A Day in March
Through the window the still yard.
A cat runs across and disappears through the slender doorway.
What to do on a day like this?
Such emptiness!
Looking out on these dismal rooftops and the wet sky,
One wonders how to interpret the signs:
Wind soughing in the grass,
And water trembling in a bucket.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Related quotes
Bucket T
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Found her in a barn in tennessee
I paid five bucks for my bucket t
Took me three years of sweat and blood
To clean off all that tennessee mud
Chorus:
My bucket t (bucket t)
Bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
T t t... bucket bucket bucket...
Cruise down the street in front of school
I wanna rev it up but I gotta be cool
Drivin down the road Ill get my kicks
Apoppin the clutch and aslippin the sticks
[chorus]
I was right, too, shes first in her class
Theres nothing on the freeway she dont pass
All the girls want to take a ride with me
But theres only one seat in my bucket t
[chorus]
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Bucket Of Water
One bucket of water
Razed the city to ashes.
One bucket of water
Could not quench the fire
Blazing from the town's
Central pump.
One bucket of water
A man held, jumped the
Queue to the pump.
One bucket of water
At the pump, about to
Collect water, resisted.
They stared each other
In the eye. Their tribal
Marks were different.
They threw caution to
The winds. Including
All buckets on the line.
Everyone queued behind
Their tribal marks. And
The city burnt through its
Length and breath. Death
Sprung out of life. And life
Spilled out of the bucket.
poem by Adeoye Adetoba
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On a hot summer afternoon
On a hot summer afternoon
I open the window and listen
To the flowing wind
Dry leaves on the tree rustle
The atmosphere filled with dust
The sun shines
Emitting tremendous heat
Making the wind hot and severe
Everybody on the street
Runs for shade
Throats dry
Thirst for water increases
Every soul
Search for a glass of cold water
Birds and animal rest in shades
Waiting for the sun to set
I close the window
In a huff
Never to open and feel the wind
On another hot summer afternoon
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Emptiness Comes
EMPTINESS COMES
Emptiness comes-
There is nothing to say
Nothing to write-
But Nothing is for me only nothing
It is not the goal and the meaning-
Egolessness belongs to saints of a certain kind
I am not a saint-
Emptiness disappears with the writing
Words and meanings come-
I suppose one will be empty forever
When one is alive
What can Emptiness give?
I have written against the Emptiness
And am less empty now for now-
Thank God I no longer feel empty now-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Bucket Kicker
What rhymes with bucket?
'That depends.
Is the bucket empty?
And
Is there anyone kicking it? '
Let's say the bucket is full.
And it is being carried?
'In a Porshe?
Or a Mercedes? '
You know
Sometimes I wonder why,
I bother to ask you anything!
'Oh
So 'you're' the kicker?
That should be obvious.'
Why is it obvious now?
'Well,
If a bucket is struck by a kicker out of luck
And that bucket is not picked up,
That bucket struck aint worth
What's being dumped into it from an outhouse.'
What's an outhouse have to do with it?
'That's for you to figure out
That bucket I'm going to carry
Is going to be in the trunk of my limousine.'
Thank you.
But that doesn't rhyme with bucket
'My plucked duckets
In the trunk of a limo
Sitting filled to the brim
In my golden bucket
And your hands aint around
Or near enough to touch it
Uh, I don't know about you
But that sounds very poetic to me
And you can fuss and cuss,
While kicking your bucket all you want
Thank you for your inspiration.'
No problem.
I just know from now on
Not to ask you anything
'I'm cool with that
Bucket kicker.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Descriptive...
the window is open
beside the garage where the white
pick-up is parked and below it
is the white poodle
sleeping soundly
it is 4: 07 in the afternoon
in my house in Katipunan
where the road is empty where
the trees are still
where the wind is as silent
as the grass
well manicured at the
center of the
yard.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blue Divinity
In situ,
a pod holds a promise,
in the wake of a terrorist bomb.
Peace,
said a weeping well –
my bucket is empty again.
Because of a spin
in the rainbow
sky was becoming dark.
The hand on the trigger was trembling.
