Initial Impressions - 0160
Initial impressions of Anne: a portrait
here follows, as of that short trip I relate
in amateur adjectives alliterate,
as ever, in jest, the events I narrate.
'Rise six, arrive seven, I mustn't be late,
my meetings eleven, thereon turns my fate.
I mean to be early, I'm sure they won't wait;
rush, hurry to Roissy, take off is at eight!
At first all goes smoothly, check-in at the gate,
with only a briefcase, no baggage nor weight,
on tapis he passed me, has he too a date?
We're sitting apart while to board we await.
The minutes seem seconds while I concentrate
upon my good fortune and evaluate
alternate employment. The chances seem great
in corporate finance, no more to stagnate.
But minutes and seconds soon accumulate,
and others around us complain, remonstrate;
the plane is delayed, which my plans may frustrate.
I'm bored, chat while waiting, inside fulminate!
For nine-o'clock ticks while no immediate
signs of flight departure as yet emanate
from Air France, 'London's fog bound' so surly they state:
irate travellers round the desk congregate.
Then sounds of activity near indicate
an aircraft is ready, its engines vibrate,
quick, over to B.A., with inquiring gait
I fly, and he follows, to investigate.
Just four total strangers do not hesitate,
adroitly are able to anticipate
the Trident's departure, and seats relocate.
the others remain, though with rage radiate.
Ere onto the runway we accelerate,
we glance at each other, begin to relate.
I, Lady from Lanvin, groomed immaculate;
while he, what can he be, so weary, barbate?
I, Lady from Lanvin, groomed immaculate,
stylish exterior, career orientate,
yet deep down within me, a fleur feminate
seeks an exit to 'be', both to blossom, create!
There's a gemmed golden clover, conceived chez Chaumet
adorning my finger so fair, annulate,
do not be deceived though, those tips roseate
have also known sorrow, and sadness I hate!
As sedate expressions oft dissimulate
unease, insecurity, I isolate
the sentiment somehow that I'm second rate
by progress in business, false fears compensate.
Ahead in my field, I the rest dominate,
create, affiliate, then amalgamate,
expansion advocate then conglomerate:
this surely must prove I'm not inadequate.
Pieds sur terre, in the air, we do debate.
Merchant Banks' merits, that most denigrate.
He offers the option to collaborate
in equity placing, a job which does bate!
Soon 'please fasten seat-belt' signs flash luminate,
as through dew-decked clouds we dive, decelerate.
Earth rises to greet us, we've landed, brakes grate.
then tired Trident taxis to terminal gate.
Quickly through Customs to where ranked cabbies wait
then speeding past Palace towards Bishopsgate.
Through noon's terrible traffic jam we navigate,
At Cheapside we part, leaving me to my fate.'
(24 September 1978)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
In Gestation - For You I Wait
For you I wait
On Nature’s way,
Run round night, day,
Yet stand on fate.
One month too late
Unseen from play
I'll slip away
Won't stand on state -
At golden gate
In Peter's plate,
To time a prey.
I’ll wile away
Now while you wait -
Growth rapid, great.
Each cell array
Strings D.N.A.
To duplicate.
Amalgamate
The smiles that sway
In interplay
Our joys, our fête,
New meeting's date!
Gesticulate
Explains brain's way
Says much of rate
The changes weigh
In, conjugate
Conflict, delay,
Until debate
Lifts cares away
As questions skate
To answers sway.
Ideas, sung, may
Now percolate,
Gain strength, relay
Its not too late!
Now heed display
Anticipate
Smiles in a spate
Open truth's ray
None ever may
Gainsay or grate,
To populate
Our every day
Divinely gay.
As we relate,
Yes, gest states jest... guess I just ate!
© Jonathan Robin – acrostic For You I Wait In Gestation Gesticulating In A Song Today
written 26 March 2005 modified 12 April 2008
For you I wait
On Nature’s way,
Run round night, day,
Yet stand on fate.
One month too late
Unseen from play
I slip away
Won't stand on state -
At golden gate
To time a prey.
I’ll wile away
Now while you wait -
Growth rapid great
Each cell array
Sets D.N.A.
To duplicate.
Anticipate
The smiles that sway
In interplay
Our joys, our fête,
New meeting's date!
