Lonliness (Smells)
lonliness...
smells like,
my grandmother's kitchen,
after working outside all day.
rain, just before it falls,
a fresh plowed field.
my mother's old Bible,
a fireplace too long unused.
old nuts, your pillow,
the old pine tree that fell
and lay rotting in the yard.
a well oiled glove,
the tractor in the barn.
your hair, a rose just opened,
the box too long
in the back of the closet.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pine Sap And Nuts
pine sap and nuts,
in unspoken corners.
tongues pierced with emotion,
and pent up clouds.
yesterlonging brushes your neck,
your long hair falling like rain...
or tears without names,
words without sound.
you taste like coffee and cigarettes,
on a dead poet Sunday.
morning falls with aching drench,
pine sap and nuts!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Things I Miss The Most
I swear I gave up drinkin';
Sometimes I have no choice,
After singin' hard, six nights straight,
A little sip sure helps my voice.
Don't get me wrong, I love these songs,
An' I know I've got it made.
Sometimes my mind starts driftin',
When I'm up here on the stage.
To that last half-mile of dirt road,
An' that oak tree on the hill.
To those dogs out, barkin' in the yard,
An' that tractor in the field.
An' them kids up on the front porch,
Screamin': "Mamma, Daddy's home!"
When I'm out here, I'm just thinkin',
About the things I miss the most.
Yeah, the hardest bthing I have to do,
Is hang up this telephone.
There's so much left to talk about,
An' I been gone so long.
So put them kids on one more time,
Before they go to sleep.
And, baby, no, no matter where I go,
All that I can see,
Is that last half-mile of dirt road,
An' that oak tree on the hill.
To those dogs out, barkin' in the yard,
An' that tractor in the field.
An' them kids up on the front porch,
Screamin': "Mamma, Daddy's home!"
When I'm out here, I'm just thinkin',
About the things I miss the most.
The things I miss the most.
The things I miss the most.
An' it's killin'me:
I hate to leave this family that you've given me,
God only knows, I hate to go,
So hold me close and let me let you know,
About the things I miss the most.
Instrumental Break.
People always ask me,
After every show,
"Of all the places that you've ever been,
"What's your favorite place to go?"
It's that last half-mile of dirt road,
An' that oak tree on the hill.
An' those dogs out, barkin' in the yard,
An' that ol' tractor in the field.
An' them kids up on the front porch,
Screamin': "Mamma, Daddy's home!"
When I'm out here, I'm just thinkin',
'Bout the things I miss the most.
While I'm out here, I'm just thinkin',
About the things I miss the most.
Oh, ooh.
song performed by by Van Zant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Iternal Bleeding
Rot alone, destiny.
Killing the souls of lives at your feet.
Dead to its fight.
Hell as they said.
Killing the darkened rotting fate, fate.
Rot alone bludgeoning hell.
Finding their souls
And returning to dwell.
Killing and bleeding tightened as one.
Killing the darkened rotting fate.
Rot all lesions.
Glory, rotting plowed.
Dead hes, killed your soul.
Glory, rotting plowed(plowed echoed) kill.
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Memento
I opened up a Bible, and there between the pages,
A rose had been secreted, it must have been there ages,
I wondered who had so placed it, displaying still its magenta red,
For remembrance perhaps, or a memento, sweet petal's carefully spread.
I tried to imagine it fresh and new, all that long time ago,
And observing it, quite suddenly, my tears began to flow,
I left it in that Bible, it wasn't damaged in any way,
Knowing someone else would find it, when they felt the need to pray.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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My Grandmother's Love Letters
There are no stars to-night
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
There is even room enough
For the letters of my mother's mother,
Elizabeth,
That have been pressed so long
Into a corner of the roof
That they are brown and soft,
And liable to melt as snow.
Over the greatness of such space
Steps must be gentle.
It is all hung by an invisible white hair.
It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.
And I ask myself:
'Are your fingers long enough to play
Old keys that are but echoes:
Is the silence strong enough
To carry back the music to its source
And back to you again
As though to her?'
Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand
Through much of what she would not understand;
And so I stumble. And the rain continues on the roof
With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.
poem by Harold Hart Crane
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Lonliness
lonliness is the color of a cloudy sky
it tastes like plain bread
it feels like no ones your friend
and sounds like air rushing past you
lonliness smells like damp weather
it looks like the last leaf on the tree
poem by Post Awesome
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My Grandmother
When she would talk about her mother,
it was as though there were another person in the room
She could see her mother in her mind;
It was as if my grandmother was dancing across the kitchen floor
It was as if she were talking about an imaginary person
who was not in the room
Her mother was in her mind
My mother was standing on the kitchen floor, cleaning a glass, and thinking of my grandmother
I could see it through the silence
poem by Samuel Stuart Pennell
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It Smells Like Rain
It smells like rain
filling the air
before the first drops break
in quiet splashes on the river.
It smells like rain
musty and fresh at once
warning the birds
to go home.
