One Night with You
Within your arms
I find myself.
The hour late,
the house asleep.
Lips conjoined
In fair affection
No need for sleep,
We’ve reached perfection.
Within your eyes
I lose myself.
The hour late,
the house asleep.
Hips conjoined
In fair affection.
How fortunate I
brought protection..
Within your room
We find ourselves.
one hour later,
the house asleep.
My gorgeous Flautist
Hums a selection
In present hope
of the resurrection.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Related quotes
As i lay asleep......
Soft cushion
Flavoured incense
I lay asleep
Night
Day
All the same
I lay asleep
Hurted deep
Women weep
I lay asleep
I lay asleep
Amidst the noise
Mortal body
Left with no choice
Drones of people
Flock around
Curious for my name
In moments of despair
Feeling of fame
Its all over
Forget me now
Lay me lower
My house-the ground
And let me sleep
Let me sleep
Sleep
Sleep, forever........
-Royston Serrao
poem by Royston Serrao
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Late Night Mom
Late night mom
You know what to do
Doesn’t matter now
The monsters won’t say boo
You’re up so late
The moon’s asleep too
Late night mom
The kids worry
All night long
They wake up
And you’re passed out on the lawn
Late night mom
Knows just what to do
Your kid’s staying up late
To see what you’ll do
Thinking to herself
Why isn’t mommy in bed?
Late night mom is
Sleeping with the meds
Too close for comfort
A fire by the house
Smoking your cigarette
Thinking without a doubt
Late night mom
Is chilling in the house
Late night mom
Sleeping on the couch
Instead of in her bed
A cushion instead
Of a warm husband’s embrace
Late night mom
Passed out on the floor
Don’t wake the kids
You’re just asking for more
Around two or four
Dad will come out
And pick you up
While you pout
He’ll carry you over
To the room overhead
And help you climb
Slowly to bed
poem by Scarred Unknown
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The Poet Is Looking For Love Deep İn The Night
sometimes you may find
sincerity to a poem as to
the date when it is written,
the hour particularly tells you
that a poem is written when
everyone in the house is
fast asleep, and
that someone
cannot sleep, because he
has to write some words for
someone, who
too, cannot
sleep,
not really because they
are insomniacs, much less
vampires looking for blood,
but perhaps someone
who is
looking for love, even in the
dark, even in the wee hours
even when love
is no longer
there, even when the night
is dead, even when there is
no one alive in this world
to tell him that he is alive
and must by all means and
at all cost, deserve to
be happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Living in a House of Blue
Living in a house of blue
Waiting for a girl I knew
Living in a house of pain
Waiting for her purple shoes
To cross the threshold to my door
Like she did a thousand times or more
Looking for a perfect rhyme
To entice her back to the scene of the crime
Living in a house of blue
Waiting for I girl I know
She likes to go to the picture show
And watch the wicked witch cast her spell
She cries for the princess all night long
And falls asleep in my arms
When she sound asleep
I take off her purple shoes
And lock up our house of blue
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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Feeling Like A Stranger
in this place
this house without furnitures
all floors, this house with nothing but some stairs
and windows
you built it, i was away for years and we meet again
in this house
of acquaintances
devoid of affection, i have a way of telling what is this all about
by merely looking at the ceiling
there are no lights
to clarify me, who am i? in this house where i am not even a tree
or a vine
rootless, leafless
dying,
shall i continue living here?
i feel so unlike everyone else,
i am a total stranger
in this house that you built
this house devoid of affection,
i guess i have no choice
but to leave at once
otherwise, i too shall perish
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Access
sometimes when the
door is closed
when everyone in the
house is either
asleep
or lazy or gone somewhere
fishing
i go somewhere else too
walking away is a nice option
could have been
not going back again
but can't live alone without
them
i am a slave of affection.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sleeper
As Ann came in one summer's day,
She felt that she must creep,
So silent was the clear cool house,
It seemed a house of sleep.
And sure, when she pushed open the door,
Rapt in the stillness there,
Her mother sat, with stooping head,
Asleep upon a chair;
Fast -- fast asleep; her two hands laid
Loose-folded on her knee,
So that her small unconscious face
Looked half unreal to be:
So calmly lit with sleep's pale light
Each feature was; so fair
Her forehead -- every trouble was
Smooth'd out beneath her hair.