If this song may
Lift cares away
Let percolate
Smiles in a spate
Intense, a ray
None ever may
Gainsay or grate, -
To populate
Our every day
Divinely gay.
As we relate,
Yes, I gest state jest guess just ate!
26 March 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Train of fate
I see life passing by
On this train that I ride
All the people I sit beside
What is it that they hide?
How do I communicate?
On this train that`s running late
Often times tempting fate
Looking at my watch checking the date
In a world with so much hate
I listen to a heated debate
Like a fish hooked on the bait
On a train where I sit and wait
My emotions locked behind a gate
My heart beating at such a fast rate
Yet my mind very sedate
Thinking of a better world I wish to create
Where all the people are feeling great
Where love, hope and joy are the motto of state
But i`m stuck on a train running late
Pondering whether I should temp fate
And find the key that unlocks the gate
poem by Joseph Whelan
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They Time Together - 0209 - 1991 Version
Life's tidal streams so quickly flow
that few can fairly contemplate
the currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards their destined Fate.
Few feel for Truth or care to know
what dreams may teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting nothing averts. Although
the 'moving finger's' never late,
most try to thwart the sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].
Lost, alone, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
‘Reflection' seems to blind echo
confined where men encapsulate
their hopes and fears within, where no
enlightenment can penetrate.
Thick skins which feelings seldom show,
minds which will not negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, in their own muck stagnate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds and concentrate
upon strong inner dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Let Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate;
at last Man will his state outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(20 June 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Stitch in Time Out - 209
Strange seems the search of maids for mates
when common cause from friends forms foe
replacing with estrangement, hates,
what once seemed blessed above, below.
Familiarity dissipates
romance, contempt breeds, lines won't toe.
Distance links lonely souls who so
imagine they anticipate
complicity which bliss could sow
once twinned together. Yet the wait
itself can contribute to grow
that rancid turns when when what seemed glow
afar fools' gold's found far too late.
Where ignorance seems bliss, minds sow
en empathy that knows no date.
Fête alters after altar's fait
accompli bares the rotten row
of base betrayal where two skate
on thin ice, gleaning harvest fallow,
can't compromise or clear the slate.
Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Is distance space defined as though
smiles miles may somehow compensate
when common cause, innate laws glow,
when minds find matter dissipates,
until 'reality's' undertow
waves goodbye when two create
a fantasy of belle and beau
that swiftly may evaporate
when faced with fact as fiction's dough
can't rise to ope occasion's gate.
Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]ow.
Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargoes
which sundry woes accumulate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.
‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.
Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Avoid peer pressure, biased state,
narrow schemes which strangulate,
prepare tomorrow's merry go
round life's deep secrets penetrate.
Avoid time-traps that domino,
impenitent advance! World's weight
grounds wings which long to overthrow
travesties life imitate.
Should Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate,
Man limitations may outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(6 March 2011)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pick, Choose, And Refuse
Pick, Choose, And Refuse
Written by: Wilfred Mellers Monday, September 6,2010 @ 12: 18 PM
They hate, debate, castrate, and then try to eliminate you
They dictate, humiliate, and try to penetrate you
They calculate, deliberate, delegate, and then frustrate you
They congregate, close the gate, and keep you off the great estate
They agitate, commensurate, hesitate, and deflate any of your achievements
They get high-rate, never letting you participate, and make you wait for an update
They truncate, terminate, and vacate the workplace
They narrate then locate a mandate that they notate for the people
Prices inflate with the excitement they create
On you they fixate and their words they filtrate
They want to make you an inmate or see you lay instate
They want to see you not participate so they convince you not to graduate
They hydrate while the disease planted will mutate and migrate
Bees no longer germinate, embryos no longer gestate, and we all become dead-weight
Wars they instigate to control the birthrate
Death and destruction was their classmates
Poison was the feast they ate
Eyes dilate as billions they donate to those who already have too much
The economy procrastinates and madness for goodness they equate
We tolerate as the world vibrates to the insanity these primates concentrate on
Redemption for mankind no longer waits
Rain-checks we except for our rebates
Ourselves we segregate for the truth we can’t separate
Words need not to translate for ourselves we are going to obliterate
The truth is never straight and the constitution they violate
Backwards the clocks rotate for their toilet’s they gold plate
Destroy to clean the slate as wars comes to a deadly stalemate
Recognition comes too late for the masses they didn’t hesitate to sedate
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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They Time Together - 0209
Life's tidal streams so swiftly flow
too few can truly contemplate
cross currents which combine to throw
Time's hands towards predestined Fate.
