En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Through The Veil for Dave Walker

there's a light
in the window
of the house

forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.

footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink

half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time....

whispering, whispering....
names that cannot
be heard.

voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs

on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,

touching small particles
of being left like gifts....
lives unwrapped into mine!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Bug A Boo (Refugee Camp Remix)

[Wyclef:]
(Everybody on the floor)
East Side
(Everybody on the floor)
South Side
(Everybody on the floor)
North Side
(Everybody on the floor)
West Side
(Everybody on the floor)

[Beyonce:]
We told you we was gonna give it to you raw
(Everybody on the floor)
We ain't do it right the first time
(Everybody on the floor)
We gonna do it right the second time
(Everybody on the floor)

You make me wanna throw my pager out the window
Tell MCI to cut the phone poles
Break my lease so I can move
'Cause you a bug a boo

song performed by by Destiny's Child from This Is The Remix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Keg In The Closet

We had a dog named Bocephus? living in the front yard he liked sleeping out on the top of
the car hed drink beer out of the mason jar and he climb up on everyone bed
A white frame house, a college town, a bunch of people always hanging around, no real
problems we need to drown but we tried our best anyway, we went to class just to pass the time
back in eighty nine
[Chorus:]
We had a Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before where
we were going we didnt really care we had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet
This old guitar taught me how to score right there on the Lambda Chi porch, Mary Ann taught
me a little more one what you cant have, sweatshirts and flag football, spring breaks down in
panama, for a while we had it all we never dreamed it wouldnt last, we went to class just to
pass the time back in eighty nine
[Chorus:]
We had a Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before where
we were going we didnt really care we had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet
We all kind of went our separate ways, but I swear it seems like yesterday
[Chorus:]
We had a Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before where
we were going we didnt really care we had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Strange But True 2 - Footsteps On The Stairs

I was a store man in an engineering factory,
during the early 1960’s when this story took place.
The company had rented and old tailor shop
as an extra storeroom just down the road.
It was time to do a stock take,
in the shop there on my own.
I had been in the building many times before on my own.
That day seemed no exception.
The building had three floors,
the ground floor, and the first floor
where I would be working and the second floor,
which had at one time been a flat.
I was seventeen at the time.

Therefore, I began my work
and began counting the stock,
when from the floor above I could hear
what sounded like a woman’s shoes
pacing around on the wooden floor.
My heart began to beat faster,
as I knew I was the only one in the building.
I said to myself if whatever it was
began to descend the stairs, I was going to be gone.
Then it happened,
my dread.
The footsteps reached the stairs
and began to descend.
I dropped what I was doing,
and down to the ground floor ran.
Once outside I locked the only entrance door
and ran back to the factory,
swearing I would not go back there anymore.
A supervisor saw the fear within me.
It took him an hour to calm me down.

He finally persuaded me
to accompany him back to the shop,
so he could prove to me that there was nothing there.
We would search the shop from top to bottom.
I reluctantly agreed.
The first floor that we checked was the one
where I heard the noise.
It was an empty space;
there was nothing there at all,
only wooden floorboards covered with a layer of dust.
No footprints to indicate someone had been walking there.
Everywhere we searched,
but nothing could we find.
Eventually he said what I heard was only in my mind.
A couple of months went by
and a story about the shop emerged.
A young woman had hung herself
on that floor many years before.
Now you may think the story is over now,
and you would be wrong.

Every year in the summer,
we would have some students come to work during their college break
the following year was with no exception.
The two that came were in my charge
and had to move some stock within the tailor shop.
I had to go back to the factory
and would check back on them in a half an hour.
When I returned I found them cowering in the corner.
They accused me of never leaving,
that I would not answer when they called.
I just kept walked about trying to scare them there.
They did not know what I had experienced on that floor,
nor did they know the story of the woman.
The building is no longer there,
pulled down and replaced with offices many years ago.
The mystery remains. Was what I heard made up in my mind?
If this is the case, what did a year later,
did those two students hear?

