No Police station
At a time
I lived in a suburb
that lies
on the east of Pretoria
and they wanted to turn
a huge double storey house
into a police station
and the people
in the suburb were angry
as it would become a thoroughfare
for undesirable people
where people do
just what they want.
Who wants to sacrifice peace
for sirens
that wail
in the early hours of the day
and law enforcers
laying on your neck
that knows less about law and order
than the man in the street?
Nobody wanted the nest
where they breed out
near to that suburb
and the house prices to plunge
and a petition was drawn up
to leave that house
unclaimed
and it’s still empty
with out any occupants.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Christchurch
It’s a small town.
It’s only a suburb.
But it’s a nice suburb.
Sometimes a suburb
can be a nice place to see.
Flowering free kiwi city
of botanic elfin trees.
Cathedral garden
city of New Zealand.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Live In A Poor Place Or Suburb
To live in a poor Place or Suburb as bad as a punishable crime
That's how it is and always will be 'tis something that won't change in time
On the road that leads from the poor Suburb it is a long hike to success
Condemned by the street that you live on and condemned by your postal address
Condemned by the judgements of the judgemental to spend their lives in Earthly Hell
Few very few from the poor Suburb in life ever seem to do well
The judgemental arrogant talk of life choices but never of birth circumstance
The homeless youth of Poverty Street of success have such a slim chance
For them life is such a hard battle a tough steep climb all of the way
Where many are doomed for to die young and few live to be old and gray
Where so many do become outlaws and spend most of their lives in jail
They follow in parental footsteps from birth they are doomed for to fail
Those born and raised in the poor Place or Suburb have little hope of happiness
Their life journey is such a tough road with so little chance of success.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A House for Four
A house for four
What is it? a house for four
A dingy looking thing
Are there windows? none
What is it? a house for four
Such a palace
Are there greetings? none
What is it? a house for four
Why the space is so small
Is there privacy? none
What is it? a house for four
A dozen creeps could be creeping there
Is there any trust? none
Don't judge me for mine
Poor fool i wont
Even give you the time
Are you judging me?
Your quite the choir
With a cracking voice
And
A tall house that falls
To scrutiny
A house for four and
A house for four
A people of choir and
A people of poor
Do you not recognize
The stains are yours?
A house is not a house
Unless there is more
More and more
Sometimes less is more
poem by Deci Hernandez
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The Centre Of The Heart
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of the heart is the suburb to the brain?
You wear them so well, those innocent eyes
You're putting on a wonderful disguise.
I want you so bad, I'm pushing my luck
It feels like beeing hit by a truck.
This is no place special, don't know why I came
If someone has a minute, won't you explain?
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
Singing: "Na na na na na na, Na na na na na na"
Beeing with you, dealing with fire
Oh, won't you come around (come out) come out (today) and play
I want you so bad, answer my calls
Let's spend the night within these walls
This is no place special, nothing for the same (nothing for the same)
If someone's got a minute, do please explain!
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
Singing: "Na na na na na na, Na na na na na na"
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me...
(tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me)
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
Singing: "Na na na na na na, Na na na na na na"
What am I gonna do now?
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain?
The center of my heart... yeah, yeah, yeah!
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon hoooooooo!
Na na na na na na
What am I gonna do now?
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I dream of a little house
I dream of a little house
that’s in a suburb,
or a place at the sea
just big enough for two.
