Slow Elapse of Time Too Little
Two small dogs barking at the wind
bees buzzing right in front of the nose
gossip and laughter coming from women gathered
the lone man's cigarette and beer can
the unlit candle the fallen pen
the empty watering can a single chopstick
the bare table the meal upon the stove
long gaps of silence between two brothers
filled by the crickets and low flying jets
the wheels inching up the incline of the drive
the statue of the angel kneeling the dirt on his wings
a rusty shovel crumpled leaves
moment of anticipation following the sound of the doorbell
the slow elapse of time too little
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Related quotes
That's How I Like It
Where I come from it's grits and gravy
Not champagne caviar got a pick up truck ain't no Mercedes
That's who we are (I wouldn't change a thing)
I ain't no saint - somtimes a sinner
And I can't tell you why
But I get up every morning and thank the man above (ooh my life is good)
Like my women hot and my beer ice cold
A real fast car and my whiskey old
Like a slow drive down a long dirt road
That's how I like it
I like to turn my music way up loud
Ain't nothin better than the sound of a crowd
That American flag makes me proud
That's why I like it
That's why we like it, yeah
Ain't no cell phone towers
You won't catch me online
Workin' with my hands for hours
We got everything we need oooh
Like my women hot and my beer ice cold
A real fast car and my whiskey old
Like a slow drive down a long dirt road
That's how I like it
I like to turn my music way up loud
Ain't nothin better than the sound of a crowd
That American flag makes me proud
That's why I like it
That's why we like it, yeah
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Listen
Listen be aware
Hear the sounds
What do you hear
The wind blowing
Birds singing
Plane flying overhead
Children playing
Dogs barking
Listen at what you hear
Music playing
Bee's buzzing
Train a coming
A prayer
A secret being told
Maybe a lie
A true confession
Screaming in the night
A soft cry
Someone pleading for help
Car going by
A heart beating
Softly in the night
A song in the air
Listen
poem by Angel Plant
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Ashes Of American Flags
The cash machine is blue & green
$400 in twenties and small silver _
I could spend $3.63 on diet coca cola
And unlit cigarettes
I wonder why we listen to poets
And nobody gives a thought
How hot & sorrowful
This machine begs for naught
All my lies are always wishes
I know I could die if I could come back new
I want a good life
With a nose for things
Fresh wind & bright sky
To enjoy my suffering
A hole without a key
If I break my tongue
Speakingof tomorrow
How will it ever come
Oh, all my lies are always wishes
I know I will die if I could come back new
I am down on my hands & knees
Every time the doorbell rings
I shake like a toothache
When I hear myself sing
Oh, my lies are only wishes
I know I will die if I could come back new
I would like to salute
The ashes of american flags
And all the fallen leaves
Filling up shopping bags
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowers bloom in green
Flowers bloom in the green with sound of humming bees,
asking to each other is this real or dream
small squirrel with nut in its mouth is astonished from where this angel appeared,
trees swaying with heart full of happiness that there is angel in between us,
clouds flying filled with pleasure to see the angel on earth,
angel was sad and weeping to be alone in so many,
unknown of the fact that she will be changed from angel to evil,
as all will take away all her good and precious,
to become immortal and precious and she will be left alone to bear their evils.
poem by Hemu Gupta
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Silence In September
Sometimes when I laugh I feel so guilty
For a moment I've forgotten, then I remember the sounds of your laughter and my eyes mist
I haven't come to accept yet the absence of your laughter
Silence of a home has its own agony
I never knew there would be a September without you
September with its endless sadness, its loneliness
Everything reminds me of you -- the color of wild flowers,
the smell of autumn air, the sound of creek water flowing over rocks, the mournful sound of a dove--
Small things I never noticed before
Death brings such poignancy, such humility
One is left so defenseless
Before I was never aware that the mornings rays of a September sun are somehow different
They appear to have a more golden glow as they caress the leaves
Perhaps sensing a coming farewell
Time is meaningless now
Our hearts broken
Something infinitely precious was stolen away from us
Days are long
Some we don't know how we'll get through
We feel so wasted, so empty, an eternal emptiness without you
poem by Barbara M. Thomas
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The Reasons
sometimes
tired of the buzzing of the word
he gives flesh to it
even wings
and so the bees
come
often
the words are empty like
a vacant room
or an abandoned
cottage in one of those
untamed forest
one can do
something as he does
after so many
experimentation
when words are just
wind or air or static space
he plants a tree
and leaves become
inhabitants
flowers arrive as buds
and butterflies
of variant colors
arrive as
colonies
must you remember
how the void is filled
with light and there was light
how the islands come
dotting the seas?
