En.Citatepedia^®.ro

At Toni’s

Just before I want to drive
through the portcullis at work,
you phone me
and I have to stop
to hear
what’s on you mind.

The roar of the motorbike
makes that I must listen well
to hear what you say
and you want to go to Toni’s
and I wonder if you know
where the new precise are?

I have just cut through the traffic
and parked my bike beyond the house
when you stop at the front gate
and the barking of the dog’s tell me
to catch some speed.

The afternoon sky is clear and bright blue
and its still hot afternoon
and I give you a nice kiss
through the car door
that you open for me.

You are very early
and had left early at work
and the watering
of the vegetable garden,
have to wait till later
and there’s magic
in your smile

At Toni’s which now
is just beyond chamberlain’s
small lamps are already burning
and although we arrive without a booking,
a table is quickly
given to us.

The evening is romantic and peaceful
that’s much better than just nice
while the sun slowly sets
and your eyes
glitter and shine with the lamps.

I wish I could drag hours out
like this with you
and throw a bit of
balsamic vinegar in my plate
while the calamata olives
and pizza
taste heavenly
and you
and the sweet desert
with a cup of strong coffee
make the evening special for me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Best Time Of The Day

Cool summer nights.
Windows open.
Lamps burning.
Fruit in the bowl.
And your head on my shoulder.
These the happiest moments in the day.

Next to the early morning hours,
of course. And the time
just before lunch.
And the afternoon, and
early evening hours.
But I do love

these summer nights.
Even more, I think,
than those other times.
The work finished for the day.
And no one who can reach us now.
Or ever.

poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Early in the morning

Early in the morning
I see her getting warm
in her small blanket,
while we drive to work.

Sometimes I wonder
about what she is thinking
and the cat eyes in the road shines
and I concentrate past the sharp oncoming lights.

Still it’s nice to be together
in early dusky morning
and at times her hand rests
loving on my leg.

The wild bean café’s coffee
is very nice and hot
and she buys a pie which I eat later.

Today goes slowly
and I wonder at what time,
she is going to leave work
and if she will get me in time?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Twentyfour Hours

Morning skies of blue,
morning drops of dew,
some overhead,
some beneath my feet,
They both come into view.

Afternoon sun so bright,
afternoon heat so white,
some on my skin
how I feel it burn.
It makes me welcome the night.

Evening sounds I hear,
evening sounds appear
when all is quiet,
no noise of the day
is there to interfere.

Peaceful dark of night,
peaceful with no light.
Nothing overhead
tucked up in my bed,
I've nothing but dreams in my sight.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Daily

you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid

you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen

you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping

they call it life

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Preparation Day

The light is fading early today.

Rain turns the whole world to night.

I drive through watery streets,
headlights
stretch to bright tapers,
red lamps
softly trailing
blood beneath my wheels.

Death’s details
fill my busy day.

First, the uncut granite,
sorted and sized,
words neatly arranged,
ready to inscribe
the bare facts of your life,

and then on to the small, white house,
with its big front window and spring garden
hidden behind the black iron gate;

this is where your party will be.

Our guests will arrive soon,
and I must order flowers, great
purple blooms
to dim this too bright room.

Now we’re nearly finished,

but first I must see
to your final ground,
small patch
of turned earth,

and then tomorrow you can finally rest.

Attend us gently
as we weep
and slowly walk away.

poem by Steven Federle
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I like blue

I like blue
and my motorbike is that colour
and some of the clothes that I wear.

If I am happy,
my eyes changes colour from grey
to bright blue.

The lavender bushes in our garden,
are rather blue
than purple to me.

When the sun sets behind the hillock
there’s a wonderful scent in the early evening air,
that comes from the blue bushes.

a Blue sky with a hot sun
can do miracles to me
and I cannot get enough of summer,

but Monday or any other day
must please stay away
from that colour.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Dreams [2]

As dreams go
I am again sitting in the windowsill
of our flat on the fourteenth floor
and below people rush by, small
like crawling ants
going to pleasure spots, restaurants
some to the movies
in the early evening hours.

Music plays from that sound system
build into the wall in the lounge,
turned up so loud, that even
the people below in the street
can hear every sound and word
and it’s alright as in dreams
you cannot disturb the neighbours
living above, beneath you and next door.

