Calendar With No Date
he turns over
on the doorstep
of an invisible alley....
his puke stained collar
greets the morning sun.
he focuses his eyes,
sets his jaw, and stands up.
the beeper of the trash truck
bounces off his mind.
fumbling for a cigarette,
his last, he lights up...
kicks the empty bottle aside.
squinting at the sun,
too early for the soup kitchen....
a patrol car passes, going slow.
the memory of a lifetime
bitter in his desert mouth...
just another day, calendar
with no date!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Invisible Ink!
the invisible man
writes with invisible ink,
the pages of the book,
seldom turned...
often writes with hammer and nails,
sometimes shovel and plow...
sometimes a cigarette bummed,
a cup of coffee and a sandwich!
a small child's eyes,
or an old man's eyes,
a patchwork heart,
and a spirit that soars...
the invisible man
who stands beside,
and never backs down...
never walks away!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Pill Box
I woke up early this morning
And didn’t know what day it was
Until I walked to the kitchen
And spotted my pill dispenser
Sitting on the oaken table
Placed there by my loving wife
Before my angel left for work;
Looking at the seven day-marked
Cells just piqued me at that moment:
To think at this phase of my life
A pill box was my calendar.
I looked at the empty cells marked
“S”, “M” and “T” and realized
This morning has to be Wednesday.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Unanswered Questions
Why?
She whispered to him as he walked away.
Why?
She heard it like a breeze of wind
That carries away
Unfurls itself in the softest of ways.
Why?
As her eyes fill and empty themselves of
This delicate deluge that goes nowhere
Brings nothing.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
She hears silence.
The footsteps ceased their echoing in the corridor long before this day,
Yet,
She stands there,
Transfixed,
Waiting for an answer
As if her invisible mute god will speak to her and
provide her with some illumination about her situation.
Instead
She soothes herself with intoxication.
Somewhere in the bottom of a bottle
Lies the answer.
So,
She drinks.
Takes a swig.
Downs the damaged nectar of overripe fruit
And,
Lets it burn her throat.
She sings
Mumbled mixed up words gurgle from her throat.
Anything is possible.
Anything can be achieved.
People fulfill their complicated dreams.
But,
What about her simple,
Long forgotten wishes?
She gulps the liquid
And
Forces them to be buried
Further down
Where she can no longer recognize them.
Even their skeletons have altered shape.
Why?
She hears it echoing from the walls around her.
It bounces off concrete.
Why?
She stands there waiting as the sun
Dips
Then
Lowers herself under the horizon.
Darkness now envelopes her.
Her only blanket is the night.
She stands there waiting for her answer...
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Homeless
nowhere to go...
from bridge to alley,
maybe a tent.
barrel fire, robbing the trash,
a little something to eat
that nobody else wanted...
panhandle a cup of coffee,
maybe bum a smoke...
hope to hell it dont snow today.
the shelter's full,
the soup kitchen aint open yet....
nowhere to go.
houses with curtains & plates
give way to vacant buildings....
children's voices echo the sound
of rats scurrying in the dark...
no woman, no God...
only an old half-blind
stray dog
following, following....
nowhere to go...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Trash Men
here they come
these guys
grey truck
radio playing
they are in a hurry
it’s quite exciting:
shirt open
bellies hanging out
they run out the trash bins
roll them out to the fork lift
and then the truck grinds it upward
with far too much sound . . .
they had to fill out application forms
to get these jobs
they are paying for homes and
drive late model cars
they get drunk on Saturday night
now in the Los Angeles sunshine
they run back and forth with their trash bins
all that trash goes somewhere
and they shout to each other
then they are all up in the truck
driving west toward the sea
none of them know
that I am alive
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Even When Alone
the blackened plow,
the blood stained glove.
the hammered blade,
some call it love.
the bottomless well,
cant drink enough....
the blackened plow,
the blood stained glove.
the eyes of hunger,
empty face of loss.
the wheel of man
turns despite the cost.
when you're lost at sea,
and your ship is tossed.
the eyes of hunger,
empty face of loss.
and still the takers take
till the blood is drawn.
while the innocent pray
in the dark before dawn.
the weak sacrificed
to feed the strong...
the takers take
till the blood is drawn.
love plots no revenge,
stands even when alone
with the heart of right
forgives the wrong.
knows there has to be more
than just flesh and bones...
love plots no revenge,
stands even when alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Interesting Magic
The interest was outwitting them by a long while,
Drinking in a span of spells that corroded the shield,
These spells hate you as far as the eyes can follow.
