En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smaller & Smaller

Drought makes the workers dream
Muscles and fields of green
Shovel the last few crumbs
Of generosity
Open hearts, open mind, open mouth, open vein
Drain
Someday the rains will come
My blistered hands tell me
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow
Bite
Bite
Bite
Cry
Ill keep coming back
Smaller and smaller and smaller
Squash me
Smaller and smaller and smaller
Under the charity
Smaller and smaller and smaller
Under the topsoil
Smaller and smaller and smaller
Under the fingernail
Smaller and smaller and smaller
Then small becomes all becomes all..........
Bite
Bite
Bite
Cry
Its not a mirage
Its not a mirage
Trickling downward, trickling downward
Its not a mirage
Drain
Drain
Bite
Bite
Bite
Cry
Smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller..........

song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Tree Branches Rub Against The Roof

When tree branches rub against the roof
the small bulbul runs past
during the afternoon hour
to the pool where it dives and rolls,
stretches out wings and shoot them out straight,
walking boldly up and down
stretches out wings,
stretches out wings
as he walks to and thro.

When tree branches rub against the roof
a light breeze blows,
while the sun burns hot as fire
and the neighbouring child calls
when the afternoon comes with its peace,
with thoughts from the past
when the afternoon comes,
when the afternoon comes
and sometimes I forget the present.

When tree branches rub against the roof
birds peck around everywhere
while moments are lingering
as leaves blow to the ground,
and I think of God as if He is here,
while the shades bring a kind of tranquillity
and I think of God
and I think of God
and find some deeper meaning to life.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smaller And Smaller

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
(p) Faith No More
< Mike Bordin: Drums; Roddy Bottum: Keyboards;
Billy Gould: Bass Guitar; Jim Martin: Guitar;
Mike Patton: Vocals >
( Angel Dust [Slash Records, 1992] )
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Drought makes the workers dream
Muscles and fields of green
Shovel the last few crumbs
Of generosity
Open heart, open mind, open mouth, open vein
DRAIN
Someday the rains will come
My blistered hands tell me
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow
BITE
BITE
BITE
CRY
I'll keep coming back
smaller and smaller and smaller
squash me
smaller and smaller and smaller
under the charity
smaller and smaller and smaller
under the topsoil
smaller and smaller and smaller
under the fingernail
smaller and smaller and smaller
then small becomes all becomes all.......
BITE
BITE
BITE
CRY
It's not a mirage
It's not a mirage
trickling downward, trickling downward
It's not a mirage
DRAIN
DRAIN
BITE
BITE
BITE
CRY
smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller.......
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red BMX Bicycle

There was a small boy
In the countryside
Who had a small red BMX bicycle
Kept in the store besides the herbicides
Every evening like a cycle
He would ride down the dusty road
The sun a yellow ball
on the west side
Glittering under the sun`s rays
Was that small
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
Who had nothing…
Totally nothing
He was a friend to the small boy
Every evening like a cycle
He would wait by the dusty road
To have a chance
On the small red BMX bicycle
His face would be all smiles
Even after falling off that
RED BMX BICYCLE
One day at dusk
The smaller boy
Stood next to the small boy
And asked
“When you grow up, would you give me this bike? ”
The small boy without thinking
Said YES..
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
One night
He had a bad stomach ache
His mum wiping the tiny streams of tears
That fell from his small face
That was pale…
Due to dust from the dusty road
As he played with his the small boy
And rode on that
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a small boy
In the countryside…
Now HE is all grown
And in the university
Far away in the city
That RED BMX BICYCLE
Now long gone
Given to some relative, I guess
If I could go back
To those days…
Those days with beautiful sunsets
Back in the countryside
Waiting for my chance
On my red BMX bicycle
Watching that smaller boy fall off
I would give him…
I would hand him that bicycle
And never expect it back
And watch him ride
Towards the beautiful sunset
On my red BMX bicycle
But if I can go back
All will be in vain
Because on that night…in the dark
He struggled with pain
His small heart couldn`t keep on
Outside there was rain
The gods possibly wanted to cleanse
All the evil that night
That took him away
Now I reminisce
As I keep moving on
About that smaller boy
And our small
RED BMX BICYCLE…

poem by Paul Oguda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon

When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,
while the moon did cling bright white to the heaven,
winking stars appeared in the night

and sweet we were blissful together
when you trusted me, with your body, spirit and soul.
When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,

suddenly the evening star did disappear
while I held your hand in mine,
saw the glance in the depths of your eyes
and all the misunderstandings and pain were gone,
when the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early June Girls

While walking
Along the street
On a sunny afternoon
Of late spring
The air was filled
With the heavy smell
Of carcinogenic gases
Emitted by
The rolling cars.

Oh! How I
Loved the aroma
Of gasoline
In my childhood.