But though her mind in dream now moved,
Still seemed her gaze to rest
From out beneath her fast-sealed lids,
Above her moving breast,
On Ann, as quite, quite still she stood;
Yet slumber lay so deep
Even her hands upon her lap
Seemed saturate with sleep.
And as Ann peeped, a cloudlike dread
Stole over her, and then,
On stealthy, mouselike feet she trod,
And tiptoed out again.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Worn Out
last night after the usual
three-hour lecture of the law
i arrive late in the house
without the lights on
it is a blackout of some
metaphors
but the heart has been
numbed
and the mind has been
shut out
from having any contact
with any object
of affection
the hands open the car
and the feet move on
to the room
where the bed waits
it is dark in here
and the window is closed
and the air is thin
and the walls are damp
with all the
mildews still clinging
on the white tiles of
the bathroom
as though in a trance
i have thrown all the books
on the dusty floor
and without having to remove
my shirt
and pants and socks
and shoes
i retreat to the nooks
of a very sound sleep
i must have been dreaming
hearing my own
snore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Old School House At Ruby
In old school house yard at Ruby a dark brown shorthorn cow
And leghorn pullets cackling beneath the cypress bough
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .
The old school room now a tea room has undergone some change
And if past pupil came back here he'd find the place quite strange
Where is the desk he sat at? the blackboard is not there
And time has brought change to Ruby as it has done elsewhere.
The old school house at Ruby a memory of past years
Here Ruby children sang and laughed and shed their fledgeling tears
And do those children of Ruby who now live far away
In dreams return to old school house and Ruby childhood day? .
The old school house at Ruby a memory of the past
And time has brought about some change and time bring change too fast
This school must hold good memories and memories live somehow
Here in their lunch hour children played but where are those children now? .
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Building A House Of Your Own
to a newly wed couple
building a house is poetry
each nipa shingle is a memory
put on top of another to make
a roof, an imagery of protection,
each wall is respect for privacy
each beam is stability
each door is a security
each window an eye
the house is the nest of this
new found love
and then a baby is born
giving them hope
as they both shower their affection
and as love grows there
like a well tended tree
as time strengthens their company
the house you know
has become their home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Hour Later
It was cold so cold
And one hour later the window was closed
And the talk all of the talk was gone
It was late so late
And one hour later we unlocked the gate
And the wine all of the wine was gone
And it would not matter if I knew you for only a day
And it would not matter if I did not know even your name
One hour later it would be the same
One hour later it would be the same
One hour later it would be the same
One hour later
It was blue
song performed by by Melissa Etheridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is Our Hour
A word for you,
A word for me;
The hour of the legend-to-be.
The moment is here,
The moment is now;
We will not lay down.
Tis time to take the stage,
To light our world,
Have our flags unfurl.
Dress for the battle!
Strap on your armour,
For this is our hour!
Instant in season,
Ready day and night.
Ready to carry the fight.
Never asleep, always awake,
Starting in defence,
Finishing in offense.
In the homes and schools,
Parks, capital, and beaches
Will we fill the breaches.
Though weak yet strong;
Though dead yet alive;
Through Jesus we survive.
Even when wounded,
We will our sword swing.
We will never give in.
With our last breath,
Will we push down walls.
We will see giants fall.
We will see mountains move.
We will see the dawn of light.
Upon strength upon might!
For we are called by Jesus:
Jesus Christ our only king.
And so let us sing:
This is our hour!
Rise up ye men of valour!
This is our hour!
Follow the King's example.
Though faced with tribulation,
Will we find elation.
To the weary eye
Comes a fiery gleam,
As we now scream:
This is our hour!
This will be our hour,
This is our hour!
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The City Dead-House
BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause--for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute
brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd--it lies on the damp brick
pavement;
The divine woman, her body--I see the Body--I look on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty--all else I notice not;
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors
morbific impress me;
But the house alone--that wondrous house--that delicate fair house--
that ruin!
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with majestic figure surmounted--or
all the old high-spired cathedrals; 10
That little house alone, more than them all--poor, desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!
Unclaim'd, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips;
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crush'd!