You are praying,
for a dying god.
And the golden dust was sprayed
on the sins, yellow wishes
to walk on water, killing truth.
Time was moving very slowly.
The flame burns low,
giving out blue divinity,
for resurrection.
New born grass under the feet
was trying to smile.
poem by Satish Verma
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Church Of Desire
(sambora)
Woke up in a cold sweat
In the middle of the night
Seems like a lifetime
When youre wondering whos wrong or right
One confession would resurrect the truth
Revenge or forgiveness for sins between me and you
Now we dance with the devil down lonely
Street, lonely street
Looking for a window in the house of tears
Living in hell, I pray the rain disappears
Im headed for a breakdown
And the fever runs higher
As I kneel at the altar I can feel your fire
In the church of desire
Church of desire
You never find a reason why love falls from grace
Some kind of voodoo, like a spirit you cant embrace
Theres a voice in the mirror, and a ghost in my heart
That relives the passion before we were torn apart
Now we dance with the devil down lonely
Street, lonely street
Looking for a window in the house of tears
Living in hell, I pray the rain disappears
Im headed for a breakdown
And the fever runs higher
As I kneel at the altar I can feel your fire
In the church of desire
Church of desire
Now we dance with the devil down lonely
Street, lonely street
Looking for a window in the house of tears
Living in hell, I pray the rain disappears
Im headed for a breakdown
And the fever runs higher
As I kneel at the altar I can feel your fire
In the church of desire
Church of desire
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Washing Windows
Your mother used to sit on the window
Ledge of the tenement building and
Wash the windows of each of the rooms.
She’d push back the shutters and just
Sit there with a bucket of warm water
And a cloth and wash away. You were
Always afraid she’d lean too far back
And fall out and down to the ground
Several storeys below with a heavy crash
And break bones or neck or maybe die.
But she’d just sit there her legs holding
Onto the wall beneath her and push her
Right hand holding the damp cloth
Over the glass while her left hand held
The metal bucket tight swishing the warm
Water as she moved back and forth like
Some lone trapeze artist on the high wire
Without apparent fear or knowledge of
Was going on in the street below with the
Passing of the walking dead as Father used
To say and Mrs Febrile sitting on her window
Ledge with her daughter watching gossiping
And nosing about who did what to whom
While all the while you were frightened of
Your mother slipping out the window waving
Her hands and arms as she fell to her doom.
poem by Terry Collett
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Stand In Silence Calling
Hear the water curling
as each wave rushes to the shore.
Feel the wind exploring
as it ruffles each blade of grass.
See the skies darken
as each foreboding storm appears.
Stand in silence calling
and sense the wonders of nature.
Absorb your surroundings
and become one with it each day.
Know that life’s beauty
is only a temporal stay.
Grasp the wonders of each day
knowing they will soon go away.
Stand in silence calling
and breathe in the wonder you behold.
28 October 2010
poem by David Harris
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Really Coming
Signs and wonders,
Hopes and dreams;
My love is really coming to meet you,
So be prepared for it now.
Signs and wonders,
Of a quiet man and a skilful hunter;
Cost, lost, most, dost, host, post!
And of the worldly car of children and families,
But i will love you in truth and marry you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Early Morning Poetry
a gray cat so gentle
sleeping beside my easy chair
soft wind enters the window
from the far mountain
the white silky curtains
by the window
sway to the direction of the wind
a red rose blooms on the side
of the limestone wall
horse grazing on the grassy plain
a white dog runs toward a wooden gate
a car stops on the yard near the veranda of this old house
a brother from far announces his arrival
hot coffee and pancakes on the table
fumes of white rice and smoke from the grilled fish
faint classical Mozart music plays on the cassette
light from the sun penetrating the screen of the dining window
a black and white family picture on top of the family piano
grandpa on his military uniform as mother carries father on her arms
memories flood the room and words keep creeping like worms
i want to say that there are no termites on this house but that would be a lie.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nostos
There was an apple tree in the yard --
this would have been
forty years ago -- behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor's yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
the exact day, not
before, not after? Substitution
of the immutable
for the shifting, the evolving.