who likes a void, an empty space?
even God
dislikes it
we are here
because of that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Deserted House
To the sweet memory of Sidney Lanier
The old house stands deserted, gray,
With sharpened gables high in air,
And deep-set lattices, all gay
With massive arch and framework rare;
And o’er it is a silence laid,
That feeling, one grows sore afraid.
The eaves are dark with heavy vines;
The steep roof wears a coat of moss;
The walls are touched with dim designs
Of shadows moving slow across;
The balconies are damp with weeds,
Lifting as close as streamside reeds.
The garden is a loved retreat
Of melancholy flowers, of lone
And wild-mouthed herbs, in companies sweet,
’Mid desolate green grasses thrown;
And in its gaps the hoar stone wall
Lets sprays of tangled ivy fall.
The pebbled paths drag, here and there,
Old lichened faces, overspun
With silver spider-threads—they wear
A silence sad to look upon:
It is so long since happy feet
Made them to thrill with pressure sweet.
’Mid drear but fragrant shrubs there stands
A saint of old made mute in stone,
With tender eyes and yearning hands,
And mouth formed in a sorrow lone;
’Tis thick with dust, as long ago
’Twas thick with fairest blooms that grow.
Swallows are whirring here and there;
And oft a little soft wind blows
A hundred odors down the air;
The bees hum ’round the red, last rose;
And ceaselessly the crickets shrill
Their tunes, and yet, it seems so still.
Or else, from out the distance steals,
Half heard, the tramp of horses, or
The bleak and harsh stir of slow wheels
Bound cityward; but more and more,
As these are hushed, or yet increase,
About the old house clings its peace.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Capitalism (The Sword)
capitalism...
the sword of the godless
raised against the children
left without a country!
the fire never quenched,
that consumes the nameless,
and scorches the feet
of those of conscience.
the empty house padlocked,
the stove unlit...
the vampire kneeling
before the cross of the lie!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Gap
Distracted, ears filled
with gossip, with chattering
laughter, hissing pots,
baroque music.
This chair's too hard.
My small table's streaked
and sticky,
twisting veins
of old, spilled
coffee.
I seek silence.
Where else to find it
but here,
under this too-
bright spot-
light?
poem by Steven Federle
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Two Minutes Till Showtime
With as much fanfare
As could possibly be expected
The crowds gathered as one
In a flurry of excitement
The noise of chatter grew loud
Filling every corner of the room
The lights dimmed and shone
Across the empty stage
The final sound checks played out
While the performers waited in the wings
The fever of tension grew and built
For all the rehearsals would it be a hit
The songs and the story would it be enough
To answer the anticipation of the crowd
The nervous smiles and looks exchanged
Silence fell and filled the room
Time had come to take to the stage
The lights are up and the show is on
poem by Matthew Holloway
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a Poem Of Silence
Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.
Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.
not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.
silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?
I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
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The Unlit Candle(Old Familiar Feelings)
How sad, the unlit candle on the table;
appearing to stand proud, rigid, and erect from afar,
though,
a closer look reveals a much sober truth,
Frayed and tousled;
the wick hunches over, brought down by lonesome exhaust.
Unfulfilled wishes, dreams, and romance.
Yearning to fill the room with the sweet redolence of lilac,
lavender, vanilla, honeysuckle, and cinnamon.
