring within his pocket stays.
Where are you he wonders, do you love him anymore?
The negative thoughts invaded his mind
as he waits looking at the door, just waiting for you.
Finally the waiter comes along and tells him they are about to close.
He gives one last look at the door, then gets up and goes.
The reserved table for two stands empty and bare.
Those who should have sat there are gone never to return,
and as the light go out the table stands alone and forlorn.
24 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Disciplined
like a disciplined cat
he sits on the chair
on a motionless scale
staring at an empty
breakfast table
an empty cup
an empty bowl
on those empty hours
she expects him to say
meow
but he didn't
in an hour he left and
tells the wind about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
S4
now i am hearing the rushing steps
of the fish vendor
towards the market
passing by the road fronting
my blinds
a busy day,
the red ant below my feet is at it again
finding some crumbs
of cookies
under the computer table
beside the swivel chair
i always have a word
despite,
the ant wonders
why are you doing this?
the nails have no feelings
and so are the feet of the chairs
the monitor is a eunuch
the room fills itself with so much mess
rambling books
scattered papers still unread
piling folders and
dusty nooks
the light brown curtains need
badly a laundrywoman
the walls are calling for a painter
and the floors yell for a scrubbing and mopping
this is the earth of being
needing an updat a cleansing of some sort
a deluge perhaps
and what must remain must only be the essentials
a pen a piece of paper
discard the table and the chair
for man can squat
and still relate to what is bare and empty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Acceptance
each day she bleeds
there is pain
her mind is empty
there is no thought in there
she waits by the door
looking beyond the front road
she knows no name
she waits actually for no one
no one is coming
and she does not know where is anywhere
everyday this happens
every hour is a spirit
when the day fades
she does what routine requires her
she goes inside
closes the door behind her
she eats too little
recites her prayer and then sleeps
this happens everyday for all
the rest of her life
who is doing this to her?
No one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What We Call Love...
what we call love...
sands trickling through
an hourglass,
on a bare table,
in an empty room.
what we desire...
total and reckless
abandon,
drenched in touch!
what stands between us...
the tight grip of your hands
on your bags!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When the Night Falls Upon the Alone
When relationships keep failing, it really makes you wonder, am I meant to spend life alone
When the sun falls upon the city
Here you are alone
You think of families
Gathering in their homes
Moms putting a meal on the table
Making sure homework is done
Dads doing catch up work
He had to bring home
Here you are
Watching t.v.
Wondering is there someone
Out there for you
As your sitting home alone
A boyfriend here, a boyfriend there
But nothing really stable, nothing on solid ground
Wondering why is it, there is not anyone here
Sharing what couples share
Wondering who else is sitting
In this world alone
No one to bother you
Doing what you wanna do
No one to interrupt while the t.v. is on
Being able to walk out the door
No one to report to
Where have you been, when are you going to be back
Asking in worry what took you so long
No one to make plans with
The week days so long
Waiting for the weekend
To go out to social places
Watching couples kiss, cuddle
And dance, not going home alone
Someone catching you sitting there
Stuttering over invading your space
Asking, what are you doing here alone
Shrugging your shoulders
I just am
Asking if they could have the empty chair
Can I buy you a drink
Conversation covers topics
Thoughts of taking you home
Till you make it clear
One night stands is not what you do
The night ending with a favorite song
Can I call you sometime
When it dawns on him
Your still
walking out the door
Going home alone
Some day the phone may ring
Would you like to go out to dinner
Would you like to go out dancing
Sometimes it so tiring to be alone
Yea, I know what you mean
And the question is asked
Why are you alone
Your answer is plain
It may even match theirs
Just haven’t found that one
That wants to be focused on a relationship
to make plans that includes two
to wonder where I am when I am late
the moment when thoughts to give
who rings who to see how things are going
to only be with me
yea, I know what you mean
they tell of the story of why
they’re alone
you think this might be it
lets take it slow
see where it may lead us
yet in the mean time
I think I’ll watch the evenings
Come and go
Spending time alone
Till they make up there mind
They don’t want you
Or them to spend their life
Alone
poem by C. Lea Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Tale Of New Year
The table sits in darkened room
Its fare all spent its contents strewn
All use now ended, empty shell
A place where only thoughts now dwell
For this is last years empty table
Feasted on by all those able
Some who sat and joined the fest
Have left our mortal life to rest
Friends anew have stepped on board
As life continues rest assured
For in the light of room next door
The circle starts again once more
A brand new table full to flowing
What it holds not ours for knowing
Be sure this though safe from fear
To take your place for this New Year
Amongst the newly laid out feast
When hope and faith are all increased
Savour what this new year brings
As midnight bells chime 12 strong rings.
poem by Dave James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Happy New Year?