Few feel for Truth, few care to know
what dream themes teem past Peter's gate,
Death's sting rings changes and although
the "moving finger's" never late,
most try to thwart sharp sword of fate,
hesitate, hot, cold, oft blow,
too often kill what they create,
as, blind eye turned, they backwards g[r]o[w].
Lost, tempest tossed, in lovelorn limbo,
most time together, separate,
the lies they live on earth below
their progeny perpetuate.
While lonely, counting cost, they sow
the seeds of frontiers which frustrate
their need to weed out embargos
which sundry woes accumulate.
Cocooned from change, most answer 'no! '
when new horizons captivate,
their god remains the status quo
whenever storm-clouds congregate.
When mass consumption's fiasco,
when brainless crowds gesticulate,
then hollow men spend life scarecrow,
obedience offers dinner plate.
‘Reflection' draws ignored echo
confined, when blind repudiate
heart's hopes, locked in, chart sin where no
enlightenment may penetrate.
Thick skins shared sentiments scarce show,
refusing to negociate
new challenges in embryo,
are doomed, tombed, in their muck stagnate.
They focalize on quid_pro quo
where give to take cold calculate,
hold solitary state, kowtow,
potential incarcerate.
Ignore therefore the vertigo
of careless crowds to concentrate
upon responsive dynamo
to harness energies innate.
Avoid peer pressure, biased state,
narrow schemes which strangulate,
prepare tomorrow's merry go
round life's deep secrets penetrate.
Avoid time-traps that domino,
impenitent advance! World's weight
grounds wings which long to overthrow
travesties life imitate.
Should Reason join with Love's soft glow,
anxieties emancipate,
Man limitations may outgrow,
fulfilled, from false fears liberate.
(20 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cardaic Arrest
Cardiac Arrest
Papers in the morning
Bowler hat on head
Walking to the bus stop
He's longing for his bed
Waiting with his neighbours
In the rush-hour queue
Got to get the first bus
So much for him to do
He's got to hurry got to get his seat
Can't miss his place, got to rest his feet
Ten more minutes till he gets there
The crossword's nearly done
It's getting so hard these days
Not nearly so much fun
His mind wanders to the office
His telephone, desk and chair
He's been happy with the company
They've treated him real fair
Think of seven letters begin and end in 'C'
Like a big American car but misspelt with a 'D'
I wish this bus'd get a move on
Driver's taking his time
I just don't know I'll be late
Oh dear, what will the boss say?
Pull yourself together now
Don't get in a state
Don't you worry, there's no hurry
It's a lovely day
Could all be going your way
Take the doc's advice
Let up, enjoy your life
Listen to what they say
It's not a game they play
Never get there at this rate
He's caught up in a jam
There's a meeting this morning
It's just his luck, oh damn
His hand dives in his pocket
For his handkerchief
Pearls of sweat on his bowler
His pulse-beat seems so brief
Eyes fall on his wrist-watch, the seconds pass real slow
Gasping for the hot air but the chest pain it won't go
Tried to ask for help
But can't seem to speak a word
Words are whispered frantically
But don't seem to be heard
What about the wife and kids?
They all depend on me
We're so sorry, we told you not to hurry
Now it's just too late
You've got a certain date
We thought we made it clear
We all voiced our inner fears
We left it up to you
There's nothing we can do
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Hesitates is Lost
Four lettered word is hesitate
afraid great hopes earn ashen grate.
bright star turned char, flight's broken chain
with sunshine's reign's replaced by rain.
Haste not, nor waste, reciprocate
true trust which won't prevaricate.
Â
Tasted keenly, lost love, pain
one-sided seem again, again,
yet dreams could well anticipate
life's scheme ahead when - not too late -
tail's tale spins heads when two, wed, gain
twinned soul idyllic. Don't complain
time leaves tears, grieves. At any rate
wait not, knock on, till open gate.