Unable to illuminate lovers in the dark, unable to celebrate,
unable to mourn,
the unlit candle possesses naught,
but the malodorous stench of apathy.
Yes, I do suspect that the spirits of the dead mourn the unlit candle,
just as the lighted candle mourns those bodies of the dead.
Yes that unlit candle stands as a testament,
a testament to the power of the tempest
a testament to the power of the breath of man.
A queue of restless thoughts push their way through the gates of my consciousness.
The cognitive cacophony proceeds to play without a maestro.
I light a cigarette.
Wilted flowers, neglected, a funerary vase in the corner of the room;
nature's fading beauty, tragic product of time.
Snuffed cigarette still burns in the ashtray.
Fleeting smoke of desire clouds my vision,
forcing tears to well in my eyes, the desire evaporates from sight,
leaving mylungs, throat, and chest
soiled with the rheum and residue of regret.
Mucus builds, constricting airwaves,
I simply clear my throat and swallow,
too numb to be disgusted,
too tired
to get up and grab a tissue.
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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What Have I To Fear?
if death be but a step,
a flower fallen with silent shouts...
a kiss blown by wind but never lost,
a friend who tends the grave.
a hymn, a prayer, kind words spoken,
a drink at a corner table.
a book placed back on the shelf,
a child's drawing done in crayon.
a door closed, left unlocked,
cattle left in the pasture all night.
an empty bowel, a candle burned down,
a sparrow sitting outside the window.
a shovel of dirt, a broken glass,
boots left in the corner.
the dog's leg cocked,
the fire burned down....
the still darkness waiting on dawn.
the river overflowed,
the cage door opened...
then what have i to fear?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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On The Trail Of Pessoa
i've walked this road for so long,
that i know what silence tastes like.
i hear only the simple sounds,
or the simplicity of sound...
i no longer confuse shadows,
and i sleep with dogs.
owning nothing,
there's nothing i would kill
to purchase!
there are no footprints
in front of me,
i follow no one.
intimate encounters with strangers,
for we are all strangers,
even to ourselves.
perhaps a word or two,
or not...
we share the cup, and the fire.
i have long conversations with trees,
read intimate stories
written in branches and leaves...
sing lovesongs to small pools of water,
pick up the broken shell of the hatchling
with awe....
my eyes bow in reverence
in the presence of women...
small children come to me,
tell me stories about dreams.
we build kingdoms of sticks,
discarded by birds....
stray cats sit on my lap,
i learn the language of paw.
i listen to the wind
humming in the spider's web.
and dead things rest
by the side of my chair...
waiting for dawn, just waiting!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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But Your Name....
who are we then to linger?
the pine needle bed turned brown.
the sky filled with emptiness,
where wings once sang in glory.
the mountain path deserted now,
footprints borne away by the wind.
as time exacts its heavy due,
leaving nothing as if a gift.
we who dared to speak of love,
who drank deeply with abandon.
who lit the candle as if it would last,
who dared the darkness to answer.
who kissed neath moonlit trees,
and danced till we were drunk.
who made love as if we owned the clock,
as if the leaves would never turn.
do you remember? lest we forget,
what was done, what was the cost!
when rivers flowed on summer's eve,
and the mockingbird naked prayed.
when wars were fought and lives were given,
and old women wept for they knew.
while the child slept in a dresser drawer,
and the dog bayed at the wind.
now passion curled in the stump of the tree,
the axe takes with head bowed low.
the trail of lovers sap gone dry,
on the bare belly of infinity.
the owl struck mute leaves the night,
with only the sound the wind betrays.
tis not god nor judgement but your name,
that pens damnation on salvation's breast!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Small Things...
it is in the small things that we die,
in the breath of cardboard boxes,
and the silent scream of forgotten things.
in the scent of pine needles fresh fallen,
and the sound of the creek crossing rocks.
in bat droppings, and abandoned nests of straw....
in smoke curled into the candle.
in squirrels' prayers to fading light,
and the sound of tires on an endless road.