The sun dies somewhere over the sea
and twilight has its own romantic innocence
and just now, you will be rushing in
part of the pleasure of living
with a smile like a bright sun
enveloping your face

and there’s a chilled bottle of JC Le Roux champagne
with two glasses next to me
and when I hear the front door open
I pop the cork and pour some in
and the breeze frizzles my short hair
and suddenly I am aware
that you are right there next to me
from the alluring smell of your perfume

and our lips meet in a tender kiss
that is full of bliss
and with shiny eyes you take a glass from me
and its really okay and I know
that we are divorced,
but I am dreaming
and sometimes in reality
love doesn’t fade

and above us the stars are full of magic
as if anything can happen
and we see one moving past
and I give you a passionate kiss

but suddenly sunshine falls on my face
and the new day makes my dream
crumble to naught
and I am back at home
in a city, a thousand miles away from you.

[Reference: Dreams by Lisa Zaran.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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This morning I lock the cold wind out

This morning I lock the cold wind out
with a nice hot leather jacket
that I zip close up to my chin

and on the motorbike
my hands are almost frozen,
but my thoughts are with you.

While I pass a string of cars
I wonder if you are stuck in traffic
or already at work?

It’s as if your eyes are burning into my soul
and constantly you accompany me
in my thoughts
to all the places that I go.

As if I will somewhere leave the road
and you will also get off the bike
and in a coffee shop
will take my hands in yours.

poem by Gert Strydom
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In fifth Avenue

In the mornings I see Jane passing
and how she walks away,
in the street
and gets smaller and smaller in the distance

The lingering afternoon hours
slowly past
and the postman
draws the barking dogs,
before he rides leisurely
away with his bicycle.

When the sun gets low in the late afternoon
and I park behind the house,
I hear a gate opening
and she greets while she walks by.

poem by Gert Strydom
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare

AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE

An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-

Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-

Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.

There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Pizza Pie

take and give the Pizza pie I like,
place in the plate the Pizza pie that break,
some looks fat but flat, for the Pizza pie
I share is sweet and delicious

one, two three, the Pizza Pie is fine,
the bucket I see is big and small like me,
other is given free and some is for sale
take a little bite, the smooth and sweet
Pizza pie is good for the whole merry day

have you ever broken a Pie that color
green, blue and like chocolate the color is
gray, but with the Pizza Pie I have is good
and tasty and nobody will say, I am not
hungry, come have one for two or three to
make you happy and everyone will always
shout have a happy day

Pizza Pie, Pizza Pie, the flavor of the
season and let everybody taste the Pizza
Pie I made is but as sweet and wonderful
snack for all children that is hungry

Hmmmm it’s yummy, come and join,
taste again the Pizza Pie is free …..

poem by Antonio Liao
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Kiss me slowly

Kissing is an art, one most master
Kissing slowly is better than faster

Kiss me slowly
Kiss me tenderly
Kiss me sweetly

Kiss me on the lips
Down to my finger tips

Delicately sample my nipples
Kiss it, tease it, rather simple

When done right, let me be precise
Kissing itself can be rather very nice

Kiss me slowly
Kiss me tenderly
Kiss me sweetly

Kiss my body inch by inch
Till it tickles and starts to flinch

Kiss me in the left and right ear
Whisper sweet words of passionate care

Kiss me by the neck
With little kisses called pecks

Kiss me hungrily in the mouth
Hear my groaning delicious shouts

Kiss me below and yonder
Till my juices begin to ponder
And turn on fire with desire

Kiss me slowly
Kiss me tenderly
Kiss me sweetly
Kiss me once, twice, thrice
Oooo! These kisses are very nice

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Say Something Nice

Say that you like me the way I am
Just take some time out to understand
It may not be much, but I do all I can
Say something nice
Id never do it to one of you
Id say something nice if it wasnt true
Id make you feel better when youre feeling blue
Id say something nice
Say something nice, only once or twice
Say something nice, only once or twice
Say something nice
I wanna hear that Im beautiful
But you wouldnt say it even if I were
Wearing my diamonds and a coat of fur
You wouldnt say nothin nice
Tell me you think that my hairs real nice
Dont stand around and just criticize
Cant you understand that when a person tries
You say something nice
And its oh so hard, oh so hard
To listen to the words that you say
Oh, say something nice, just once or twice
It wouldnt hurt, dont you see
I wanna hear something nice, say something nice
Say something nice, just once or twice
It dont hurt you at all, say something nice
Say something nice baby, only once or twice
Say something nice
Say something nice baby, only once or twice
Say something nice
Hey dont you hear me, hey dont you hear me
Hey dont you hear me, hey dont you hear me
Say something nice
Say something nice
And its oh so hard, and its oh so hard
And Im dying to hear what Ive never heard (fade out)

song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Morning

I can't stop myself from calling
Calling out your name
I can't stop myself from falling
Falling back again
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
Dark like the shady corner
Inside a violin
Hot like to burn my lips
I know I can't win
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
I try to quit you but I'm too weak
Waking up without you
I can hardly speak at all
My girlfriend tried to help me
Get you off my mind
She tried a little tea and sympathy
To help me to unwind
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
Funny how my favorite shirt
Smells more like you than me
Bitter traces left behind
In stains no one can see
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon
You're gonna put me in an early grave
I know I'm your slave whenever you call
I can't stop myself from calling
Calling out your name
I can't stop myself from falling
Falling back again
Falling back again
In the morning
Baby, in the afternoon

song performed by by Norah Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cant Stop Rockin