(9 September 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Log Blog
Seasons hot and cold conspire
together to perpetuate
a fire ice cycle whose attire
in trice turns bark to dark ash - fait
accompli by Dame Nature's lyre
whose runes tune life, strange change dictate.
No paradox. In town and shire
from dream of steam to solid state
all stays the same, though minds require
the wherewithal to integrate
four elements linked by fey wire
whose strange range can incorporate
life's fractal fantasy entire.
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await grate fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
timely fruit of goodly weight
are sawn stacked staves on suttee pyre
condemned to ash, rash fate berate,
cackle together, crackle choir.
What once bore blossom's stumpy gate.
In stead see hedgerows trim require
incessant training. Speculate
on human vanity, the sire
of most misfortune early, late.
Dust to dust both lust, desire,
first gust then rust disintegrate.
Men burn, but seldom calculate
their pulse iced, fated to expire,
past wealth their heirs swift dissipate,
their envy, anxiousness, and ire
all self consuming! Man and mate
earn little praise, soon merge with mire,
while in a circle congregate
wood logs around a winter fire.
Who seeks for answers must inquire
within, take time to contemplate
conundrum woven - truth and liar,
hot cold, earth air, fire ice restate
real dream reel, skip trip. Seller, buyer
are twins identical whose weight
depends on introspective gyre
like tree bark witness of Time's wait
on Time to circumnavigate
the contradictory crossfire
of surface assumptions which create
their own momentum, karmic tyre
around impressions which abate
as atoms realign. Ice, fire
reflect extremes intemperate.
Reality and dreams combine, their quest -
through Time condensing from initial jest -
is thus to banish contradictions, span
creation vast, past, present, big bang's van
till request and inquest converge in gest
arresting surface difference with zest
from tao trip evolution's also-ran
to space displacement through one thousandth dan
Atoms avoid void, spin tails till trail's lost, rest
here contest, contestants, distance, uber plan,
From mess congestive to suggestive test
of chaos, universal fractal fest
patterns pitter patter, matter must
invent itself from, to, through, into dust.
Logs
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await their fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
timely fruit of goodly weight
are now sawn logs upon the pyre
condemned to ashes in the grate,
crackle together as a choir.
Where once they blossomed, now a gate
and hedgerow trim tending require, -
incessant training, - speculate
on human vanity, the sire
of most misfortune, soon or late.
Dust to dust both lust, desire,
must gust to dust, disintegrate.
Men burn, but seldom calculate
their time soon fated to expire,
their wealth they tend to dissipate,
their envy, anxiousness, and ire
all self consuming! Man and mate
earn little praise, soon merge with mire,
while in a circle congregate
wood logs around a winter fire.
(12 January 1993 revised 27 December 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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What Sanctity...? ...
T he dawn is part of pattern webs which spin
O ut from the past and not from future fate,
A nd may Time mime, itself anticipate?
C an far horizons scan the span within?
T he wind won’t carry inkling whispers in
O pen echo unfurled in single trait.
R esponse to whom? to what? When? Early? Late?
N ew strength unveiled, by star signs sent to bait
O ne Cause or one Effect, - to end? begin?
T he story feeds from song or need to sing?
O ne’s need to heed the lied, lead on, create
U rgent vistas which can compensate
DRE aded hole inside inside’s dammed spring,
AMA zing grace to help face everything?
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Cardiac Arrest
Papers in the morning
Bowler hat on head
Walking to the bus stop
Hes longing for his bed,
Waiting with his neighbours
In the rush hour queue
Got to get the first bus
So much for him to do.
Hes got to hurry
Got to get his seat
Cant miss his place
Got to rest his feet.
Ten more minutes till he gets there
The crosswords nearly done.
Its been so hard these days
Not nearly so much fun.
His mind wanders to the office
His telephone, desk and chair
Hes been happy with the company
Theyve treated him real fair.
Think of seven letters
Begin and end in c
Like a big american car
But misspelt with a d.
I wish this busd get a move on,
Drivers taking his time.
I just dont know, Ill be late
Oh dear what will the boss say?