While walking
On a sunny afternoon
Of late spring
The petrol
In the street
Was mixed
With the hovering
Exciting scent
Of by-passing
Early-June girls.

poem by Paul Hartal
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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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Sunday Afternoon

I can think of better days
As I look into your eyes
And I feel that in a way
I know that youll be alright
And he walks for a mile
Its his style
Baby never acts wild
Feels hes invencible
He walks for a while
But I never ask why
He needs his time in isolation
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
Im gonna whisper in your ear
Ive a lot of things to say to you
Ill give you all my universe
Youre all I want and thats for sure
And he walks for a mile
Its his style
Baby never acts wild
Feels hes invencible
He walks for a while
But I never ask why
He needs his time in isolation
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
In your darkest hour
Take my hand and Ill show you
Understand it much better
Ill make sure you get there
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon

song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Afternoon Tea

Tea time wont be the same without my donna
At night I lie awake and dream of donna
I think about that small cafe
Thats where we used to meet each day
And then we used to sit a while
And drink our afternoon tea
Ill take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
If you take it with me (afternoon tea)
You take as long as you like
cause I like you, girl
I take sugar with tea (afternoon tea)
You take milk if you please (afternoon tea)
Like you talking to me
Because you ease my mind
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Tea time still aint the same without my donna
At night I lie awake and dream of donna
I went to our cafe one day
They said that donna walked away
Youd think at least she might have stayed
To drink her afternoon tea
Ill take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
If you take it with me (afternoon tea)
You take as long as you like
cause I like you, girl
I take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
Every day of the week (afternoon tea)
Please come along if you like
Because I like you, girl
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Late Afternoon Is Heat

THE LATE AFTERNOON IS HEAT

The late afternoon is heat
The poem is far away
The day has yet to begin
I am old
Time mocks me with another small smile at its passing.

I do not know where I am going
And what I will be
And how I will die.

But I will die
And in much less time
Than I have already lived.

Late afternoon
The heat
My tiredness
The silence
This poem

Tonight will be Shabbat
Another day will begin
Time mocks me with its passing
And blesses me with each moment I still live.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night and day I have no peace

Deep in the night
I hear the monster
rumbling along the railway track
and it whistles so shrill
that it is forced into my brain
and I am immediately waken
from my sleep.

A smaller monster swishes
past down in the street
and roars as if it’s somewhere
on a racing track

and on the main road, further away
something pulling a heavy load hoots
before thundering on into the night

and at times people drive
into the lamppost
where the road turns away
with one hell of a bang

and a little later
sirens cry past
to try and rescue
someone somewhere.

Early in the morning rubbish bins are collected
with a thing that growls and whines
and smashes with iron jaws

before the postman
and later the man from the pharmacy
drives past on scooters
and gets every dog in the neighbourhood barking

and night and day
I have no peace
as long as I am living in the city
and things are driving
to and thro the whole time.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Man Walks Slowly/ When He Has Nowhere Special To Go

A man walks slowly
When he has nowhere special to go-

A man walks slowly
And has the time to look around
The flowers, the trees,
His own memories his dreams-

He walks slowly
And enjoys his walking-

Who knows how much longer
He will be able to go on walking?

He walks slowsly
He has nowhere special to go-

He enjoys the morning light
He is at home with the world and happy-

He walks slowly
And is at home wherever he goes-

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Room Gets Smaller

The room keeps getting smaller. What did I do this time? Logic is dead and gone. And time continues to move on. The room keeps getting smaller. No its not fine. I hurt someone very close and I was forewarned. Its was a mistake that created heart break. And the room get smaller. Yes I'm out of my mined. My failures are so large that I have fallen so far under par. A forty foot latter isn't high enough. God how this is going to get rough. And the room gets smaller smaller and smaller till it totters to the brink of collapse and I see the death of others coming. Its a domino effect that I created because I was too desperate. I paid the ultimate price of an unwanted sacrifice.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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To A Daughter Leaving Home

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

poem by Linda Pastan
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Late- Afternoon Sadness

LATE- AFTERNOON SADNESS

Late- afternoon sadness
Has a feeling all its own.
Life is all the things one has failed to do
It is all the disappointments brought us
By loved ones.
It is the sense that nothing good will happen again
Late- afternoon sadness
Is a world of its own,
And within it one sinks and sinks and sinks
Until one does not know
If the ground ever existed.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Muir Woods

Afternoon gray off the Golden Gate Bridge
Clears away now to a lingering blue
With expansive day soaked in bright sunlight;
Tourists ride through wealthy Marin County
As their guide recounts his own narrative
Of the way things used to be in the great
Long-distant past of San Francisco, gone -
"Everything was safe and clean in those days,
Children could walk the streets alone at night, "
He sighs, driving the big bus uphill
To a park submerged in Redwood shadow.

poem by William B. Deutscher
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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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Late In The Afternoon

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON

Late in the afternoon
Late in life
Lyric poetry is still possible.

It is quieter of course
And calmer of course
And its passion is subdued of course
But it is still possible.

Love does not die in old age
It simply sings softer.

Even now towards the end of this happy day
The light has its own sad song.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If the main timbers in the house are not straight, the smaller timber will be unsafe; and if the smaller timbers are not straight, the house will fall.

Chinese proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Solitary Reaper

I behold him single,
walking on the street
and his face is covered
by the long black cloak
that the evening wind
bristles against.

From a distance he looks
like a ancient priest,
or somebody trying to
get the better
of the foggy raining weather.

Something sinister is in his step
and I have seen him before
and the knowledge of it,
brings the hair on my arms to life.

I greet him like a old friend
and he smiles at me
like regular passers on the street do
and his voice is part of the wind:
“I am not coming for you, yet.”

The moonlight glitters yellow
in a crescent shape in the sky
and falls on the sickle in his hand
and death walks by,
to take away the very pulse of life
somewhere nearby
and he’s in a hurry to be in time
before destiny’s clockwork reach its mark.

Down the street
I hear a young man sobbing
in a old white house
where all the lights
are burning a soft yellow
and just for a moment,
the solitary reaper hesitates
before unnoticed
he walks through the door.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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