House of life--erewhile talking and laughing--but ah, poor house!
dead, even then;
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house--but dead, dead, dead.
poem by Walt Whitman
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97
even on the late hour of the night
even when late,
try getting in, they will not notice, you are not famous,
try being a nobody
and they won't bother, so get inside the room and pretend
you are not a part of them in this
discussion,
behave like you are the waiter bringing them a glass
of water,
no excuses this time, do not talk, do not bother them,
and they too will not bother you,
try being nothing
just be the ordinary you, and they will not notice,
even on the late hour of this night
they still have eyes only for themselves
within their circle
and you are still an outcast, simply because from the very
first day of this meeting
you are just being yourself
and you remain being so,
you have not become like them,
mimicking each other
into conformity
for fear of rejection, so at this hour of the night when they seem
to enjoy each other's likeness
get inside,
just be yourself and take your own kind of drink
your self-identity
your name that they will never know
when tomorrow
you will soon part and they will be themselves again
alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Id Kill To Fall Asleep
Eyes open, I'm wide awake
I feel I'm in a coma state
I'll lay here on my back and watch the fan turn
Conversations cross my mind, but nothing of the speaking kind
TV images repeat there one lines
Back and forth I toss and turn
It feels like strings are holding up my eyes
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
Putting up a losing fight
I'll never see this end tonight
The thought of just one dream it consumes me
Numbers on the clock turn back, my pills are having no affect
The beating of my heart keeps the time going
Back and forth I toss and turn
It feels like strings are holding up my eyes
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
They say that when you sleep your body's at rest
I wouldn't know what sleep felt like if I tried my best
Polaroids and memories can fade away, so can I...
Back and forth I toss and turn
It feels like strings are holding up my eyes
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill....
song performed by by New Found Glory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Constant Static
Eyes open, I'm wide awake
I feel I'm in a coma state
I'll lay here on my back and watch the fan turn
Conversations cross my mind, but nothing of the speaking kind
TV images repeat there one lines
Back and forth I toss and turn
It feels like strings are holding up my eyes
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
Putting up a losing fight
I'll never see this end tonight
The thought of just one dream it consumes me
Numbers on the clock turn back, my pleas are having no affect
The beating of my heart keeps the time going
Back and forth I toss and turn
It feels like strings are holding up my eyes
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
They say that when you sleep your body's at rest
I wouldn't know what sleep felt like if I tried my best
Polaroids and memories can fade away, so can I...
Back and forth I toss and turn
It feels like strings are holding up my eyes
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill to fall asleep
I'd kill....
song performed by by New Found Glory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written in your name
Written in your name
~
Your name breaks my heart
In the silent perfection of night
Where we lay together awake
Into the late hour of the day
The look in your eyes
That smile you greet me with
Those little things you do
All add up together in my heart
Sewing it together again
I find myself afraid
Frightened I may lose you
That each little thread you sewn
Will slowly come undone
I say your name and smile
Realising how much you mean to me
How much it all breaks my heart
I long to talk to you
To hear your voice
To hold you in my arms
I say your name and I love you
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Marriage
in one house
they live
as married couple
she sings her videoke
in the sala
he works on his poems
in the computer room
and when the clock strikes
eleven
on such an unholy hour
she stops singing not to
disturb sleeping neighbors
he still writes poetry
till midnight
and when he
goes to bed she is now soundly asleep
and they sleep together
safe in love
that now
does not depend on the physical
but on the music and the poem
on the rhythm and the rhyme
both of them
in their 20 years of marriage
have become
one poem one music
that sex, which was once so good
is now put in another light
both curl up in the cold night
she is the song
& he is the poem
and they are still
one
after all those years
as marriage tells them from the beginning when they all said
'yes, i do'.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Can't Fall Asleep
My thoughts keep me up at night,
my tears put me to sleep,
my dreams wake me up,
after only an hour of sleep.
I can't rest no more,
I can't fall back to sleep,
so I lie in bed for hours at a time,
watching the clock as the time keeps going by.
I toss and I turn,
trying to find something comforable,
but when I'm almost asleep,
my thoughts wake me up again.
So I lay there thinking the thoughts,
that wont leave me alone.
I try time and time again,
but I cant fall back to sleep.
Finally I fall asleep,
but then i quickly hear a noise,
it is my alarm telling me to get up for the day ahead,
but it doesnt realize that I've been up all night.
Thinking, thinking of those thoughts that won't let me sleep.
So I quickly turn off the annoying buzzing noise,
and there I lay in my bed,
dreading the day ahead.
poem by Rebeckah Schroeder
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