Behind The Clouds...
the old man who
lived by himself down
by the highway...
died this morning in his sleep.
passing cars never even slowed down,
and the mailman left another faceless bill.
the meter reader stopped to read his meter,
and the hands on the clock
continued their crawl....
yet the stray dog walked up
on the porch and howled,
and the trail of ants stopped to weep.
the wind seemed to stop,
for just a moment...
and the sun went behind the clouds.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lovely Rita
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Nothing can come between us,
When it gets dark i tow your heart away.
Standing by a parking meter,
When i caught a glimpse of rita,
Filling in a ticket in her little white book.
In a cap she looked much older,
And the bag across her shoulder
Made her look a little like a military man.
Lovely rita meter maid,
May i inquire discreetly,
When are you free,
To take some tea with me.
Took her out and tried to win her,
Had a laugh and over dinner,
Told her i would really like to see her again,
Got the bill and rita paid it,
Took her home i nearly made it,
Sitting on the sofa with a sister or two.
Oh, lovely rita meter maid,
Where would i be without you,
Give us a wink and make me think of you.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Grandfather Clock
The old Tudor house was half-timbered and gaunt,
Was gloomy and dim in the hall,
And time had stood still, since my father was born,
In the clock that had stood by the wall.
Its pendulum hung, never making a sound
I'd never so much heard it chime,
But then, on the day that my Dad passed away,
Its tick had begun to keep time.
My mother was dead and my father was gone,
The half-timbered house passed to me,
I wandered its passages, sad and distraught,
As lonely as one man could be!
I'd sit in the lounge and I'd read by a lamp
With the rest of the house cloaked in gloom,
And heard the dread tick of that grandfather clock
As it echoed in time through the room!
Each tick was a portent, the passing of life,
Each tock brought me nearer to death,
I'd listen for noises, the timber that creaked,
Sit terrified, holding my breath!
The warm summer showers pit-pattered the thatch,
The wind would sough-sough at the eaves,
And summer passed quickly to autumn that year
In a thick golden carpet of leaves.
I never once wound up that grandfather clock,
I waited for it to wind down,
But like a tap dripping, it never would stop
I felt I was starting to drown.
I found in the library's masses of books
An ancient collection of tomes,
And one that was covered in leather, I looked,
And read, and I wished that I'd known!
Sir Richard FitzWalter had lived in that house,
And he it was, ordered the clock,
He'd fought against Cromwell for Charlie the First
‘Til Charles lost his head on the block!
He'd fled to the country, was caught in the house,
And hanged on the tree by the gate,
His wife, Lady Mary, had begged for his life
But the Roundheads had jeered: ‘You're too late! '
She left them, went sobbing back into the hall
And she clung to the grandfather clock,
But just as her husband, his heart ceased to beat,
She heard that the ticking had stopped.
That clock never ran for the rest of her life,
But showed just a quarter to four,
The time that Sir Richard was pinioned and hung
At the gate, on the tree by his door.
The clock began ticking when Mary had died,
Had taken her grief to the grave,
And each generation it stopped or began
When the master was born, or was saved!
I knew then the clock had been ticking for me
And I wanted it never to stop,
I'd wake in the night and I'd tremble to hear
If my heart was still pounding, or not.
Then one winter's night I was restless, and rose
From my sleep, and walked down to the hall,
A Cavalier soldier stood facing the clock,
Adjusting the pendulum pawl;
Resetting the weights on that grandfather clock
So my heart would continue to beat,
From that time to this, I have lived here content
While Sir Richard returns as I sleep.
6 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Ive Never Stopped Dreaming Of You
(j. l. wallace, terry skinner)
Ive forgotten your number
I hadnt called in a while
And Im slowly forgetting your funny little smile
Ive even stopped missing
The love that we knew
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Ive lost all the memories
The feel of your touch
And its left my mind why I loved you so much
Ive even forgotten who walked out on who
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Chorus:
Ive never stopped seeing your face every night
I see it each time that I close my eyes
And times heal the memories
Of the pain I went through
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Ive misplaced all the trinkets
That you told me to keep
And its been such a long time
Since Ive lost any sleep
Now Im doing just fine
With somebody new
But Ive never stopped dreaming of you
Repeat chorus
No Ive never stopped dreaming of you
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Shilling In The Meter (Fun Poem 76)
Quick
put a shilling in the meter
let the sun come out to play.
The sun being expensive
that shilling won’t last that long
and soon the rain will come back
and the sun will fade away.