There are surf breaking on a white beach
and it’s a place,
where the sun always shine
and where worries disappear
When I wake up
you lie next to me
and I see how the sleep
take you to a wonderful place,
but we life in a big house
where the dogs bark at the neighbours
and the cats lie in the sun
and at that moment I know
that this place is far better
than the places of our dreams
and that you
make it heaven for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Make This House A Home
Well theres something in us living
Theres something you should know
There was a time for us to fall
Now its time to grow
But you know its not the way
That I intended it to be
Crossing hearts and killing souls
And trying to get down to whats real
All I ever wanted was to make this house a home
I let go of sinking sand wont you help me find a stone
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was to make this house a home
All I needed was your hand to hold
I spent so much time alone
I needed your direction
But we re-aligned my broken bones
Well theyre running from a lifeless state
Somehow we lost our hold
All we have with us is change
Left over from what started out as gold
All I ever wanted was to make this house a home
I let go of sinking sand - wont you help me find a stone
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was to make this house a home
This is what I give to you
Its flesh and blood
Its body and soul
Wont you take whats left of who I am
And try to see it whole
Im holding you responsible for every word I say
If you feel the brokenness
Wont you try and look the other way
I never meant to be so low
I only wanted you to see
That time was healing someone else
But its tearing apart the very heart of me
This is what I give to you
Its flesh and blood
Its body and soul
Wont you take whats left of who I am
And try to see it whole
All I ever wanted was to make this house a home
I let go of sinking sand - wont you help me find a stone
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was to make this house a home
So make this house a home
Make this house a home
Make this house a home
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost In Rural Suburbia
Streetlights flicker on at the end of day,
the day is gone,
I am on my way far too suddenly
with headlights on,
all around me many tall buildings rise
solid like stone
there are some busy people everywhere,
are always rushing, going here and there.
Coming is darkness of the early night,
some neon lights flash,
the large city does never really sleep,
some people dash
to be in time for dinner appointments,
heaps of old trash
line some of the long backward narrow streets
where whores and slimy characters meet.
No tranquillity is in this city,
I drive away
to somewhere in a old rural suburb,
the headlights play
over a very old graveyard with trees;
on no new day
all the kinsmen that sleep there will awake,
from the high palisade some old paint flake.
I stop across at a small grocery shop,
life I ponder,
were the lives of all those people fairer?
Here and yonder
they daily worked their farms and cornfields
and I wonder
about changing times, about rural bliss,
about how full of crime daily life now is.
This suburb has a own kind of gentleness
with big old trees,
teenagers in love not knowing about
flowers and bees;
I have got to rush to still shop in time,
some employees
are busy leaving, are on their way home
and I get a smile as the owner's welcome.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Children Should Not Have To Be Homeless
There are thousands of homeless children in Beijing in China though that is not suprising to hear
For where there is a huge population there is poverty too 'twould appear
And China to anywhere else is no different the rich getting richer they say
And just beyond the leafy suburb is the suburb of neglect and decay.
There are thousands of homeless children in New York though with that some may not agree
In America the great Land of commerce no such a thing as poverty?
But the facts of course will tell you differently and in a World of inequality
There too are children homeless and hungry in the so called Land of the free.
There are homeless children in London in England as well as in Paris in France
The poor children of the poor suburb in life they do not have a chance
Their parents in Jail for drug abuse they become the kids of the street
They search the rubbish bins for food in dark alleys and what others do throw out they eat.
There are homeless children in Sydney and Melbourne and anywhere else one might name
Though that does not seem to affect us we never reflect on our shame
That many should have to grow poorer for one to become a millionaire
In a truly egalatarian society would never be looked on as fair.
Children should not have to be homeless though born into abject poverty
They should not be punished for the sins of their parents so much for our humanity
And money to some all that matters and money is married to success
Whilst the children of the poor live homeless on the street of the No Fixed Address.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rock House
(p. lord / s. st. victor / v.j. smith / p. abdul)
Chorus:
Rock you house you
Turn the fire up takin over
Rock you house you
People get strong
Rock you house you
Time to take the weight
Off your shoulder
Rock you house you
People move on
And yes its time to grow
Spent enough time to know
To believe in you is blind
You only tell us lies
So now that weve agreed
Its time to end your greed
The unanimous decision
Is to rock you
Chorus
You shake a million hands
Make a million plans
The give a promise
To the poor
And millions a war
We tried to beg and plead
Still you ignore our needs
So the only way to teach you
Is to rock you
Chorus
When I think about the
Babies eyes
Longing from hunger
It makes me wanna
Cry, cry cry
Then the situation
Of our mothers
And our brothers
Well I know, I know
We can make it better.