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Dark Southern Skies

faded sign falling down
from an abandoned mill
mailboxes full of
unopened bills
houses with no curtains
old cars up on blocks
all the stores are empty
all the doors are locked

dark southern skies
no one's home anymore
no one hears the cry
no one sweeps the floor
man without work
his woman turns away
dark southern skies
and there's no one left to pray...

empty crib gathers dust
a Bible by the bed
workboots in the corner
with this ring i thee wed
pictures on the wall
dont answer in the night
and empty still looks empty
in the morning light

dark southern skies
no one's home anymore
no one hears the cry
no one sweeps the floor
man without work
his woman turns away
dark southern skies
there's no one left to pray....

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Window Left Open...

the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...

god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.

another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.

old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.

even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.

while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...

the moth flew through a window left open!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

She Has Faces

She has faces up in her bedroom and they gaze down on her guarding her slumber
A black bead rosary under her pillow and when it thunders she clutches it tightly
And she hears silence is white, sound is black, the world is wrapped in a paper sack
And when I leave I close the door to this galaxy of yours
Dropping by I open a window as the breeze blows in the curtains are butterflies
And we hear the church bells ring out on a hill and all of their echoes left us singing
Silence is black, the room is bright, our world is basking in tv light
And we are laid out on the floor of this galaxy of yours
With all of your heroes waiting in paper piles laid on the floor
I push my paintbrush lightly and fill in any empty nail holes
A dresser top, a jewelry box, colored tassels tied in knots
And a porcelain girl danced a music box ballet for us
And your nightlight is a star, or a firefly, that
Leads my gaze up to the ceiling
Wondering if you think that its the sky
With all of your heroes...
Open the window slightly, pick up paper off the floor
I hold my paintbrush tightly, and fill in any empty nail holes
Open the window slightly

song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

I... Then!

i am... then,
the fallen sparrow,
the broken pane,
the house where no one lives!
the worn out shoes,
the guitar in the closet,
the child with cancer
staring from the window...
the book signed and forgotten
beneath the pillow,
the shotgun in the corner,
eyes painted that hide.
the telephone that doesnt ring,
love stains on the sheet.
the old man trying to bum a cup of coffee,
and the young girl behind the counter
who takes him a cup.
the political prisoner,
his blood on the floor.
the refugee... his blood
on his face!
the heretic who turned away
and found the face of god.
the lover left alone,
the darkness of night.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

You Never Sleep On

that book on the shelf,
the one you've forgotten,
waiting in silence,
untouched and unread.
the crack in the window,
rainwater seeps through.
the lamp by the table,
you never turn on.
the axe in the corner,
covered by shadows and web.
the limbs ripped from the tree,
blown by the storm.
that old photograph album,
pictures yellowed by time.
the guitar in the closet,
waiting to be strung.
and the sound of the ocean,
in the shell you never pick up.
the skin left by the snake,
clouds that cover the moon.
the letter you never opened,
the ring in the drawer...
my heart on the pillow,
you never sleep on!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Whispering Wind

like the whispering wind you sent to me
like the hopeless time you gave to me
i watched your dreams all slip away
i watched your dreams all slip away
there's a hopeless place inside my heart
when i look inside i see where we are
like the whispering wind in the top of the trees
i will watch the sky come following me
like the rain on my windows late every night
like the hope i have for us every time
it's like the whispering wind in the top of the trees
i see it sway as you come for me
there's a whispering wind i feel it inside
like a place i can feel but never will see
let a whisper come touch you come touch every thing
i stand in the way of the things i can be
let the whispering wind come lift us away
let it push us apart if we wish to stay
you're my sweetness my baby my love for all time
like the whispering wind it makes you all mine
like the whispering wind you stand here with me
like the whispering wind you stand here with me
i see your dreams all slip away
slip away
slip away
slip away

song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Golden Hair

Lean out your window, golden hair
I heard you singing in the midnight air
My book is closed, I read no more
Watching the fire dance, on the floor
Ive left my book, Ive left my room
For I heard you singing through the gloom
Singing and singing, a merry air
Lean out the window, golden hair...

song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Matters Of Observation

it is me lying on a bench
reading a book halfway through
the pages

for a break i close the book
earmark a page
and look at the jack fruit treetop
just beside the house

i am on the second floor
and no one is in the house

my wife is visiting a friend
who just arrived from the U.S.