And the rain comes
water on water
cool rush of sound
quieting insects
teasing fish
drenching boaters
surprised by the storm.
It smells like rain
It sounds like rain
It looks like rain, now
I’ll go outside
and feel the rain.
Hell. I’ll be the rain.
poem by Robert Fort
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She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy
Plowin' these fields in the hot summer sun
Over by the gate lordy here she comes
With a basket full of chicken and a big cold jug of sweet tea
I make a little room and she climbs on up
Open up a throttle and stir a little dust
Just look at her face she ain't a foolin' me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
We ride back and forth 'til we run out of light
Take it to the barn put it up for the night
Climb up in the loft sit and talk with the radio on
She said she's got a dream and I asked what it is
She wants a little farm and a yard full of kids
One more teeny weeny ride before take her home
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
Well she ain't into cars or pickup trucks
But if it runs like a Deere man her eyes light up
She thinks my tractor's
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
She thinks my tractor's sexy
She thinks my tractor's sexy
song performed by by Kenny Chesney from Everywhere We Go
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warriors
I fall
Down
No control somehow
No help
Now
My favour slides
No one comes
Here
Now Im feeding strangers
Thin air
Like cold death
Here in my heart
I fell for so long for you all
I fell for so long for you
I fell for so long for you
Come in
Im the ghost
Of the white faced clown
Shes gone
Gone. I wont look back
Shes gone
Im old
So old
This infection of time
My skin
Age
Shows no kindness to me
I fell for so long for you all
I fell for so long for you
I fell for so long for you
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Problem between the In-Laws
Whether the experienced mother-in-law
or the newly qualified daughter-in-law,
both of them suffer from some cursed flaws.
As the cold war started since 'Creation'
has never ended between 'mother and wife'
the dude tries his best to convince them both.
He has to cock his ear towards the side
from which the whispers he hears
or else all of them have to be on fast.
If he colludes with one,
the other will go to hell.
If they play cat and mouse
what can this man do with feigning creatures?
His wife would conceal the healthy nuts
and at night before her husband, would ask:
' Why didn't you eat the Cashew nuts? '
and his mother would smirk and say:
'You youngones must eat the nuts to live long! '.
Each one surpasses the other in concocting
stories of joint and hip pain to evade the work
and confine him to do the household chores.
His wife blockmail him citing anti-dowry laws
and his mother warns him not to be hen-pecked.
He condones even his wife's misbehaviour of the past
to maintain peace in family life.
His child doesn't know where to go
between the mother and grandmother.
He trots in a 'Push and Pull' game
and the man should keep his doors shut in shame.
------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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We Just Go Nuts At Christmastime
Up the driveway, down the walk
Oh, janets hair is like her moms
Whos got her own, but acts like somethings
Different from the eyebrows up
Seems like only yesterday
Our d-i-v-o-r-c-e
I love you both and yuletide is pure
H-e-double-l for me
And we just go nuts at christmastime
Thats when everything falls apart
We just go nuts at christmastime
But its another year before were together again
Hi, this is john of they might be giants
As youre driving down the highway at 100 miles an hour with your head wagging out the window,
We urge you, please, put down the phone
We just go nuts at christmastime
Thats when everything falls apart
We just go nuts at christmastime
But its another year before were together
Again
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Story 'believe
she was awoken with a loud thunderous sound
she jumped up and looked around.
it can't be santa claus? it just can't be.
mommy did'nt even have money to buy a tree.
she heard the sound one more time
and upon her roof they did climb.
the little pitter patter of hooves
above her head
made her turn and jump out of bed.
she ran to the window and
looked to the roof
she wanted to tell her mother
she did have the proof.
she saw something red
moving to the chimney
then she knew it had to be.
that santa claus is not only
in our hearts and minds
and will live throughout all time.
all children are supposed
to be asleep.
but through half closed eyes
they would peak.
she then heard the sounds in
the room below.
as she opened the door very slow.
to her surprise there was a tree
decorated 'oh so beautifully'.
and there under the tree
there was gifts galore
who would think - that they were poor.
as she started to look around
at the fireplace he was found.
he was having the milk and cookies
that were left that night.
' oh my gosh what a beautiful sight'.
he then put his finger to his nose
and just like the book
up the chimney he rose.
she went back to her room, and climbed
back into her bed, said her prayers
and laid down her head.
she awoke the next morning
thinking it was a dream.
when she heard her mother scream.
how is this possible? how can it be?
'all these presents, and with a tree.'
as she ran to her mothers side
the tears started to fill her eyes.
i don't know who did this? i have no clue
and i don't know what i should do.
she then told her what she heard
and saw the night before
when she opened up her bedroom door.
as we opened up the first package
from under the tree
we saw a metal frame with one word.