I searched my pockets,
and hunted high and low
for another shilling for the meter,
but there wasn’t one there.
So we are stuck with rain
from Monday and Sunday now,
unless someone out there
has another shilling for the meter
somewhere.
28 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Except...
a hard ass old man,
bent over with time and work,
stopped to pet a stray cat.
without a word,
or a second thought,
just stopped for a moment.
no one knew him,
no one understood him,
what he'd done or been through...
except, maybe, the cat!
stray cats, in a world
gone hard and cold!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Weeping Meter
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
The more you get some pity you sit and solicit it.
With a drive you started in campaign,
And aimed to have a perfect pity party trip.
You've got your buckets ready to collect the slightest drip.
Like an attention getting kitten,
Being petted as it purrs and licks!
That's what you need!
A boost to benefit.
Like the petting of a kitten getting enjoyment out of it.
To get a little bit of stroking before it leaves...
To meander off and drift.
Satisfied and pleased.
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
Maybe you just need some petting,
And some stroking too?
Oooo...
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
Maybe you just need some petting,
And some stroking too?
Oooo...
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Touched By Time
The hall clock stopped at five past four,
the moment my loving mother died.
She always said it would and it did,
and my dearest mother never lied.
She seemed to know about these things
and often had a supernatural sense.
A few minutes of silence would come over her
and then she’d explain what the silence meant.
When the morning wind blew in a particular way
she said that something was coming soon,
or something unexpected was going to happen
and it would before that very afternoon.
She said that she had been touched by time,
but never explained how and why.
Five past four was when she entered the world
and also the time she died.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Daddy What If?
(Daddy what if the sun stop shinin' what would happen then?)
If the sun stopped shinin' you'd be so surprised
You'd stare at the heavens with wide open eyes
And the wind would carry your light to the skies
And the sun would start shinin' again
(Daddy what if the wind stopped blowin' what would happen then?)
If the wind stopped blowin' then the land would be dry
And your boat wouldn't sail son and your kite wouldn't fly
And the grass would see your troubles and she'd tell the wind
And the wind would start blowin' again
(But daddy what if the grass stopped growin' what would happen then?)
If the grass stopped growin' why you'd probably cry
And the ground would be watered by the tears from your eyes
And like your love for me the grass would grow so high
Yes the grass would start growin' again
(But daddy what if I stopped lovin' you what would happen then?)
If you stopped lovin' me then the grass would stop growin'
The sun would stop shinin' and the wind would stop blowin'
So you see if you wanna keep this old world a goin'
You better start lovin' me again again you better start lovin' me again
You hear me Bobby you better start lovin' me again
You love me Bobby you better start lovin' me again
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Restless Heart
I wandered through the years
under an ever-changing sky,
the wind beneath my wings
never stopping to enjoy
the joys that each day brings.
I’ve walked through fields of colours,
which could shame a rose,
but never stopped to see
the wonder their enclosed.
My restless heart kept going
it never wanted to stop;
it was looking for some future destiny,
never giving a moment thought
to what it may have had
if it stopped to stay awhile.
It just kept urging me on
to someplace away
from a past long gone
whether in the future
I will chance to settle down
only the future knows
along with this restless heart of mine.
7 December 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can't Be Stopped
Nothing's gonna stop us
We can't be stopped
I know that it's not been easy
Trying to make it in this crazy world
People 'round you try to stop you
Stomp you saying that you don't belong
You must remember that
We were born with blood of kings and queens
And can't be stopped
Stay stronger my sister you can't be stopped
No
song performed by by Janet Jackson from The Velvet Rope
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking For Sugar!
following the trail of the ants,
past empty factory buildings.
past fields not planted.
past vacant store fronts.
past cars up on blocks,
and signs yelling 'for rent'...
following the trail of the ants,
looking for sugar!
following the trail of the sun,
from day unto night.
from family to forsaken.
from home to the road.
from god to the faces
that ring like haunted church bells,
following the trail of the sun...
looking for sugar!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Courtroom Is Empty
the courtroom is empty,
the gavel untouched.
no hands on the book,
no jury of twelve.
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
small children killed, tossed in the trash,
women abused, old people hungry, alone.
young girls sold into slavery
young boys sold into war
homeless ghosts walk the halls,
without hope in man or God.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
an American tragedy,
or just human tragedy.
justice bought and sold,
afforded by just the few.
the wheels of Wall Street turn,
politicians barter with lives.
drinking the blood of the babies
that will never be born!
the takers keep taking,
and the honest man falls
to die nameless in the ditch,
covered by ashes and dust.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air.