there is no other creature except
a white butterfly hovering
on a sampaguita flower
in the small garden

the tree has more leaves
but it is not bearing any fruit
at all

i am reminded of those years
joys forgotten and now i am reading
a book about some shadows
of doubts
there is this systems that works
of patronage
refunds

i am situated in a plateau
and my Jesuit professor who dropped by
last night with a
'how are you? ' through the YM
must have understood that an
introvert like me has no
place outside
the books

i understand and frankly
i do not have to tell him how i feel about it

inside the pages
the stories are too many
my hero is dead.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Humble Hymn Book

The Humble Hymn Book

I am the humble Hymn book,
You may have heard of me before.
You’d see me on the seat in front,
Or maybe on the floor.
But now I’m mostly not in Church,
No more beneath your feet.
Because, you see, the times have changed,
And now I’m obsolete

I can’t seem to project myself,
In colours on the wall,
That clash with background graphics,
And words that are too small.
I don’t know how to show a verse,
Out of order or upside down.
Or jump between the choruses,
Like some demented clown.

(Perhaps that’s what they want these days,
And clearly I’m not ‘with it’.
But it isn’t what they used to call,
The moving of the Spirit)

I have no bulb or fuse to blow,
Just at the worship’s height.
I’m not troubled by a power cut,
Except perhaps at night
I wish I had some software,
To confuse a hapless aide.
Or cables draped across the floor,
To trip up some old maid.

One time, any humble soul,
Could give out a book like me.
But now it needs a graduate,
To handle the technology.
My contents are an open book
An ever flowing stream
Not limited by the dictates
Of a pre programmed worship team

(When thieves break into Church you know,
No value they see in me,
As well as the collection
They take the laptop and PC.)

Do I have a future then?
My prospects may seem hopeless
Who cares this low tech book contains
A treasure trove of witness?
I’ll sit here in this cupboard dark
With the years of gathering dust
But I’ll be ready, at your call
When your novelties are bust

poem by John Coldwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Cheater

Cheater, I know where youve been
Cheater, your lies
Cant hide your sin
Cheater, dont ask me how I know
Cheater, I guess its time for you to go
Im tired of chasing shadows
So lllusive in the night
And your empty words
That leave me high and dry
Now the curtains finally fallen
On this fantasy affair
Youve had me for the last time
With your lies
Cheater, youre a cheater
I know where youve been
Cheater, your lies
Cant hide your sin
Cheater, dont ask me how I know
Cheater, I guess its time for you to go
The voices in the wind I heard
Kept telling me to run
Whispering a warning to my heart
And the voices deep as thunder
Tried to speak of things to come
I was blinded then
But now I see the light
Cheater, youre a cheater
And I know where youve been
Cheater, mean mistreater
Your lies cant hide your sin
Cheater, dont ask me how I know
Cheater, I guess its time
For you to go

song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

One Mans Ceiling Is Another Mans Floor

Words & music by paul simon
Theres been some hard feelings here
About some words that were said
Been some hard feelings here
And what is more
Theres been a bloody purple nose
And some bloody purple clothes
That were messing up the lobby floor
Its just apartment house rules
So all you partment fools
Remember: one mans ceiling is another mans floor!
One mans ceiling is another mans floor
Theres been some strange goins on
And some folks have come and gone
Like the elevator man dont work no more
I heard a racket in the hall
And I thought I heard a call
But I never opened up my door
Its just apartment house sense
Its like apartment rents
Remember: one mans ceiling is another mans floor!
One mans ceiling is another mans floor!
Theres an alley
In the back of my building
Where some people congregate in shame
I was walking with my dog
And the night was black with smog
When I thought I heard somebody
Call my name
Ah-- remember: one mans ceiling is another mans floor!
One mans ceiling is another mans floor!

song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The house that died

An Empty house
An era bygone
Fragrant shadows
Echoes mourn

Smiles and tears
Joyous... morbid
Swift emotions
Of hues myriad

They say we bury
Our emotions alive
And forget in a hurry
But they live and thrive

This house... it lives
Through Echoes and smells
Stored memories behind its walls
Mystic house... story unfurls

