Related quotes: Sir? I hate to disturb...

Gravitas

Sir?
I hate to disturb you.
And your meditations.
Sir...
Remember those people,
Who ostracized you?
A few years ago.
Do you remember them?

'Like a prostrate exam.
Why? '

You will not believe this.
But,
They are at the door.

'What door? '

Your door.
This one.

'Uh...um..uh.'

Sir?
Incredible as this may seem.
They still wear those same outfits.
The ballroom attire.
The gowns and tuxedos.
But...
They are torn and tattered.
They look dreadful.

'Uh...I..I..um.'

And...They carry a huge basket of assorted fruits.
A case of champagne.
With a bouquet of the most fantastic flowers,
I have not seen since the passing of Princess Diana.

'What are they upto I wonder? '

They 'say' they are hoping you forgive them.
Not only for ruining your life.
But the years of the backstabbing,
Character assassinations done against you.
When you attempted to persuade them,
Their lives were being endangered.
By their negligence.
And they've come to offer heartfelt respect.

'What kind of apples were in the basket?
Any Empire or MacIntosh?
Walnuts or cashews?
Bananas? Tangerines? Pineapples? '

Uh...yeeeaaah.

'Great.
The gravitas of the moment escapes my tongue.
I think there is a sewing kit in the pantry.
Give it to them.
I can get another one.'

And?

'Close the door.
Bring me the basket.
Take what you want.'

Sir?
Are you malaised,
With no gravitas?
Is there something else you wish to say.
Something you wish of them to ask?

'No.
Oh...
Yes there is.
Remind me to remove the baked chicken,
From the oven in twenty minutes.'

That's it?

'You can hand me a MacIntosh.
I can't wait to sink my teeth in it! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

A New Door

i remember
this door was made
12 years ago
the day when i married you.

we chose clear lacquer
to keep its original
mahogany grain
we keep the gloss
and we were never
at loss.

there were loud slams
oh, i hate to remember
but there were also gentler closes
of this door
with all the tender intents
of not having to disturb
a single soul.

then the hinges begin to rust
and the door creaks and
screams getting louder
like the madness of the one
who fears
that love is finally gone.

the termites came
and the frames get hollow as
time pierces it
showing the emptiness
inside it as though
it was mere kind
of a seashell

the knob is finally broken
and the key to open it again
was lost

then we come back to our senses
after twelve years
the door has to be replaced
with a new one

this time white in paint
the hinges glossy copper
the knob in shining silver
and the key fits in without any sound

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blank Years

what music mom let me hear
when i was minus one to three years old?
they say it has a great bearing on my life
yet how they secretly seeped into me
i am as amnestic as the granny next door
who has lost touch with all her years

second poem
-----

ask me what i remember
for the years after i was three
and nothing else before that
i am an amnastic as the old woman
next door for those early years
that crept so quietly into me
without even my knowledge

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid?

WHERE be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there i' the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

I love your meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,
But 'hind the door, I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly!

I love your hills, and I love your dales,
And I love your flocks a-bleating;
But O, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!

I'll put your basket all safe in a nook,
Your shawl I'll hang up on this willow,
And we will sigh in the daisy's eye,
And kiss on a grass-green pillow.

poem by John Keats
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The Devon Maid: Stanzas Sent In A Letter To B. R. Haydon

1.
Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there i' the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

2.
I love your meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,
But 'hind the door, I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly!

3.
I love your hills, and I love your dales,
And I love your flocks a-bleating;
But O, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!

4.
I'll put your basket all safe in a nook,
Your shawl I'll hang up on this willow,
And we will sigh in the daisy's eye,
And kiss on a grass-green pillow.

poem by John Keats
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Noumenon

a thing-in-itself:

a wicker basket is a wicker basket
you cannot place love there, perhaps just plain fruits and
flowers
and perhaps even nothing

because a wicker basket is a wicker basket
nothing more nothing less

in the same manner, i am what i am
and you are what you are

what we feel for each other
or perhaps what i feel you alone
or only
is what i only feel
nothing more and nothing less

if i go somehow inventing that you shall love me
how absurd can this be!

for you are what you are and i am what i am
nothing more and nothing less

and so thanks, i am what i am and i will always be what i am
and you are you, and you do not know me,

and if i bleed, it is i who bleed only or
alone
and i have no right to let you know because you are what you are
and you shall never love me.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What About Us?

I have told you everything about myself and i am willing still to tell you more if you ask, if you are still hungry about what you want to know about me,

i am stupid, i am like a woman who spreads my legs to any man who want me in bed, but i can also be a very kind woman who opens my arms for every weary man,
i am not stupid, i am kind,

I reveales everything From a to z No secrets now From my family
No stone Left unturned No story Untold
If it makes You happy Or if it makes
You sad And you regret Having listened
I am sorry you ask for them so i give them all to you
like a basket of flowers and fruits,

(are you sick in the hospital why with these basket of flowers and fruits?)