Chorus
To the nations telling lies
To the brothers
Down the block
To the power on the street
To the critics on my jock
Shut up and dance!!
Chorus
Set the record
Straight right
Here and say
Set the record
Straight right
Here and say
(peace)
song performed by by Paula Abdul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Beside The Road
The house beside the road,
Where people lived
And children played,
Is empty now
And falling down.
The echos of happy feet
Are heard now,
Tapping to the sound
Of Poppy's fiddle,
But the house beside the road
Is empty.
When a gentle voice
Is heard in the house,
It's only a singing breeze
Sifting itself through
The cracks in the roof of
The house beside the road.
poem by Scarlett Treat
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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If You Dont Come Back
(words & music by mark james)
(woke up early in the morning)
(what did the poor boy find)
Well the car was gone and you were gone
And I almost lost my mind.
If you dont come back (if you dont come back)
Yeah! if you dont come back today (if you dont come back today)
You can call up the people at the crazy house
And take this crazy man away
(he threw himself off a gas stone wall)
(he tore his clothes out the door)
I ran out on the street in my stockinged feet
Tell the police Ive been robbed
If you dont come back (if you dont come back)
Mmm if you dont come back today (if you dont come back today)
Well you can call up the people at the crazy house
And take this crazy man away
Mrs. browns been talking about me
To the people across the street
She said (said (I cooked that boy a pot full of stew,
But the poor thing just wont eat).)
If you dont come back (if you dont come back)
Yeah! if you dont come back today (if you dont come back today)
You can call up the people at the crazy house
And take this crazy man away
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ichabod - The Story of Discontent (Narrative)
This story's for the humble
And I'll hide identities
For it may make you stumble
To know the realities.
It's about a nice preacher
Of a known denomination
Who aspired to be richer
Through his good congregation.
In a rented house he lived
With his lovely wife and children
But he wanted to receive
A better blessing from men.
So without much ado
He relayed in his preaching
A new house will do
So increase with your giving.
He said 'We'll build a Center
That will then accommodate
Five thousand new members,
And this church will be great.
But before that you must
Build a nice house for me
I hope you will trust
It's for our testimony.'
So poured the donations
And the gift offerings
For his house construction
With complete furnishings.
After the house, he needed
A new car for his trips,
So in preaching he related
Added needs in the worship.
'A Crosswind is fine'
Said he to the people,
'It's an Isuzu line
And the price reasonable.'
So he got the new wheels
And with peace for a moment,
But the joy that he feels
Soon leads back to discontent.
After a year, a predicament-
Another car he had wanted
Made known his sentiment,
Again the people submitted.
'A Mitsubishi Pajero,
It's the best for our missions
Will you let me know
Your complete contributions.'
When the giving was done
And the money was counted,
'For those who gave none
No prayers will be said.'
What kind of a shepherd
Will say such a prayer?
From heaven God heard
This very selfish preacher.
After that his own son
Brought sin to the church,
A curse that's undone
Took him down from his perch.
Though he preached with full volume
It was empty of Power
For the God Who consumes
Has abandoned the preacher.
Now seven years later
There is still no Center,
Eventually the Rapture
May not carry this preacher.
'Ichabod' - The glory of the Lord has
departed.
'We too often love things and use people, when we should be using things and loving people.'
..................................... .................................................
April 10,2009
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House In The Middle Of A War Field
There was a house in the middle of a war field,
A conspicuous little dot on the vast patch of land.
And many beasts fought bloody wars around it,
Yet the house unperturbed, remained rooted to the sand.
All doors and windows of this house had been shut for aeons,
Some people lived inside away from the truth, so abominable.
They lived there guarded, sometimes pretended to not hear the cries,
Ignorance being the prime weapon in their arsenal.
One day a curious young girl in the house said something rather strange,
She wanted to see the world outside, she wanted to be freed.
Everyone disagreed, they said its too dangerous and she will perish.
But she didn't fear death, she despised the creed.
It took her decades to convince the others, and after a lot of coaxing they agreed.
Their hollowed souls were tired of simply existing, to them even death seemed like an adventure.