Damned old spells! Snuff can be better than this,
This day of offering inside me, is as the eyes of the sun.
I was too busy thinking of my reputation as a wizard
Or was I a druid of the whole endeavors
And misdemeanors, an edict passes more
Than a good time, an edict passes me more.
I made the people laugh at my wizardry,
Beautiful lights are sights!
Some of the success ends with failure,
As more lights are upon the wishful mind
So that the man talking to your mind
Meets the brainy matter.
The interest turns into disgust of a deranged man,
Manly men wonder and ponder
But without a receipt at first,
Then with the whole possibilities.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Freedoms
you see it is not the gate of the house
that sets you free
it is not the stairs
not the hole in the roof that gives you
some needles of light
actually it is the breath that you take
it is air that is free
it is the space of green spreading in your
garden
those tall grasses you decide to mow
it is the pebbles that you collect and begin to recall
the story of each fragment
and cracks
it is the clouds that you see when you lay your head
upon the arm of an old sofa
where you father once rested from
too much exhaustion
it is the memory of someone that you remember
you love and who loves you in return
and who was stripped off away from you
like a sticker on the wall
mind you, it is your wise invention
with wings that give you flight when everything gets too bitter
mind you, it is the mind
it is the spirit, never these sets of fingers
these smooth skins
this open mouth...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yellow Cat
This song was first released on the rhymes and reasons album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Its late december the new years never coming
Time passes slowly in a two room walk up flat
The sun is silent
As a cold rain gonna come on
No one to talk to
But my ladys yellow cat
Rain drops talling on the flowers
In the window box
Plastic roses that I planted yesterday
I didnt think it does too soon
But there all withered now
Seems like everything I touch
Turns out that way
Well I guess I just go walking
The cats no good tor talkinto
He r dont know what Im saying
And the rain is always
Playing on my mind
On my mind
Street lights driring through the blinds
That cover window panes
Blending soflly with the bare lights over head
Then together
They run swiflly through my memory
And every image ot a strange and empty bed
Words and music by fromholz
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With a bottle in his hand
I see a lightning flash
in the night
and it cuts past flats
and it draws a blue white line,
on its way down
to where it hits a tree
in the old park.
When darkness blinds me,
there’s a cigarette that glows red
and a old man sitting on a bench.
He protests with a bottle in his hand:
“Lord, take your thunder.
Not even God, can stop Kerneels Bester
to take a drink.”
The old man laughs as if mad
and takes a long drink,
before he presses the bottle
into the air.
With the bottle above his head
the man stands against the weather
and like that he still stands,
when the first big drops begin to fall
and I hear another thunder roll.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Revulsion
Revulsion -
That is what I feel for you
The look of you,
The sight of you,
The thought of you
Injects in me –
Absolute Revulsion.
It is a feeling so Deep
I cannot puke it out
Even if I wish to…
So I keep taking it in
Nausea-ridden
All over my body,
Mind and heart…
That wretched feeling of
Absolute Revulsion.
It seeps in me
Soaks me in
Like blood-stained clothes
On a wounded body
And I lie there
Writhing in pain
Bleeding in agony
Almost anaemic…
With that sordid feeling of
Absolute Revulsion.
Living it everyday
Is like re-living death
In a lifeless body
Yet when death pities me
And comes to relieve me
Snuffing out the life
With its stroke of eternity
That day I die,
My dejected soul
Would bid you adieu,
With that lifetime feeling of
Absolute Revulsion.
Yes – that very Revulsion
Which eats into me
Like gnawing termites
With every memory of you
I have within me
It reminds me of my
Haunting past…
And I feel empty and hollow
Like rotting wood
And the stench of it
Makes me feel all the more
Sick and tired with
Absolute Revulsion –
For you, and you and only you.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Morning Lights Outside The Kitchen Door...
