Bowery Afternoon
Drab discoloration
Of faces, façades, pawn-shops,
Second-hand clothing,
Smoky and fly-blown glass of lunch-rooms,
Odors of rancid life…
Deadly uniformity
Of eyes and windows
Alike devoid of light…
Holes wherein life scratches -
Mangy life
Nosing to the gutter's end…
Show-rooms and mimic pillars
Flaunting out of their gaudy vestibules
Bosoms and posturing thighs…
Over all the Elevated
Droning like a bloated fly.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
442
This is my life Life defines in Metabolism, In reproduction, we make our miniature selves, our look alike In the power of adaptation, like what is in now, What is fashionable, how I blend with all of you How I mimic you, how I become a clown to you, Life in being nice This is my life A short and a merry one This my life In the middle of my own life To life, a life, in the hope of discovering the meaning of my life, My speech my poetry Come to life with me To the life, for the life of one like me, Not taking this life in my own hands, Never, never, To life, this is life As big as life as large as life is large In resiliency, in elasticity Animations, cartooning, animate, I vivify I vilify I quicken I liken The life force in my life’s functions Drawn from life to life drawn Dream to life a life full of dreams This liveliness, this sparkle This effervescence of life, this bubbling life like wine This sprightliness like soft Drink like energy drinks This verve, this vigor this vivacity Of life to life as big as life My life This is my life This me I am life I am energy i am in this poem trying to run away from everything in my life, running in life to life and life, because of life, for life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Is My Life
Life defines in Metabolism,
In reproduction,
we make our miniature selves,
our look alike
In the power of adaptation,
like what is in now,
What is fashionable,
how I blend with all of you
How I mimic you,
how I become a clown to you,
Life in being nice
This is my life A short and a merry one
This my life In the middle of my own life
To life,
a life,
in the hope of discovering the meaning of my life,
My speech my poetry
Come to life with me
To the life,
for the life of one like me,
Not taking this life in my own hands,
Never,
never,
To life,
this is life
As big as life
as large as life is large
In resiliency,
in elasticity
Animations, cartooning, animate,
I vivify
I vilify
I quicken
I liken
The life force in my life’s functions
Drawn from life
to life drawn
Dream to life a life full of dreams
This liveliness, this sparkle
This effervescence of life,
this bubbling life like wine
This sprightliness like soft
Drink like energy drinks
This verve,
this vigor
this vivacity
Of life to life as big as life
My life
This is my life
This me I am life
I am energy
i am in this poem trying to run
away from everything in my life,
running in life
to life and life,
because of life,
for life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Smokey Hued
My doors smoky open
ethereal;
right and left corridor
compartmented.
I see patterns
and rooms
to the right and left.
Here my Room of Tears,
weeping walls that caterwaul.
All my sorrows hang here
and Deep Regrets lie on the floor.
All My Loves
are in this room
in hues rosette
most past;
their glow
shimmers
even outside
in the corridor.
My eyes lid as I pass
my rooms of Cardinal Sins;
faces there
I'd wronged or mislead,
I was relieved to see Repentments Rooms next
where Atonements array the walls
and below on tables are
Just Due Parchments properly signed
for deliverance to Justice Hall.
I did make some things right there.
Upstairs are my Best Regards
in alcoves 'round my Heart
very soft
healing arts applied with care there.
I'm now down to Secret Sins,
its door ajar with Gambolments,
Inexcusables-Mindless Hurts-
all Unspeakables.
Oh, each time I make this trip
my energy's spent;
and I vow
next time
to make of it
a more pleasant trip
through this
my Soul's House.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Empty Nest
Our house this night is full of life,
both kids up in their rooms.
We're safe and warm from the harrowing storm
with its lightening streaks and booms.
Yet soon I know, both have to go,
to school, to work, to life.
Then this will be an empty nest
with just me and my wife.
How do birds feel, when, freshly fledged,
their young depart forever.
Do they sing more somberly
when the chicks are not together?
We're creatures of habit, like those birds
I see when we're in the park.
I'll catch myself gazing up the stairs
when both their rooms are dark.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Altar Boy
A monk with a hard-on
And a lavender robe
That scratches his thighs
Through the hat that he strode
As he follows a path
Filled with every desire
And mimics his footsteps
And sets his prayers on fire.
Well I too have chosen
That which left no choice
To sing without loving,
A solitary voice,
To observe with passion
Each careful denial:
The protrusions which give my life meaning
For a while.
