Yesteryears
The rocking chair squeaks,
as it rocks to and fro.
An old man is dreaming,
of yesterdays many years ago.
He dreams of the woman,
who’d one day be his wife.
He sees how things used to be,
when he was a lad.
Reflects on the changes,
that have come and gone.
The peace and the quiet,
shattered by the society of busy feet.
The countryside that disappears,
at an alarming rate,
as developers seal each acres fate.
Gone is the fresh air,
everyone one used to breath.
Now clogged with fumes,
of petrol and diesel.
Oh, yesteryears,
where have you gone?
Lost to the winds,
like a small bird’s song.
7 Sept.1995
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
Me And My Old Cat Sam
I sit here all alone well
Me and my old cat Sam
Rocking back and fro
As my
Chair squeaks
As I rock
In front of the old fireplace
Just me and my old cat
Sam
Knitting mittens
Singing while my cat sam takes
A nap
I’m growing old
Still alone
Me and my old cat Sam and my
Old rocking chair
As the fireplace is cracking while
The
Red blue flames seem to cracker
And pop
As it
Burn so happily it seem's
My chair squeaks my cat nod as I
Rock
In my rocking chair back and fro
Cheerfully in front of my old
Fireplace
With red and blue flames highlighting
The wall and ceilings
Me and my old cat Sam as he nod’s
I rock back and fro
While my rocking chair squeaks along
With the fireplace cracker and
Popping..
poem by Carolyn Sears
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On such a night, or such a night
146
On such a night, or such a night,
Would anybody care
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from its chair—
So quiet—Oh how quiet,
That nobody might know
But that the little figure
Rocked softer—to and fro—
On such a dawn, or such a dawn—
Would anybody sigh
That such a little figure
Too sound asleep did lie
For Chanticleer to wake it—
Or stirring house below—
Or giddy bird in orchard—
Or early task to do?
There was a little figure plump
For every little knoll—
Busy needles, and spools of thread—
And trudging feet from school—
Playmates, and holidays, and nuts—
And visions vast and small—
Strange that the feet so precious charged
Should reach so small a goal!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Rocking the Baby
I hear her rocking the baby--
Her room is next to mine--
And I fancy I feel the dimpled arms
That round her neck entwine,
As she rocks and rocks the baby,
In the room just next to mine.
I hear her rocking the baby
Each day when the twilight comes,
And I know there's a world of blessing and love
In the 'baby by' she hums.
I can see the restless fingers
Playing with 'mamma's rings,'
The sweet little smiling, pouting mouth
That to hers in kissing clings,
As she rocks and sings to the baby,
And dreams as she rocks and sings.
I hear her rocking the baby,
Slower and slower now,
And I hear she is leaving her good-night kiss
On its eyes, and cheek and brow.
From her rocking, rocking, rocking,
I wonder would she start
Could she know, through the wall between us,
She is rocking on a heart?
While my empty arms are aching
For a form they may not press,--
And my empty heart is breaking
In its desolate loneliness.
I list to the rocking, rocking,
In the room just next to mine,
And breathe a prayer in silence,
At a mother's broken shrine,
For the woman who rocks the baby
In the room just next to mine.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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I Want To Live In Quiet
I WANT TO LIVE IN QUIET
I want to live in quiet -
At peace with what I am
Without dreams I will never realize
And lusts I have long lost-
I want to live in quiet -
And in my own small way
Help those I can-
Nothing great anymore
Nothing big
Just small and quiet and in peace and at home.
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Yesterdays
Aren't we sick of yesterdays
that got us where we are?
All the yesterdays that got us here
and still we've not gotten far.
Aren't we tired of the yesterdays
that seem to haunt our dreams?
All the yesterdays have become todays
and nothing changes it seems.
Aren't we afraid of the yesterdays
that have never gone away?
All the yesterdays have come again
and now we have to pay.
The price we pay for yesterdays
is the sorrow we see today.
For the masses have become so used to them
that their feet are stuck in clay.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Small Things
it's so easy to miss
the things that really matter.
the small child looking up
at you, wanting to be
picked up.
the way sunlight dances
on rain wet leaves.
the person you bump into,
that smiles with that look
of something they want to say,
and you're in too big of a hurry
to listen.
the old man in his rocking chair,
waiting on you to call.
the dog that rolls over,
waiting on a belly rub.
the woman staring out the window
while you rattle on about work.
the ants going to and from their hill,
doing life's work.
the rose that opens and closes
without you taking the time
to smell, and to touch.
the hawk flying overhead
in the limitless sky.
the hand that brushes yours,
and you dont notice.
the voice on the phone
that wants to say 'come home'.
but doesnt because you're busy.
small things that come and go.
tiny universes, tiny miracles.
lost in the rush to.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Reformation
Reformation
Bleak and tired Western skies
Silence crashing with quiet lies
Shattered glass reflects elation
Reformation, Reformation.