Pull yourself together now
Dont get in a state
Dont you worry
Theres no hurry
Its a lovely day
Could all be going your way
Take the docs advice
Let up enjoy your life
Listen to what they say
Its not a game they play.
Never get there at this rate
Hes caught up in a jam.
Theres a meeting this morning
Its just his luck oh damn!
His hand dives in his pocket
For his handkerchief.
Pearls of sweat on his collar
His pulse-beat seems so brief.
Eyes fall on his wristwatch
The seconds pass real slow
Gasping for the hot air
But the chest pain it wont go.
Tried to ask for help
But cant seem to speak a word,
Words are whispered frantically
But dont seem to be heard.
What about the wife and kids?
They all depend on me!
Were so sorry
We told you not to hurry.
Now its just too late
Youve got a certain date
We thought we made it clear
We all voiced our inner fears
We left it up to you
Theres nothing we can do.
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mediate
(a farriss)
(additional keyboard sounds - warwick bone)
Hallucinate
Dessegregate
Mediate
Alleviate
Try not to hate
Love your mate
Dont suffocate on your own hate
Designate your love as fate
A one world state
As human freight
The number eight
A white black state
A gentle trait
The broken crate
A heavy weight
Or just too late
Like pretty kate has sex ornate
Now devastate
Appreciate
Depreciate
Fabricate
Emulate
The truth dilate
Special date
The animal we ate
Guilt debate
The edge serrate
A better rate
The youth irate
Deliberate
Fascinate
Deviate
Reinstate
Liberate
To moderate
Recreate
Or detonate
Annihiliate
Atomic fate
Mediate
Clear the state
Activate
Now radiate
A perfect state
Food on plate
Gravitate
The earths own weight
Designate your love as fate
At ninety-eight we all rotate
Hallucinate
Dessegregate
Mediate
Alleviate
Try not to hate
Love your mate
Dont suffocate on your own hate
Designate your love as fate
A one world state
As human freight
The number eight
A white black state
A gentle trait
The broken crate
A heavy weight
Or just too late
Like pretty kate has sex ornate
Now devastate
Appreciate
Depreciate
Fabricate
Emulate
The truth dilate
Special date
The animals we ate
Guilt debate
The edge serrate
A better rate
The youth irate
Deliberate
Fascinate
Deviate
Reinstate
Liberate
Liberate
Liberate
Liberate
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prelude - Tristan And Isolde
Fate, out of the deep sea's gloom,
When a man's heart's pride grows great,
And nought seems now to foredoom
Fate,
Fate, laden with fears in wait,
Draws close through the clouds that loom,
Till the soul see, all too late,
More dark than a dead world's tomb,
More high than the sheer dawn's gate,
More deep than the wide sea's womb,
Fate.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Wasted Landing - thoughts from an airport strike
In the hour of our departure O Lord
In our beginning is our end
To depart is to arrive yet not to arrive
at the same hour and place
in some other time zone
and in our departing is our arrival
and to arrive is to depart from where we have not been
and to depart is to arrive at where we will not go
into the departure hall from where we did not depart
into the arrival hall where we did not arrive
and the end of all our departures is our arrival
that we may arrive at where we did not go
and depart from where we have not been.
now and in the hour of our departure O Lord
I Tiresias have foresuffered all
on this self-same divan, or tired banquette
in the departure hall from where we have not gone,
in the arrival hall where we have not arrived,
and all our arrivings are departures
and all our departures are arrivings
departing from where we have not been,
arriving at where we will not go
the sun shines bleakly through the window panes.
into the planes the trim staff come and go,
laundered into skies we cannot breathe.
'All flights are cancelled';
'Sorry Sir, this ticket is not valid for this flight'.
I Icarus have suffered thus
in Greece, in Rhodes, on all connecting flights,
in Delphi where I was not warned,
in Cumae where I could not go.
Passport Control. Do Not Pass This Point.
Too hot the sun of Greece that day,
the sun I shall not see.
'Arrival Delayed'. 'Departure Delayed'
A cold coming we had of it:
the baggage heavy, and the escalator steep,
the information scanty and the children fractious,
and the people. Oh the people.
Cans. Packets. Yesterday's papers from yesterday's travellers.
Sandwiches we have not eaten.
Tread softly for you tread on my icecream.