I have done My duty As the messenger I have achieved
What was Left for me To do And It is all Enough i am happy now
The truth is Told and it Has set me free.

(The lies however keep on saying, what about us?)

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I can remember going back a couple of years later and, you know, think about it and I was doing a, kind of a political survey, door to door, and everything and I couldn't find any men in the town. It was very strange, you know.

quote by Richard Grimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pickney Red

Once lived a little black gal
And in de town dem said
Dat she wore a bright red cloak
So dem call her ‘Pickney Red.'

‘To grandma yu must gwan'
Her mudder sweetly said.
‘And tek dis wicker basket
Mi dear, dear, Pickney Red.'

So off she skipped quite happily
Without nu fear nor dread
Tru' de dark, dark woods
De basket nuff, nuff spread.

But poor Red never realized
Dat way up on ahead,
Lived a nasty, dutty wolf
And him name was Mr Fred.

‘What's yu name missy? '
Asked de cunning Mr Fred.
‘Why sir, yu nu know?
Dem called mi ‘Pickney Red.'

‘And where yu di gwan
With dat basket full of bread? '
‘Mi gwan to see mi grandmudder
Who lives far, up a-head

‘Yu wi get there quick, quick, quick
If yu tek dat route instead.'
‘Oh tank yu sir, so kindly'
And off skipped ‘Pickney Red.'

De Wolf him very swift
And found grandmudder in bed
He gobbled her up in one
And put her cap pon him head.

Red bang pan Grandma's door
‘Come in, mi Pickney Ned? '
‘No Grandma ah mi, ah mi,
Yu darling Pickney Red.'

‘Oh, Ah yu.' crocked de wolf-
‘Have yu brought mi hard-dough bread? '
‘Oh yes Grandma, dem freshly baked.
But yu voice! ' Gasped, Pickney Red.

‘Mi have a little cold, so what?
Dat's why mi still in bed.
What yu staring at child? '
‘Oh Grandma it's yu head! '

‘And what big ears yu have, '
‘De better to hear, Pickney Jed.'
‘No Grandma ah mi, ah mi,
Yu darling Pickney Red.'

‘And what big eyes yu have.'
‘De better to see, Pickney Ed.'
‘No Grandma, ah mi, ah mi,
Yu darling Pickney Red.'

‘And what big teeth yu have.'
‘De better to eat yu Red.'
‘Yu nat, yu nat, mi Grandma? '
And out de door she fled.

A woodsman heard one bawl
Towards de noise him sped
And when him see de ugly wolf
Gobble down Pickney Red.

He took his saw and jook him.
And there de wolf bled, bled.
And not so very long afterwards
De ginnall wolf was dead.

Den out dropped grandmudder
And out dropped Pickney Red
Dey thanked de woodsman kindly
Dat de ginnall wolf was dead!

poem by Elayne Ogbeta
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All Right

Looking out
To the hills, to the setting sun,
I feel a cold wind
Bound to come;
Another change,
Another end I cannot see,
But your faithfulness to me
Is making it all right.
I fall down on my knees;
Tell me that its all right.
You give me what I need.
Years of knockin on heavens door
Have taught me this, if nothing more,
That its all right, what may come.
Ive heard it said,
When the rivers running high,
You get to higher ground or you die.
Well, muddy waves of pain
Washed over me,
And it only made me see,
Its gonna be all right.
I, I fall down on my knees;
Tell me that its all right.
You give me what I need.
Years of knockin on heavens door
Have taught me this, if nothing more,
That its all right, what may come.
When will I learn therere no guarantees?
What strengthens hope, my eyes have never seen,
But it wont be long
Till the faith will be sight,
And the heavens will say,
Its all right.
(all right.)
(all right.)
(all right.)
All right,
I fall down on my knees;
Tell me that its all right.
You give me what I need.
Years of knockin...heavens door,
Have taught me this, if nothing more,
And its all right.
Whatever comes.
All right,
Fall on my knees,
Tell me that its all right.
You give me what I need.
(after all these) years of knockin on heavens door,
(years of knockin on heavens door,)
(its gonna be) all right.
(oooooh, yeah.) all right.
I fall down on my knees,
Tell me that its all right,
cause you give me what I need,
(after all these years of knockin on heavens door,)
Years of knockin on heavens door,
(its gonna be) all right.
Whatever comes, yes sir,
All right.
I fall down on my knees.
All right.

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hall Of Doors

You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight with death in mind
You watch people open their doors
And you think of how the doors and fate bind

You watch waiting to see your exit
As you see others turn down their path to their end
You know that the paths can not change
You know even with time fate shall not mend

Down the hall you walk
Doors lining each side
Every person holds the key to one of those locks
All around you people stride

Doors open
As people come to their door mats
You walk by doors just hoping,
hoping the next isn't yours, isn't your mat

You watch parents and children leaving eachothers sides
You see love being torn, hate being sewn
as the doors open wide
Some people leave together, some alone

You wait to see your door, your fate
You watch to see which door your key fits
You watch to see if your heart is with love or hate
You watch untill you find the mat at which you shall sit

You walk through the hall of doors
With life in sight, death in mind
You watch as people open their doors
You wait to see which door your fate lays behind.