BELIEVE
now we put this question to you.
do you believe? is this story true?
poem by Louis Rams
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Plowed, Planted, And Weeded
the human mind
is but a field...
it has to be plowed,
planted and weeded..
it needs sunlight and rain.
if the gardener is attentive,
the crop will be good.
if we let it lay untended,
it becomes a field of death!
the crop that we raise
is the food of the future...
plowed, planted, and weeded!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Day Of Sunshine
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I roved to the woods, on my back I lay,
In cradle of fancy rolled me;
But there were ants, and gnats that bite,
The horse-fly was keen, the wasp showed fight.
'Dear me, don't you want to be out in this fine
weather?' -said mother, who sat on the steps and sang.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
A meadow I found, on my back I lay,
And sang what my spirit told me;
Then snakes came crawling, a fathom long,
To bask in the sun,-I fled with my song.
'In such blessed weather we can go barefoot,'-said mother,
as she pulled off her stockings.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I loosened a boat, on my back I lay,
While blithely the current bowled me;
But hot grew the sun, and peeled my nose;
Enough was enough, and to land I chose.
'Now these are just the days to make hay in,'- said mother,
as she stuck the rake in it.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I climbed up a tree, oh, what bliss to play,
As cooling the breeze consoled me;
But worms soon fell on my neck, by chance,
And jumping, I cried: ''T is the Devil's own dance!'
'Yes, if the cows aren't sleek and shiny to-day, they'll
never be so,'-said mother, gazing up the hillside.
It was such a lovely sunshine-day,
The house and the yard couldn't hold me;
I dashed to the waterfall's endless play,
There only could peace enfold me.
The shining sun saw me drown and die,-
If you made this ditty, 't was surely not I.
'Three more such sunshine-days, and everything will
be in,'-said mother, and went to make my bed.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Custard Apple
It hung so near the trunk of the tree,
And stayed unnoticed for a long time,
Hidden by a leafy canopy,
And growing bigger than most others!
It was not scorched by the noon-time sun,
Nor wetted by the lashing rains,
Or shaken by the winds that howl,
But was over-fed in mother's way!
I plucked it off lest someone stole
Or wood-peckers come make a hole,
And parrots beak it up like nuts,
Leaving its empty rind hanging!
I wrapped the fruit in a plastic bag,
And thought it would ripen very soon;
Alas! The fruit never ripened at all,
Remaining green and looking fresh!
It was as hard as granite stone;
It did not dry or change color;
It stayed that way when kept outside,
But never ripened any day!
I pondered what could have happened
Preventing the fruit from ripening;
‘There is a time for everything,
And when a fruit ripens! ' - says the Bible.
Yet, human beings find new ways
Of doing things unnaturally;
Nevertheless, they hardly win;
But Mother Nature does better!
Man's knowledge and experience fails
In every field and every sphere;
The Nature, God created stays
Unraveled, unrivaled winner always.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-10-2012
poem by John Celes
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Missing Couple
Beginning unknown:
Still the canoe floated
The calluses paddled.
Sunny days and moonless nights
I have watched them floating
On the river meandering.
The canoe rose and fell
On the wavelets ten thousand times
During the springs.
Black the hairs were;
Many winters passed;
Now snow white being exposed.
Narrow escapes
From the maelstroms unexpected,
And forward floated.
A long voyage; two together;
Funeral feast smells;
They drink to the lees.
A long missing; I think I see them again
Rest under the holy banyan tree;
Empty canoe tied to the tree.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
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So What Has Become Of The Yard Bird?
The wind and the rain gather you.
Like petals on a rain storm
So what has become of the yard bird?
That stirred the captive rainbows
To your and my finger tips
What has become of the rose?
That danced off her dew wet shadows
And sang adjacent the jasmine stars
Sweetly scented at the first cut of hay
That lay in sobrieties corn circles
That lay in bed on this coarse way
A filly jumping over any such hurdles
Whatever happened to us…?
When did you slip through my fingers?
Like a broken rainbow
Like a rose long cut
No fresh water can ever save anymore…
Oh when did these chard's take thorn?
Was it something I done sadly wrong?
Like an overzealous gardener
Did I prune you're rambling ways too soon.
What has become of the rose?
That danced off her dew wet shadows
And sang adjacent the jasmine stars
Sweetly scented at the first cut of hay
That lay in sobrieties corn circles
That lay in bed on this coarse way
A filly jumping over any such hurdles
Whatever happened to my love to us…?
So what has become of the yard bird?
My pretty yard bird today…?
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Cup Now Empty
the body lowered in the grave,
has nothing left to say.
and the list of things to do,
falls from the dresser to the floor.
yesterdays, all that remain,
tomorrow never came.
both the candle,
and the book of matches,
turn away!
the lips set firm and cold,
never to kiss again.
eyes closed and locked like doors
that no one has the key to.
the heart wrapped in brown paper,
put away in a forgotten closet.
and the smells and tastes of dreams,
cannot bring life to silent bones!
what is done is done.
the brook turned quiet,
the pine tree weeps.
and the cawing of the crows,
haunts the dreamless...
the cup now empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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