Now and in the hour of our departure Lord
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Good things come to those who Wait
When people get abusive someway
Are spreading hostility and hate
Harness your emotions, control your state
Indulge neither in discussion, nor debate
Leave certain things to God and fate
Good things come to those who wait.
Spiteful words and double meaning talks
Backbiting and spying so difficult to tolerate
On encounters, they always negate
Cash in your patience, better to collate
Time will answer such foul mates
Good things come to those who wait
Patience is a virtue
Some learn, others have innate
Whether it present or future state
Gratification delays makes one Great
Tame your energies, stay steady and sedate
Good things come to those who wait.
Can you Relate?
poem by Samima Shah
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Sonnet: My Wait is Almost Over
A little breeze to blow, I long await,
With summer show’rs of rain to lessen heat;
For God to open yet another gate:
For patience still to pull off my great feat.
For silver lining in the clouds, I wait;
For clouds that hide both sun and moon- to move;
Some writing on the wall to change my fate;
To feel the magic of my Maker’s love.
A ray of light in darkness, I await;
A bit to hope in despair, incessant;
A better weather in my life till date;
My dreams to become true, I badly want.
My world is changing for my good, of late,
And things come round: I know not still the date.
9-17-2002
poem by John Celes
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Space Between All Things
All the walls of your house,
were painted in deep blue,
you're at that indecisive age to choose colours that reflect you,
and everything and nothing,
is in the space between all things,
that fascinates as much as it agitates,
words turn me into what I say,
as you pull your yellow stained fingers,
through your un-kept hair,
I noticed that the corners of your jeans,
were folded neatly into squares,
your thoughts are the strangest place that you've ever been,
stranger even than Los Angeles,
it's like a cinema where they never ask you to leave,
So while you wait and are you wait,
and concentrate on being as far away,
from fate so while you wait,
and concentrate on being as far away,
She had a north Atlantic film star grace,
that's why her tears are out of place,
that kind sadness has more style,
so nothing will make her smile,
except as soon as anything happens,
she'll drag me on the street,
and hand in hand we stand protesting,
while everyone is still asleep,
So while you wait and are you wait,
and concentrate on being as far away,
from fate so while you wait,
and concentrate on being as far away,
so while you wait and are you wait,
and concentrate on being as far away,
from fate so while you wait,
and concentrate on being as far away,
Are you wait,
are you wait,
are you wait,
are you waaait,
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song in a Minor Key
There's a place I know where the birds swing low,
And wayward vines go roaming,
Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god
Is pale, in scented gloaming.
And at sunset there comes a lady fair
Whose eyes are deep with yearning.
By an old, old gate does the lady wait
Her own true love's returning.
But the days go by, and the lilacs die,
And trembling birds seek cover;
Yet the lady stands, with her long white hands
Held out to greet her lover.
And it's there she'll stay till the shadowy day
A monument they grave her.
She will always wait by the same old gate, --
The gate her true love gave her.
poem by Dorothy Parker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Next Plane To London
Im on the next plane to london
Leaving on runway number five
Next plane to london and Im missing her
That baby of mine
Told her I was gonna be a star
But to do it I would have to go far away
But Ill come back someday
And take her away
Im on the next plane to london
Leaving on runway number five
Next plane to london and Im missing her
That baby of mine
Said that over here I wasnt in
Down in hollywood I couldnt find a friend
Who would help me get in
Or listen to me
Im on the next plane to london
Leaving on runway number five
Next plane to london and Im missing her
That baby of mine
Maybe over there Ill get a start
Only hope by leaving I dont break her heart
The more important part
Than any record on the chart
Next plane to london
Leaving on runway number five
Next plane to london and Im missing her
That baby of mine
Next plane to london
Leaving on runway number five
Next plane to london and Im missing her
Whoa-whoa
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hate
Stop messing with my head
Listen to the words that are said
Shake hands make new plans
Don`t turn this into a nomads land
In reality i`m truly a fan
Of mother natures plan
War and hate
Is this really our fate?
Will we look forward to future dates?
Will we ever unlock the gardens gate?
Shake hands before it`s too late
Mother natures not going to wait
So tired so sedate
Of seeing all this hate, hate, hate
poem by Joseph Whelan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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