I saw you running through my dreams
Question held me to the scene
Your face was wet with perspiration
Reformation, Reformation.
There's something wrong
There's something wrong
Man is something that must be overcome
Quick, snap, break, crack, complication
Reformation, Reformation.
I saw you running through my dreams
A sun that burst through a cloudy scene
Shattered glass reflects elation
Reformation, Reformation.
Bleak and tired Western skies
Silence crashing with quiet lies
Shattered glass reflects elation
Reformation, Reformation.
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be safe
Woman is like petrol,
Kept under seal to be virgin.
Wife is like flame,
Kept in hurricane lamp to be chaste.
Women must be safe to be pure.
29.05.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An Old Rocking Chair
An old rocking chair
stands on the porch.
Many times I sit there
watching people go on their way.
Occasionally one or two
will stop and talk about the day.
We’ll sit and rock,
chatting about the weather
and about kids and home.
All the time
the old rocking chair
rocks back and forth
with me sitting there.
6 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Long Ago And Far Away
long ago a young man sits
and plays his waiting game
but things are not the same it seems
as in such tender dreams
slowly passing sailing ships
on sunday afternoon
like the people on the moon i've seen
are things not meant to be
where do those golden rainbows end
(where do the rainbows end)
why is this song so sad
(why is this song so sad)
dreaming the dreams i dream my friend
(dreaming the dreams i dream)
loving the love i love
to love is just a word i've heard
when things are being said
stories my poor head has told me
can not stand the cold
and in between what might have been
and what has come to pass
are misbegotten guests alas
and bits of broken glass
where do your golden rainbows end
(where do the rainbows end)
why is the song i sing so sad
(why is this song so sad)
dreaming the dreams i dream my friend
(dreaming the dreams i dream)
loving the love i love
to love to love to love
where do your golden rainbows end
(where do the rainbows end)
why is the song i sing so sad
(why is this song so sad)
dreaming the dreams i dream my friend
(dreaming the dreams i dream)
loving the love i love
to love to love to love
whoa no no no no no
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long Ago & Far Away
Long ago a young man sits
And plays his waiting game
But things are not the same it seems
As in such tender dreams
Slowly passing sailing ships
On sunday afternoon
Like the people on the moon Ive seen
Are things not meant to be
Where do those golden rainbows end
(where do the rainbows end)
Why is this song so sad
(why is this song so sad)
Dreaming the dreams I dream my friend
(dreaming the dreams I dream)
Loving the love I love
To love is just a word Ive heard
When things are being said
Stories my poor head has told me
Can not stand the cold
And in between what might have been
And what has come to pass
Are misbegotten guests alas
And bits of broken glass
Where do your golden rainbows end
(where do the rainbows end)
Why is the song I sing so sad
(why is this song so sad)
Dreaming the dreams I dream my friend
(dreaming the dreams I dream)
Loving the love I love
To love to love to love
Where do your golden rainbows end
(where do the rainbows end)
Why is the song I sing so sad
(why is this song so sad)
Dreaming the dreams I dream my friend
(dreaming the dreams I dream)
Loving the love I love
To love to love to love
Whoa no no no no no
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No-one
In my big old lonely house
I often hear things that aren't really there
For example the rustle of my paper
As no-one sits in my chair
And the squeak of old rusty floorboards
As no-one goes up the stairs
In my big old lonely house
I see things that don't exist
Like the wagging tail of a young Border Collie
As by the boiler no-one sits
Or a piece of fresh green mistletoe
Under which no-one kissed
In my big old lonely house
I smell things, but it's just lies
Maybe the rich heavy fumes of petrol
As up the road no-one drives
And the lovely sweet scent of perfume
As no-one sprays annoying flies
In my big old lonely house
I feel like I'm not really here
And now, here all on my own
I'm turning into no-one I fear
For I am old, and I am dying
And when I scream, no-one hears
poem by Amy Darnbrook
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The Heart of Things
There must be a man somewhere
Who sees into the heart of things.
Ventricles clogged by secret lust
For violence, bitter juice, revenge
Lost hope in passage, aspiration,
Breath, the dreams of dull routines
Drops of cherry-coloured tears
In channels run, immortal fears
That rear unbidden, clog and check
And strangle life remaining
Elevated, rising steam
From burning embers of the fight
Bright visions of eternity
In yearning for immunity
The heart lies void, resentful in the night
Its longing an imperative
To know the pleasure of the dawn
Pulsating in its seizure.