And so for the first time, the rusty doors of the house had opened,
The sun rays heralded a moment of enlightenment.
As the girl with the others took their first step outside,
The grains under their feet felt like acupuncture.
The armed men outside stood transfixed,
Seeing a sight they'd never witnessed before.
As for years they had brooded over the question,
That what lay behind that door.
With a heavenly voice said the girl to the soldiers,
Inside the house you will find the greatest treasures this world has seen.
The men at once dropped their weapons and ran inside the house,
The house now seemed to have lost its sheen.
As the last greedy soldier made his way inside,
The door closed behind him to never open again.
The entire house crumpled beneath its own weight,
Killing each one who entered in vain.
The people were saved all because of the girl,
Her legacy continued and they gave her a name.
Because since that day the dogmatic principles of faith,
Had been definitely put to shame.
poem by SaviorsLavish Human
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Explaining a Few Things
You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.
I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.
From there you could look out
over Castille's dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
Everything
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.
And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings --
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to kill children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.
Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!
Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!
Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.
And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?
Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I used to go to Elvis's house was always a nightmare trying to get into the house because of so many fans outside the gate and he really couldn't go anywhere without sneaking in or doing something because people just wanted to be around him and to be with him.
quote by Jackie DeShannon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The house in Panorama Street
I once had a stretch of red rocky ground
on the street side
of a rented house
in Panorama street in Rooihuiskraal.
The cars criss-crossed past
and the bank took it back
and rented it out
and nobody else
wanted to make that house
his own.
I decided to let flowers,
sprout out
of that rocky earth.
There were small carnations
that grew creeping over each other
with the most wonderful smell
and opened
in colours of white, red and purple blue.
There were geraniums
that easily grew out of cuttings
and become big strong bushes
that was covered with flowers.
Vygies crept all over the place
and just where you look
the rocky soil stood in flower
and I wanted to stop the bank
when I got two months notice
and other people
bought that house
with my beautiful garden.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Welcome
Tommy:
Tommy:
Come to my house
Come to my house
Be one of the comfortable people.
Be one of the comfortable people.
Come to this house
Come to this house
Were drinking all night
Were drinking all night
Never sleeping.
Never sleeping.
Milkman come in!
Milkman come in!
And you baker,
And you baker,
Little old lady welcome
Little old lady welcome
And you shoe maker
And you shoe maker
Come to this house!
Come to this house!
Into this house.
Into this house.
Come to this house
Come to this house
Be one of us.
Be one of us.
Make this your house
Make this your house
Be one of us.
Be one of us.
You can help
You can help
To collect some more in
To collect some more in
Young and old people
Young and old people
Lets get them all in!
Lets get them all in!
Come to this house!
Come to this house!
Into this house.
Into this house.
Ask along that man whos wearing a carnation.
Ask along that man whos wearing a carnation.
Bring every single person
Bring every single person
From victoria station,
From victoria station,
Go into that hospital
Go into that hospital
And bring nurses and patients,
And bring nurses and patients,
Everybody go home and fetch their relations!
Everybody go home and fetch their relations!
Come to this house
Come to this house
Be one of the comfortable people.
Be one of the comfortable people.
Lovely bright home
Lovely bright home
Drinking all night never sleeping.
Drinking all night never sleeping.
We need more room
We need more room
Build an extension
Build an extension
A colourful palace
A colourful palace
Spare no expense now
Spare no expense now
Come to this house
Come to this house
Be one of us
Be one of us
Come into this house
Come into this house
Be one of us
Be one of us
Come to this house
Come to this house
Into this house
Into this house
Welcome
Welcome
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Preacher Needs More Ram
I took the modem off the podium...
Just before the preacher sneezed!
I asked a doctor in a pew...
If the sneeze would spread disease?
And Doctor Blye looked in my eyes,
As if I was there for church.
I looked him up and down and said,
'I am here doing research! '
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
oh Oh OHHH....
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet...
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Ahhhhaaaayyy
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
'Reverand Heath?
I recommend a live video hookup as well!
I think you will touch a lot of people.
I found myself 'slightly' involved.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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