I heard about the rock for sometime, I know.
Its easy to do when you feel the roll.
Makes you want to get up, makes you wanna move your feet.
No matter how its done you know it cant be beat.
cause I cant stop rockin,
No, I cant stop rockin.
Well, I cant stop rockin,
Baby, till I lose my mind.
Somebody said its wrong but I know its all right,
Then it really hits you like a shot in the night.
Im never gonna stop as long as I can stay.
Listen to me now, cant you hear me say,
I cant stop rockin,
No, I cant stop rockin.
Well, I cant stop rockin,
Baby, till I lose my mind.
I like to work it down low, I like to work it to the top.
And when it starts rockin I aint never gonna stop.
Get yourself loose, get yourself high.
I love to feel the motion and Im tellin you why.
cause I cant stop rockin,
No, I cant stop rockin.
No, I cant stop rockin
No matter what they do do do do do or say.
No matter what you do do do do do or say, no no.

song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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~Not a Rhyme~

its taste bitter
but sweet
so strong
but some work
calms my soul
and saves my breath
as it slowly slides
through my throat
the smell not such a delight
but oh the taste!
and its magic!
the way it heals
the way it calms;
the way things disappear
i cant let it go
the taste it hurts
its like a drug
but i cant stop
i want more
i pour a glass
dont care take my magic
i need it
it helps clear this mind that is going crazy

poem by WaitingFor SomethingNew
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Later, That Same Evening

Later, that same evening, she ran.
I think she ran alone.
Later, she had early warning from
A hidden phone.
Checked with the embassy ---
She might have been
A million miles away.
Should I circulate her likeness
At all airports without delay?
It was later ---
Later that same evening.
Earlier, we had had a drink or four
In some kensington hotel.
Hard --- it was hard to keep my mind
On what she had to sell.
And with all business done
We took a cab ---
Should it be her place or mine?
Good security prevailed
And I was home just after nine.
It was later ---
Later that same evening.
Now I want you back.
Yes, they want you back.
We want you back.
My country wants you back.
Later, in the wee small hours
There was heavy traffic on the radio.
Scare at a channel port ---
Small craft warnings to keep to shore.
Lobstermen thought they saw
A submarine
Half submerged suspiciously.
Though I arrived too late,
Im sure she blew a kiss to me
As the sub sailed out to sea.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sebokarang Villages

Every evening
I always go to the Sebokarang villages
bike to break through the twilight
In the Bamboo threes
and the field of sugar plantantion
its flower blossom, yellow and
to bend in the street
to be fenced in kembang sepatu
and than turn to her hause
the wall of her house made from teakwood
and around her house planted
The Ceplok Piring flowers

in front of the door of her houses
I knocked its with my thremble fingers,
With my thremble heart
Where my blood flow fastly

The evening wind
Blowing softly
And start to be darkness
Its covering the leaf
Eat the tree near the street
Where the people pass and through
So cat run to catch the mouse
the mouse jump
To the path of the villages
I fell loneness
in front of the door
waiting for you
open the door

when the door opened
the light of petromax lamp is lighting
to my eyes wonder
of your smile
from the red lips

open, just open the door
the door of your heart
again and again
till I could stay
in the wide room of your heart
forever

poem by Prasetya Utama
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Late autumn

The yellow veldt, the skeleton chestnut trees
specs of orange-red aloes in the kopje
are near to the old white house
and in the late afternoon shades draw long lines

while I walk up to the house on the red-brown dirt road
and most of the flowers in the garden are stripped bare
but a few irises are flowering yellow,
purple and cream brown

and the sky is dull blue and the early evening cold
is already on the wind that is rustling everything
and after years I open the garden gate
are coming back to my childhood home

stripped from illusions,
and I am bare from the childhood innocence
but full of hope
and looking through a mature man’s eyes.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A: Run, Run Like The Wind

Run, run like the wind
catch a fast car stopping
outside that will rush to
pick up the kids, then
speeding on, to pick up
the other car from the
garage, a mad dash at
break-neck speed to beat
the afternoon traffic today
in total confusion, leave
early, grab your cell-phone
no moment to lose, the
car cannot wait, if you’re
late, there is havoc in
Wonderland make haste,
make haste!

poem by Margaret Alice
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