I know there is a man somewhere
Who sees into the heart of things
Sighing, he spreads out his wings
And cries.
poem by Frank Bana
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Fate Has Finally Finished Us
Fate has finnally discarded
us, thrust us into a place
with wet walls that rise further
than the eyes can see.
All around us are the shattered
remains of yesteryears love
fragments of muted memories
that cut deep into the skin.
Barefoot we walk inbetween
the once, and the was.
Upon a battlefield of broken dreams
where ghosts linger in the mist
eternally searching.
Fate has bored playing with us:
Check mate my love.
poem by Not Long Left
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Rocking Chair In Hawaii
I'm going down to the river gonna take me
my rocking chair
Going down to the river gonna take me
my rocking chair
And if those blues don't leave me
Gonna rock on away from here
If you want me woman please don't act so shy
If you want me woman please don't pass me by
I love those sideways glances
Your shoulder and your tigh
I see inside your eyes, the Baba's Sai
The reasons why I love you
So if you're still busy hiding
What it is you've got
If you're frightened of losing
What you like a lot
You may be cruisin' backwards
While thinking that you're not
I see into your eyes, the Baba Sais
The reasons why I love you
So if you don't get the picture
You won't know what I feel
If you don't get the picture
Then you won't have a depth of field
You may be going someplace
Someplace you've already been
George Harrison: voz, dobro slide e guitarra acstica, cavaquinho, teclas e coros
Jeff Lynne: baixo
Kim Keltner: bateria
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Going West
He sits in his rocking chair,
his dreams cemented in the past.
He wishes he had been a pioneer
packing up everything
and travelling west to start again afresh.
That is for the young men,
but he is an old man who thinks
things like that cannot be done now.
He is too old to start again.
He never tried it when he was young,
now time has passed
and all he can do is rock to and fro.
Wishing he had done it then.
Someone once told him
a long, long time ago
that nothing was impossible.
He smiled at the suggestion,
now he wonders of its validity.
Standing up he takes a deep breath
of the air around him
and coughs a little bit.
He smiles to himself, he is going to do it.
He is going west to the sunset,
the place where all his dream lay awaiting for him.
He will do it tomorrow,
then he sits back in his rocking chair
and thinks of all the beauty there he will find.
25 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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Elegy
Since I lost you, my darling, the sky has come near,
And I am of it, the small sharp stars are quite near,
The white moon going among them like a white bird among snow-berries,
And the sound of her gently rustling in heaven like a bird I hear.
And I am willing to come to you now, my dear,
As a pigeon lets itself off from a cathedral dome
To be lost in the haze of the sky, I would like to come,
And be lost out of sight with you, and be gone like foam.
For I am tired, my dear, and if I could lift my feet,
My tenacious feet from off the dome of the earth
To fall like a breath within the breathing wind
Where you are lost, what rest, my love, what rest!
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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A Blank Stare
Daydreaming can happen
just about anywhere.
You sit down for a few moments,
and suddenly your mind just drifts away.
You start dreaming of things
that happened in your yesterdays.
One minute you are in real time,
next you’re gone to imaginary.
No one can tell when these dreams
are going to happen.
If anyone sees you,
for their money they get
just a blank stare.
22 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Autumn Eve
The yellow poplar leaves have strown
Thy quiet mound, thou slumberest
Where winter's winds will be unknown;
So deep thy rest,
So deep thy rest.
Sleep on, my love, thy dreams are sweet,
If thou hast dreams: the flowers I brought
I lay aside for passing feet,
Thou needest nought,
Thou needest, needest nought.
The grapes are gather'd from the hills,
The wood is piled, the song bird gone,
The breath of early evening chills;
My love, my love, sleep on;
My love, my love, sleep on
poem by Arthur Maquarie
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What Makes You A Petrol
u r a petrol
know what for
ur turning the car
when you drive on the roo road
dont need water
to satrt up
being the petrol ur
is ennn enuf
everyone else on the road can see it
everyone else but you
petrol u start up my car
like nothing else
the way that you smeel in the air
gets me over dizzy
but when you leak on the ground
it aint hard to tell
you dont know that your a petrol
woh woahh
thats what makes you a petrol
if only you smelled what i can smell
youll understand
why i hate you desperatly
right now im selling
in ur petrol tank
and i cnt belive
u dun knw ur a petrol
poem by Raabia Tabassum
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