A memory for every one who lived
Every single sigh they heaved
A voice whispers to tell the tale
Every memory has a smell

A ball room...under keys and lock
Wooden floor
Smells of rose and holy hock
Symphony rings
True to the core

Dining room
With its sounds
Clatter of spoons
“Cheers”...doing rounds

Nursery room
Giggling smiles
Whispering winds
On broken tiles

A chimney stands
Gathering soot
Smell of fire
Burning wood

And the kitchen
The lover’s nook
For the butler and the cook
Echoes of ladle
Hitting the pan
Boiling pot
And smoking can

A bed room smells of
Shadow and light
Echoes of love talks
Of the passionate lusty nights

The house that died
To live once more
Through smell’s portal and echoes door

Is calling out to you!

poem by Saurabh Som
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

9 Miles On A Dirty Futon

I spent nine miles with her.
in a cheap apartment.
Boxed wine and cheeses with exotic sounding names.
Eaten on a blanket on the floor as we had no table.
we had no couch,
we had no television.
But we had music.

At night we would lay on a futon matress
that layed on the floor.
The streetlight outside the bedroom window playing shadows across sections of her.
First her eyes were lit, the rest of her awash in shadows,
then,
when she turned,
her mouth was visible,
but her eyes were shadowed.
A breast, a thigh, her hair all illuminated
then darkened
according to her movments.

Sometimes she would lie on her back and light a cigarette.
Her whole face would light with the flash of the lighter,
like hand held lightining,
then darken again.
We would talk for hours on that futon,
I don't remember what was said...
I remember her in pieces of light and shadow.

When she smoked the light would turn the smoke in to a slow
languid serpent
escaping from her body through her mouth and nose.
I have never seen anyone smoke like that before or since.
Her face half lit by the streetlight.

She would speak and the words would drift out of her
entwined with the smoke.
She smoked like Garbo.
slow and seductive.

9 years with her and all my memories are of shadows, soft sodium streetlights, and orange cigarette glow.

9 years with her and all I remember are the lights and shadows
across her body.
On that futon matress
on the floor.

poem by Brevet Wilson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A House Without Stairs

do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore

without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me

take the roof
if you want

or the beams
or even the floor and window frames

my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling

whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead

crushed to the death of
our imaginations

a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming

the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Lean Out of the Window

Lean out of the window,
Goldenhair,
I hear you singing
A merry air.

My book was closed,
I read no more,
Watching the fire dance
On the floor.

I have left my book,
I have left my room,
For I heard you singing
Through the gloom.

Singing and singing
A merry air,
Lean out of the window,
Goldenhair.

poem by James Joyce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Four Poetic Points For The Neighborhood To Ponder

i

it is that particular moment
when your tongue tastes the skin of the wind
and it shall tell you too about its long
and unfinished journey

it is this intimacy with the hands of the wind
the talk that both of you do more often under the moon

ii

it is when you sit on the floor
your back rests on the wall
it is this intimacy of self-talking upon itself
when the wall begins to respond
when the floor finally makes its comments

iii

the neighborhood begins to doubt you
but you have no doubt about yourself or the floor's sincerity
or the door's indulgence
or the intimacy with the wind and the wall
which offers you a buffer between emptiness and
chaos

eventually everything has come
smooth and natural
well folded like the waves
well covered like the mist on the tree tops

iv

what you have to serve to all these inquisitors
is an empty glass upon an imaginary tray
which they still have to figure out
why you are serving them the perfect drops of silence
for all their thirsts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Haven't Done My Homework!

I haven't done my homework Dad!

(Dad) Well my boy that's very bad!

But Dad my homework book got eaten!

(Dad) Don't lie to me or you'll get a beat'n!

But Dad it's true my book has gone!

(Dad) Now my son you're very wrong!
I saw it on the kitchen table
I do not like your silly fables

But Dad the Dog has eaten it
I saw him eat it, every bit!

(Dad) OK my son I've had it now!
It's homework time, dont want a row!
Ask your mum where it could be
I want it done before your tea!

(Mum) Oh my son you'll never guess
I put it on the floor
and the dog has eaten it
and your homework book's no more!

poem by Alex Skerratt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!