must it be habit
that makes you turn off the light
outside the kitchen
at the break of day
when the birds start to
sing their songs
you save on electricity
in the same manner that you budget
your time and
money
i've tried it once
not putting off the lights from morning
till night
some early birds that pick the early worms
passing by the house
with closed doors and windows
with lights not switched off
think that i am
dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down
Tonight the bottle let me down
It let your memory come around
The one true friend I thought Id found
Tonight the bottle let me down
Ive always had a bottle I could turn to
And lately Ive been turnin every day
But the wine dont take effect the way it used to
And Im hurtin in old familiar ways
Tonight the bottle let me down
It let your memory come around
The one true friend I thought Id found
Tonight the bottle let me down
Each night I leave the bar room when its over
Not feeling any pain at closing time
But tonight your memory found me much too sober
I cant drink enough to keep you off my mind
Tonight the bottle let me down
It let your memory come around
The one true friend I thought Id found
Tonight the bottle let me down
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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See The Light
Well I came down here from manhattan
to see the lights on the mall
but when I got here early this morning
well I couldn't see any at all
so I walked a little further
and much to my surprise
there was a hot cool woman
in a chevy staring into my eyes
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
Alright
She said now don't walk any further
Just jump into my car
And we can head on down the highway
But you'd better not go too far
'Cos my daddy he's big business
So we've gotta be back by tonight
But we can still have some fun now
If we head on downtown to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
Well, we ended up in this cafe
'Bout twenty-five minutes to one
See, she took me to this nightclub
And the music went on and on
Well we were set down to get coffee
When in walked her old man
No matter how we tried to explain it well
We couldn't make him understand
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
I've just got to see the lights
song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bottle into Glass
Beneath the bowling-alley
bar marquee
the rain tonight
hammers off
the concrete.
Inside, beer flops
bottle into glass.
Beyond the bar,
bright lights
reveal a Bowler's day:
fluorescent shirts
red, yellow, green,
and everywhere
a roar so loud
one can barely hear
the genocide of pins
slain by balls
a lifetime now in transit.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Genie In A Gin Bottle
Her lips caress another cigarette
A fading belle looking for love
The smoke veils her face,
For she is, Genie in a gin bottle
Her Make up hiding the past
Silk fingernails hiding the smokers hand
Her wig of blonde hiding the soul beneath
The ladder in her stockings,
Torn like her Hollywood dreams
Her perfume sickly sweet,
Masking the odors from yesterday’s gin
The ashtray is full,
Cheap Lipstick covers the tab ends
Her vigil to find happiness
But he never comes.
Only a stream of chancers wanting to spin lady luck one more time,
Fuelled by the promise of paradise
A vacation from life,
A brag for jack Daniels
Under neon lights
A beautiful girl in a gin bottle,
An inner voice plays in her mind
“I could have been a movie star”
A role she can play all too well
But morning light never lies
Her beauty, has fled, left on the pillow
Like some Monet’s impression.
Regret lays sprawled out
Like yesterday’s salad, thrown out with the rubbish
For the slugs of corruption to eat
.
Her aging face revealing, every rejection,
Every turned down script, every broken dream
A lifetime of heart break
But she still plays her part well,
Play it again Sam
And another cigarette,
The same mistake, the same men,
From All the gin bars in the world,
She had to choose this one
Another lottery ticket to litter her despair
No winning numbers here
Her silent acceptance speech,
Laid bare in her blood shot eyes of regret
A mouthwash of gin,
And the genie of love returns to her bottle
Her legs bruised and varicose,
Testament to waitress by day, and genie by night
He closes the door, his only thought,
To get away, not his finest hour
Jack Daniels, his moral escape goat,
Nosey Neighbor’s, his jury
They bare witness to his walk of shame
She opens the curtains, and sees him fade into the faceless crowd
Alone again, a full ashtray, and an empty gin bottle,
Symbols of last night’s play,
The mirror torments her image
As She drinks coffee through smoke stained teeth,
A wave of her head, a smile, and a daydream
Tonight, her prince will save her
This is her delusion, her reason to live,
But Time is running out,
For she is part of life’s crap game.
The dice rolls once more
Will it be happiness? Or loneliness?
But in the end, deep down she knows
The House always wins, in tinsel town.
poem by Steven Cooke
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In The Early Afternoons Like Morning Glories
In the early afternoons like morning glories
I flourish under the sweetness of your sunny eyes
while in the blaze of your pretty smile my solitude
reaches out to you in a kind of invisible embrace
as if I am always flourishing in your blazing presence
drawing, continually drawing your radiance to me.
Sometimes there is only darkness when your soul
drops to the depths of a kind of sheer depression.
In the early afternoons like morning glories
I flourish under the sweetness of your sunny eyes
see a myriad of butterflies fluttering nearer
that visits me gently like the way I love you
and as the night sets in my life is ever folding,
closing and waiting for the sunshine of your touch.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Trash
in the house
at the kitchen
one finds that black bag
filled with trash
one has to throw them away
no keeps them
in our mind
in the same manner
there are thoughts
which are trash
and there is the black bag
one has to throw all these trash
away
in my poems
i got a trash
got a black bag
and i am throwing all these away
what us have to things
and thoughts
that no one loves?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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