in clouds hanging just above the treetops,
in the single chime of the church bell.
in the broom sweeping the floor of the soup kitchen,
in old men telling lies and shuffling to keep warm.
in the baby curled against the breast,
in the letter never finished.
in the faces of god on milk cartons,
in the wino pissing in the alley.
in the 'i love you' that you choked on,
and the silence that replays.
in the coffee pot singing hymns,
and gravestones whispering to each other.
in the empty barracks and unloaded guns,
in the bare limb tree that still believes.
in the thunder of the butterfly's wings,
in the wrinkles on the old man's face.
in the forgotten nails of the abandoned house,
in the footfall of forever's ghosts
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Perhaps A Brandy
perhaps a brandy....
the shovel still caked with dirt,
the body restless, turns and groans.
the shade o'er the window
yellowed by mold,
the frail hands of the clock
do not move or whisper.
the scent of love,
lingers and stutters.
the fireplace empty,
the books weep on the shelf.
the old tree fallen
just outside your window,
the barking of dogs,
the prayers of rust.
children without faces
carry the box into the night...
the hoot of the owl,
another mockingbird dead!
moonlight, perhaps a lie,
even the stars remain distant.
nothing dressed in wrinkled clothes,
squats by the fire,
humming an ancient tune.
the spider's web reflected
on the oil tinged dew,
tastes like love remembered!
perhaps a brandy?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Single Woman
Single bars and single women
With a single thought in mind
Just to make it till the morning
Looking for what they can find
For a man they won't remember
For a night they can't forget
Do you come to this place often?
May i light your cigarette?
Drinkin' beer in amarillo
Passing time and swaping jokes
Hoping for a new beginning
But beginning to lose hope
And you're waiting for that moment
When a glance becomes a stare
Mmm, what's that perfume that you're wearing?
Haven't i met you somewhere?
Find a matchbook in the morning
With a name and number scrawled
When you phone, a woman answers
And you wish you'd never called
Oh, they're friendly when they meet you
But they're strangers when they go
Ahh, do you mind if i come join you?
Would you like to dance one more?
And it's gettin' near to closing
And the seconds pass like years
Lots of friends to share the laughter
Not a one to share the tears
Oh and you wish they'd change that juke box
Cause you know every song it plays
Can i drop you off at my place?
Oh, what's the matter, are you gay?
You gotta twenty in your pocket
Got your toothbrush in your purse
Life could get a whole lot better
But it better not get worse
Single bars and single women
With a single thought in mind
Just to make it till the morning
Looking for what they can find
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Devils Radio
Devils radio
Gossip, gossip
Gossip, gossip
I heard it in the night
Words that thoughtless speak
Like vultures swooping down below
On the devils radio
I hear it through the day
Airwaves gettin filled
With gossip broadcast to and fro
On the devils radio
Oh yeah, gossip
Gossip, oh yeah
Hes in the clubs and bars
And never turns it down
Talking about what he dont know
On the devils radio
Hes in your tv set
Wont give it a rest
That soul betraying so and so
The devils radio
Gossip, gossip
Gossip, gossip
(oh yeah) gossip, (gossip) oh yeah
(gossip) oh yeah, (oh yeah) gossip
Its white and black like industrial waste
Pollution of the highest degree
You wonder why I dont hang out much
I wonder how you cant see
Hes in the films and songs
And on all your magazines
Its everywhere that you may go
The devils radio
Oh yeah, gossip
Gossip, oh yeah
Runs thick and fast, no one really sees
Quite what bad it can do
As it shapes you into something cold
Like an eskimo igloo
Its all across our lives
Like a weed its spread
till nothing else has space to grow
The devils radio
Can creep up in the dark
Make us hide behind shades
And buzzing like a dynamo
The devils radio
(gossip) oh yeah, (gossip) oh yeah
(gossip) gossip, (gossip) gossip
Oh yeah, gossip I heard you on satans wireless
Gossip, oh yeah you know the devils radio, child
Gossip, gossip
Gossip, gossip
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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