The table sits in darkened room
Its fare all spent its contents strewn
All use now ended, empty shell
A place where only thoughts now dwell
For this is last years empty table
Feasted on by all those able
Some who sat and joined the fest
Have left our mortal life to rest
Friends anew have stepped on board
As life continues rest assured
For in the light of room next door
The circle starts again once more
A brand new table full to flowing
What it holds not ours for knowing
Be sure this though safe from fear
To take your place for this New Year
Amongst the newly laid out feast
When hope and faith are all increased
Savour what this new year brings
As midnight bells chime 12 strong rings.
poem by Dave James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Letter...2
That goodbye letter
That empty room,
That bare table
So much pain to endure.
Years have passed
My hair turned grey,
A letter under my door
It's from her,
'I still love you,
May I come home.
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Odd Hats, Summer Dresses
Old summer hats lie on the floor,
funeral hats, hats in hat boxes,
some still on hat stands
and one left discarded on a chair.
Her summer dresses, still fragrant
from perfumes she wore,
hang limply now, on hangers
as though they are waiting for her.
I view her dressing table, its little pots,
one for her wedding rings,
one for her broaches,
and one for her powder puff.
Her chair's empty but askew
as though she'd just gotten up.
Strange to see it like that
and look into the mirror above.
A mirror that should reflect her,
her, with her lips all pursed
waiting for their lipstick,
red or pink and then a smile.
Here's her broken watch; I hold it,
put it on my wrist
hoping its band is still
warm from her skin but it's not.
Desperate, I try to mend it,
I shake it, fiddle with it.
Somehow, if I could just make it tick,
but she's gone and the watch is broken
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Of A Miners Child
She is my flower
And she blooms for the one who loves her best
The miners stop to watch as she walks
They know her love is not for sale
She will never fail me cause I know
I watch her grow
And the mother of a miners child
Waits for me beside the kitchen door
She is my light
In this place where the darkness never ends
Shell guide me where the tunnels twist and bend
Shes the only one who listens when I tell her
I got less than I can spend
She knows the pace
Oh mother of a miners child
Was away the coal dust from my face
When the night shifts done
Shell be waiting by the table when I come
Searchin for another dream to chase
Oh mother of a miners child
I know that you still think about the day
When well be movin on
Remember dear old daddy and
The promise that I made to carry on
Sometimes I smile
In the cage where the cables softly hum
Id curse that old straw boss to the bone
But the mother of a miners child
Is waiting for her paycheck to come home
Come saturday
And he is just a miners boy
I hope that he will find a better way
She is my flower
And she blooms for the one who loves her best
The miners stop to watch as she walks
They know her love is not for sale
She will never fail me cause I know
I watch her grow
And the mother of a miners child
Waits for me beside the kitchen door
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Crumbs From Your Table
From the brightest star
Comes the blackest hole
You had so much to offer
Why did you offer your soul?
I was there for you baby
When you needed my help
Would you deny for others
What you demand for yourself?
Cool down mama, cool off
Cool down mama, cool off
You speak of signs and wonders
I need something other
I would believe if I was able
But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table
You were pretty as a picture
It was all there to see
Then your face caught up with your psychology
With a mouth full of teeth
You ate all your friends
And you broke every heart thinking every heart mends
You speak of signs and wonders
But I need something other
I would believe if I was able
But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table
Where you live should not decide
Whether you live or whether you die
Three to a bed
Sister Ann, she said
Dignity passes by
And you speak of signs and wonders
But I need something other
I would believe if I was able
I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Night Begins
Lying is sweet repose behind the bedroom door
she waits for her lover at the appointed hour.
His footsteps are silent
as he creeps along the hall,
knocks upon the door and waits
for her voice to say softly come in.
Opening the door with care, he walks quietly in.
She rises to embrace him
as now for them the night begins.
The murmur of raised passions
echo from them both
as they float along on a cloud of ecstasy
into a long night of passion
that ends so abruptly
as the dawning sun awakes.
26 November 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Solitude and the Teacup
Silhouettes
Two men
walk through the desert
forming silhouettes
against the orange sunset.
Solitude
A solitary figure
stands on an island
staring at the number
one.
Soul
Light shines upon a body
and casts the darkness of its soul
onto the ground.
Storm clouds approach
removing the evidence of sin.
Step
beyond the constraints of nonconformity
into recesses of impossibility
lies the incongruence of melancholy.
Stone Shadow
A stone shadow
fixated
upon the light
from the eclipse.
Suicide
A lost soul
dangles from a bit of rope
in an empty cell.
Supper
Every night
the family gathers
around the table
and says grace
over the cloud.
The Shoe
A shoe
goes to the mall
shopping
for a pair of humans.
The Shoes
A pair of shoes
go to the mall
shopping for a person.
Tea Cup
An empty tea cup
sits on my floor
and waits.
poem by Zachary Zuccaro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
After Having Written Poems Late At Night...