Sometimes I see you in berries and weeds
Youre brushing your teeth with liquorice seeds
Standing too close,
Pulling your clothes,
Smiling at god
And the meaning of life grows.
No and Ill never tell
And Ill never know
What candles you light
After the show
And Ill never tell,
And Ill never ask
The meaning of life after mass.
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Chat Room For Lonely People
Thoughts are the very essence
Of human existence
Even though they sometimes create discord
Whether you express them via your vocal cords
Or through your keyboard
When you are bored.
Didn't folks used to have rooms
Called drawing rooms?
But now all that is left
Is our 'privacy' of which we are bereft.
So, instead of drawing rooms
We have chat rooms
For lonely people
Who would like to chat with friendly people.
poem by Lonely People Champion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
And I Lounged and Lay on Their Beds
When I went to that house of pleasure
I didn't stay in the front rooms where they celebrate,
with some decorum, the accepted modes of love.
I went into the secret rooms
and lounged and lay on their beds.
I went into the secret rooms
considered shameful even to name.
But not shameful to me -because if they were,
what kind of poet, what kind of artist would I be?
I'd rather be an ascetic. That would be more in keeping,
much more in keeping with my poetry,
than for me to find pleasure in the commonplace rooms.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Windows
Windows open vistas for us
Windows - of hearts, of minds or of eyes
Windows - which might open outward
Or inward
They bring the light on the other end to this end.
Windows converse
They open the alphabetical locks of our lips
When night weaves nets of darkness on windows
Life-spans speak out in whispers from abysses of pain
Windows then perforce remain silent
Suffer days of tongue-tied laws
Nights of oppression
And epochs of tyranny
Windows are self same stories of dreams
Of centuries
Mute testimony of chasms
Court yards and ruined houses
Evidence of rusted eons rattling with exhaustion
in tyrant time's primordium continuity
Windows have the heart of a woman
They open their body's wings of each clime
With a little waft of wind
With fragrance, sunlight, rain or moon beams.
They blow away paper-light images
And waste away life in uncharted desires.
When butterflies fly in front of windows
Eyes glued to window panes become tearful
With noontide memories.
Evenings look forward to a wayfarer passing by
When they're covered with climbers
holding forth red and white flowers
They fill closed fists with the touch of fire-flies.
Windows often insist on being kept open
They're surprised to watch cloud, birds
And the blue sky's expanse
If they're kept shut
They're afraid of the life breath of
Walls and rooms getting strangulated.
They're afraid of dwellers forsaking their houses
They also feel life's desertion
They also feel despondent
Windows are human beings!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Satyapal Anand.
Copyrights (C) All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Just Once In My Life
I wish I could once in my life
Be a reason for your smile
I wish I could once in my life
Be yours for a while
I wish I could once in my life
Sparkle your eyes, be the gleam
I wish I could once in my life
Wake to not find you just a dream
I wish I could once in my life
Close my eyes to see with yours
I wish I could once in my life
Treasure something I could call ours
I wish I could once in my life
Squeeze you tight, as tenderly as I can
I wish I could once in my life
Walk forever, holding your hand
I wish I could once in my life
Run my fingers, through your flowing hair
I wish I could once in my life
Show you just once, how much do I care
I wish I could once in my life
Grant all of yours true
I wish I could just once in my life
Be able to say- 'I love you'
..............I love you....
poem by Kanishk Gupta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shared Loneliness
A house is empty if you're alone.
Its rooms are too quiet for it's known
loneliness too, just like you.
It echoes with hollowness
and creaks with despair
for the lone figure it houses
has no one to share
its rooms.
It hears the steps of the solitary one.
It hears the sighs that weigh like a ton
on its floors and walls
where the sadness crawls.
It longs to be filled
with conversational tones
filling up its rooms.
The bedroom is lonely
and the living room too.
The kitchen has a setting for one
and only one cup of coffee to brew.
These rooms can house all of the pain
that lonesomeness brings and still remain
loyal to the one who's alone.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Posturing...'What An Attitudinizer
What are they doing?
It's fascinating.
'It's not really new.
It is how they do it.
They make it look so fresh.
And so innovatively done too!
Rumor has it,
It began in D.C.
Now it's sweeping across the country.'
I like the way they stop.
Look reflectively to the sky.
Take a few steps.
Fold their arms across their chests.
Tilt their heads to the side,
As if to listen.
And repeat the process.
Then stop.
Pat a foot to look intentive.
While placing their index finger over the lips.
As if to stop the flow of speech.
Wonderful.