(the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
the courtroom is empty
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Mind Is In a Poetic Meter
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
Until it was produce to seduce,
To make aware.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Neater meter for Mr Earley
Neater meter?
I have to write a sonnet in free verse.
I must stick to Iambic pentameter.
A meter that I do not often use.
Pentameter is my more usual style.
A Sapphic meter would be so much worse.
I am more comfortable with the latter.
I find that some odd metres can confuse
a simple rhymester like me for a while.
I’m quite convinced that pentameter
makes my presentations appear neater.
It may be that you think I am obtuse
and that my simple verses make you smile.
You are entitled to your point of view.
Naturally I won’t agree with you!
11-Apr-08
Free verse sonnet
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lullaby Of London
As I walked down by the riverside
One evening in the spring
Heard a long gone song
From days gone by
Blown in on the great north wind
Though there is no lonesome corncrakes cry
Of sorrow and delight
You can hear the cars
And the shouts from bars
And the laughter and the fights
May the ghosts that howled
Round the house at night
Never keep you from your sleep
May they all sleep tight
Down in hell tonight
Or wherever they may be
As I walked on with a heavy heart
Then a stone danced on the tide
And the song went on
Though the lights were gone
And the north wind gently sighed
And an evening breeze coming from the east
That kissed the riverside
So I pray now child that you sleep tonight
When you hear this lullaby
May the wind that blows from haunted graves
Never bring you misery
May the angels bright
Watch you tonight
And keep you while you sleep
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cant Be Stopped
Nothings gonna stop us
We cant be stopped
I know that its not been easy
Trying to make it in this crazy world
People round you try to stop you
Stomp you saying that you dont belong
You must remember that
We were born with blood of kings and queens
And cant be stopped
Stay stronger my sister you cant be stopped
No, you cant be stopped
I know that sometimes
You get to feelin Ive given up on you
The pressure seems to, to defeat you
Beat you when you feel you cant go on
You must remember that
You were born with blood of kings and queens
And cant be stopped
Stay stronger my brother you cant be stopped
No, you cant be stopped
Dont ever let nobody tell you you aint strong enough
Strong enough, dont let nobody tell you you aint
Strong enough, dont let nobody tell you
You know that I will be right here
To remind you that we need
Togetherness, cause lost pride
Has no room, if you dont forget
Where you come from
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The rain, which had continued yesterday and last night, ceased this morning. We then proceeded, and after passing two small islands about ten miles further, stopped for the night at Piper's landing, opposite another island.
quote by Meriwether Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetics
You know the old story Ann Landers tells
About the houseife in her basement doing the wash?
She's wearing her nightie, and she thinks, "Well, hell,
I might's well put this in as well," and then
Being dripped on by a leaky pipe puts on
Her son's football helmet; whereupon
The meter reader happens to walk through
and "Lady," he gravely says, "I sure hope your team wins."
A story many times told in many ways,
The set of random accidents redeemed
By one more accident, as though chaos
Were the order that was before the creation came.
That is the way things happen in the world:
A joke, a disappointment satisfied,
As we walk through doing our daily round,
Reading the meter, making things add up.
poem by Howard Nemerov
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Salvation On A Street Corner
the woman stopped me
coming out of the store:
'do you know Jesus? '
i thought for a moment,
looking at her clothes,
and her Bible....
'yea, i spent the night with Him,
passing out coats and blankets
down at the shelter....
we were gonna do the soup kitchen
today... but they arrested Him this
morning for being an illegal alien....
that just leaves me,
unless you want to go with me! ...'
she just shook her head and walked away....
and i wondered if she heard a word i said...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Can It Be Stopped
Can they can they dropp it.
Can it,
Be stopped.
Can they can they dropp it.
Can it,
Be stopped.
Can it be dropped.
Can it be stopped.
Hoodwinkers on the loose.
Hoodwinkers out to dupe too!
And...
Can they be stooped.
Crooked people after loot,
Proving they can low stoop.
But...
Can they can they dropp it.
Can they be stopped.
Can they can they dropp it.
Can they be stopped.
Hoodwinkers on the loose,
Stooping low as they choose.
Can they can they dropp it.
Can it,
Be stopped.
Can they can they dropp it.
Can it,
Be stopped.
Can they can they dropp it.
Can it,
Be stopped.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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