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Hearts Door

I knock on your hearts door
and the sign says 'don't disturb.'
'
I slip a note over the transom
and its floats back 'undeliverable.'

I sleep outside your hearts door,
day and night,

my ear cupped to hear rustlings.

I've rehearsed what I'll say if the door opens.
You'll take me in your arms.

I'll knock every day on your hearts door.

I'll sit.
I'm patient
I am not going any where.

I wait,
outside your heart's door
because
one day
it will open
and my soul
will stare into
your soul
and melt there.
Just you wait
you'll see.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Picture Of Greed

on one hand
he carries a
big loaf of bread
on the other
he carries a
basket
of the same
loaf of bread

on his head
is another
basket of
the same loaf
of bread

a little child
spreads his
hands for
a loaf of bread

then he speeds
his way
as he bites
a loaf of
bread in
his mouth

the little child
follows him
and there he
is closing the
door of his
house all
made of bread

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unopened Doors

Many doors of opportunity
remain shut through passing time.
You stand at them,
but they never open to let you pass through.
You try and try, but with no avail.
The door remains shut to you,
but you see other pass through it
and your frustration grows.
You bang and shout
and never anyone answers you.
The years slip silently by
from your youth until your old.
Each time you try the door
it refuses to let you through.
Even with more wisdom
it refuses to let you in,
but you don’t give up
you just try and try again.
More time passes
and you’ve lost the will
to want to go through.
You reach that point when you feel the battle lost.
Turning your back you walk away
to let the sun set on your life.
You feel you have nothing now,
no more will to fight.
Someone suggests a different direction,
a different door to go through.
You are hesitant
in case the door remains shut to you.
Finally, you try it
and are amazed to find
the door opens easily
and you can walk through,
but you keep remembering
the door that wouldn’t open for you.

25 March 2009

poem by David Harris
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Rizal

i agree
education is the key

when the door if
finally opened
in fact a long time ago
and

we already had
333 years in that
Spanish convent and
43 years of
that Hollywood experience

another door has been
closed
and still
the key has to open it

one door leads to
another
same key

the young keep on getting
that key
another door is close
more keys

each key has become
more expensive
and some have thrown
that key away

meanwhile the Authority
is asking
that doors outside the country
be opened

export labor
brain drain
that is another key
problem

on the other
hand
it is not the money
it is the open mind
resilient to
poverty

taking time still to laugh
at those hard times

i agree
despite the irrelevance
it is still
the rightful key

the door is open
and we are inside it
no one
no one can take this house
again
from us

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Am Wonderful

Take a basket...
Fill it with who...
You think you are...

Mix it up good...
Be frank...
Now pull something...

Out of the basket...
It does not matter...
Whats in the basket...

Its your chatter...
That the basket holds...
It's you...

Not who...but...
You are a good person...
You are a bad person...
Mainly a good person...

That is who you are...
By far...you...
Are a wonderful star...

A real human-being...
Who can smile...
Who cares...

Damn what others think...
You are you...
In the pink...

whisperkwane
[email protected]

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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I Wait At The Door Of My Own Life

I WAIT AT THE DOOR OF MY OWN LIFE

I wait at the door of my own life
It does not open
The cities of the world go by
I do not visit them
Soon I will die
The great universe will go on spinning
My dreams will be forgotten
I wait at the end of my life for the door to open
And no one waits on the other side
I am alone with a lifetime of pages
Who will ever never read them?
This poem too waiting by the door
Knows it will never open.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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5. Fashion

I remember in the sixties funky clothes were all the rage
We wore our wide bell-bottoms with such pride
I remember beige/brown herringbone an itchy woollen cloth
Caused rashes on our legs we tried to hide

I remember soaking water up a gallon to each leg
As the bags took on a shower full of rain
I remember just how long they were dragging on the ground
Fraying edges showing signs of wear again

I remember one particular pair a kind of mustard yellow
The legs of which kept catching in the car
I remember as I closed the door a leg end dangling out
Collecting oil from hinges with some tar

I remember trying to free myself once trapped within the door
Like a prisoner in the clothing that I wore
I remember pulling really hard until the trousers tore
When the stitching couldn’t take it any more

I remember my elation as the clothing fashion changed
Back to good old baggy jumpers and black jean
I remember how we have a laugh at things from years ago
And all those stupid fashions we have seen

poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Needs created

You bought it from the vendor
Because he came to your door,
Though you intended not to.
You got, thus, a new need
And got it met indeed.
I shall wait at your door
To offer what you need.
Pay me in installments.
But don’t show me the door.
09.11.99

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A moment missed

Remember when I asked you out?
And how you shed a tear.
Remember how I told you.
That I'd stay for all those years.

Remember our first kiss?
Under a moonlit sky.
Remember the fireworks.
That shone in your eyes.