I see her turning off the light
on the table. I can see gray.
I hear her
folding the books and
crumpling the papers
perhaps her drafts
of a letter or
a composition.
I see her stand, leave the chair and the table,
and i hear the closing of the door.
everything turns dark.
i imagine her lying in bed
she closes her eyes
i know that the light inside the room
is open.
as usual the TV is on with no one watching.
i just know it. It is a habit
and it has become a practice and that
when i follow, i must be felt
when i turn off the light
and when i turn off the TV.
I know she is awake.
But i do not mind
we all pretend we are alive and that
we want to sleep.
we fall on the same mistake.
we sleep always late, and we do not talk about it.
i put my hands around her body.
she tilts her body and finds her own direction towards the path to
her own dreams
not mine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Round Table
we have this round table
and we put all our hands
on it when we eat and
drink and just talk for
hours and hours and
listen. And we ask what
is happening: Karding
broke a leg and Delia
is looking for the money.
Always it is the money.
Always she is short of
the money. And there
were jewelries hanging
on her neck and arms
and fingers, and we all
ask at this round table:
what is happening?
Nothing, don't mind at
all, this is just a part of
the round table, some
wine glass that broke
and must be swept at
once. We keep away the
sound of a crying pig.
We eat pigs here at this
round table. Then we shifted
the talk about our dead
parents. We pray. We
remember we keep on
saying this. We finish eating
the pig. We drink a very
cold water. Our throats
are irritated and we step
out of the room wanting
to pull away our tongues.
when we come back the
round table is empty.
and we laugh about a
joke that we remember.
our childhood games
the river, and the boat
that father made for us.
we turn off the tv and we
begin to talk about the
beautiful flowers in mother's
old garden, the secret one.
we agree. we miss it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Christmas Eve
dawn creeping
o'er the mountains,
and through bare limbed trees....
Christmas Eve...
amid the hustle and bustle,
colored lights and wrapping paper....
families and friends....
the streets still alive with those
who have nowhere else to be....
empty houses, empty trailers,
stray dogs and abandoned cars....
somewhere church bells are ringing.
a baby born in a bare apartment,
the rats scurry to meet him,
the pot on the stove empty.
no curtains on the windows,
bare bulbs, no shades.
no angels, no wise men,
an eviction notice on the door...
yet another baby Jesus,
will he make it, will he die?
will he bring light and salvation?
or will they find his small body
in a dumpster with the trash?
fate, or understanding,
holiness knocks on the door,
again, and again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Death
My death waits like an old roue
So confident, Ill go his way
Whistle to him
And the passing time...
My death waits like a Bible truth
At the funeral of my youth
We drank for that -
The passing time..
My death waits like
A witch at night
As surely as our love is right
Lets not think of that or the passing time
But whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do...
Angel or devil, I dont care
For in front of that door...
There is you.
My death waits like a beggar blind
Who sees the world through an unlit mind
Throw him a dime
For the passing time...
My death waits to allow my friends
A few good times
Before it ends
Lets not think about
And the passing time..
My death waits there, between your thighs,
Your cool fingers will close my eyes,
Lets not think about the passing time.
For whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do...
Angel or devil, I dont care
For in front of that door...
There is you.
My death waits there among the leaves
In magicians mysterious sleeves,
Rabbits and dogs, and the passing time...
My death waits there, among the flowers
Where the blackest shadows cowers
So lets pick lilacs
The passing time..
My death waits there, in a double bed
Sails of oblivion and my head
Lets not think about
The passing time.
But whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do...
Angel or devil, I dont care
For, in front of that door...
There is you.
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Everytime You Walk Out That Door
Oh oh yeah yeah
The table set for dinner only just for once
Serving at your empty chair
Remembering our love the crazy lives we shared
Last time you were sitting there
I can hear your voice still calling out my name
It's now your symptom upon the pillow next to me
I'magining your kisses when I close my eyes
They don't replace you holding me
A house is not a home when I'm alone here
Summer turns to winter when you're gone
And all I see are clouds outside my window
Everytime you walk out the door
And in the morning as I slowly wash my face
Feel you
Sneaking upon me
Go to my reflection staring tells me everything I'm alone
You're not really there
I can hear your voice still calling out my name
It's now your symptom upon the pillow next to me
I'magining your kisses when I close my eyes
They don't replace you holding me
A house is not a home when I'm alone here
Summer turns to winter when you're gone
And all I see are clouds outside my window
Everytime you walk out the door
I'm not saying that I can't just live without you
But I'm fine so much better when you're here
You turn my darkness to light
And you make everything all right by my side
A house is not a home when I'm alone here
Summer turns to winter when you're gone
And all I see are clouds outside my window
Everytime you walk out the door
song performed by by Kelly Rowland from Simply Deep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!