Substitution of the image
for relentless earth. What
do I know of this place,
the role of the tree for decades
taken by a bonsai, voices
rising from the tennis courts --
Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut.
As one expects of a lyric poet.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Emptiness
Anguish comfort of emptiness
All around, the vision disappears from
other worlds connected to else self,
far, as long to me so.
Sail the wind shape,
on the empty rocks,
where I sit silent,
almost disappearing.
poem by Luca Menin
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Last Fall
The blood runs cold through my viens
But still my heart beats even faster
I am afraid
Now fear turns to rage
Rage into hate
Hate into emptiness
Emptiness to isolation
I am alone
A hollow shell of my former self
Now one final step and the wind rushes by
One pain to end it all
This is my last fall
poem by Tanner Geldart
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Bland
his words are bland
and i think i understand
inside his cell
darkness and emptiness
and silence
words
becoming intense
he felt all of them
like pins
and here you are disturbed
angry
and wanting to kill
what mockingbird is there
if only you
have felt what drowning is
on that well
where the water runs dry
you would not have
become like him
engulfed by this huge mouth
of emptiness
vomited you run the streets
endlessly without direction
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Bath Of Love
Like freshly mown hay
Was smelling your skin,
Like grass waiting to be mown
And like cuneiform signs
Freshly carved in stone.
Your lips had the taste of the wind.
The words coming out of us were still unbroken,
They were bumping into each other
Like those clouds full of rain.
I kissed your arch, your bone, your mouth
And your sigh
From the eyes to the foot's sole.
We were in a bath of love
Like two children
In a water trough.
I felt my milk springing out
Of my breasts.
We were like the sun and the month
Fallen to the earth
In a world of ignorance.
You slipped inside of me
Like a water flowing
Among the rough stones
Or like the honey
In a broken hive.
Your taste was like honey
And the smell of your skin
Was like freshly mown grass.
Your crystal slip was curved.
I felt my soul like a stone
As someone was painfully digging in it
Cuneiform signs.
I started to scream your name.
Yes, your name was inferred from happiness.
I began to scream his name.
He came into being
From your name
He started to be existent inside of us.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Crumbs From Your Table
From the brightest star
Comes the blackest hole
You had so much to offer
Why did you offer your soul?
I was there for you baby
When you needed my help
Would you deny for others
What you demand for yourself?
Cool down mama, cool off
Cool down mama, cool off
You speak of signs and wonders
I need something other
I would believe if I was able
But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table
You were pretty as a picture
It was all there to see
Then your face caught up with your psychology
With a mouth full of teeth
You ate all your friends
And you broke every heart thinking every heart mends
You speak of signs and wonders
But I need something other
I would believe if I was able
But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table
Where you live should not decide
Whether you live or whether you die
Three to a bed
Sister Ann, she said
Dignity passes by
And you speak of signs and wonders
But I need something other
I would believe if I was able
I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A minnow, trench and a widow
I found a guppy struggles to swim in that lack of water ditch
And I borrowed a bucket of water from the near by watering widow.
Then I poured the whole into the ditch.
Oh! The minnow swims happily I watched
And I too felt happy after a long time.
I returned the bucket and said; 'Thank you very much Madam.'
I sniffed and measured her roomy smile
Really it's deeper than the trench.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Killer
The day was clear as fire,
the birds sang frail as glass,
when thirsty I came to the creek
and fell by its side in the grass.
My breast on the bright moss
and shower-embroidered weeks,
my lips to the live water
I saw him turn in the reeds.
Black horror sprang from the dark
in a violent birth,
and through its cloth of grass
I felt the clutch of earth.
O beat him into the ground.
O strike him till he dies-
or else your life itself
drains through those colourless eyes.
I struck again and again
Slender in black and red
he lies, and his icy glance
turns outward clear and dead.
But nimble my enemy
as water is, or wind.
He has slipped from his death aside
and vanished into my mind
He has vanished whence he came,
my nimble enemy;
and the ants come out to the snake
and drink at his shallow eye.
poem by Judith Wright
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