This is going to be mainstream one day.
'It leaves more of an impression,
With the hip hop music behind it...
Doesn't it? '
Of course it does.
That's how it caught my attention.
I could not help but stop!
I'm in awe.
I can see right now,
That's going to be a fashion rage.
What is that called?
I can't wait to introduce this to folks in my hometown!
'It has already become an underground movement.
Literally!
It's called POSTURING.
You take a position,
Then act as if you're about to do something.
But don't! '
I absolutely love it.
Posturing?
'Yep.
That's what the kids call it.
Posturing.'
Great.
Wow!
That's fabulous.
What an attitudinizer.
I can see why it's such a tremendous hit.
Posturing.
What an attitudinizer, what an attitudinizer.
Posturing.
What an attitudinizer, what an attitudinizer.
Posturing.
What an attitudinizer, what an attitudinizer.
What an attitudinizer,
That can really hypnotize...
Set your eyes and fix them,
And anyone can do!
Now...
Posturing.
What an attitudinizer, what an attitudinizer.
Posturing.
What an attitudinizer, what an attitudinizer.
Posturing.
What an attitudinizer, what an attitudinizer.
What an attitudinizer,
That can really hypnotize...
Set your eyes and fix them,
And anyone can do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don't let the windows of your home be so small that the light of the sun cannot enter your rooms.
The Young Lovers
the young lovers
close their rooms too early
and they open
their rooms
too late for lunch
they keep
on hugging tightly
to their bones
and marrows
exploding
their ecstacies
and we understand
how is it to be lost
in the labyrinths of
passion
i have tried it once
and they all
understand what
we mean by
our actions
they were once
lost too
in the embraces
of their arms
and the rest
too understand
what humans know
what human do
they fall in love
and they think
they will never be
separated
ever again
from this sense
melting away
from shame
and being a stranger
to modesty
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
First Person Omniscient
I made her tell me of the affair,
every detail,
and I became him, the man who pulled
her into the closet,
opening the many rooms of her mouth,
knobs spinning,
and then I was her, pulling him
by the tongue
through the river of rooms in the mansion
of my mouth,
his eyes pressing into me, his eye
seeing all,
and then I was the closet, the space
they traveled through
on their way to the mansion, and then the real
I entered the closet,
the wind of doors slamming, bodies
rushing, gone-
my eye lost in the mouth of my pocket,
or is it my hand,
my dirty, awful hand.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Depressed Man In Bed....
rays of light
begin to penetrate
the holes of my
wall
light leaks
the beautiful day
but he is not
opening the windows
and the shutters
of his mind
insist on
another prolonged
sleep
there are so many
things to
do
creases of his life
to iron out
but he shall do nothing
about
all of them
there shall be no plan
no scheme
no itinerary for
the day
for the week
let life do it
what is its use
somehow?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Living House
I saw you in a house of rooms,
It must be saving the bed of contentment,
Feeding the living of people,
Creating contentment as you speak.
My love is fastened to the door
And the window is collapsing.
My violent pages work for the more,
Rooms are rooms meaningful.
The saviour is brought to the houses
And he saves us from slaughter.
I come to you in the middle of town,
As far as the eye keeps, like one hard.
The contentment is just about.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Villa Pauline
But, ah! before he came
You were only a name:
Four little rooms and a cupboard
Without a bone,
And I was alone!
Now with your windows wide
Everything from outside
Of sun and flower and loveliness
Comes in to hide,
To play, to laugh on the stairs,
To catch unawares
Our childish happiness,
And to glide
Through the four little rooms on tip-toe
With lifted finger,
Pretending we shall not know When the shutters are shut
That they still linger
Long, long after.
Lying close in the dark
He says to me: "Hark,
Isn't that laughter?"
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
She and Drugs
Freshly spawned,
Brain dumps
Bleeding grey:
Reflections of a mind
That wavers thin
Along the line
That savours pain -
A pond of skin
Devoid of breast -
The pad a feign:
The nothing
Underneath your bra
At best
Is your imagination
Spread across a narcoleptic world
Suchlike survival
In and out
Of haunted woods;
In and out -
You're in and out
As blood transfused -
Pumping on
To ooze at pace
Upon another haemorrhage
And there! a goblin
Here! a goblin
Care to entertain a goblin
In the lair
That is a mind
Of drugs? -
We know it's you -
It's you we know.
We know you're through.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Life repeats itself as
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
so draining life
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unemployment Shame
Rows and rows of boxes
All of them the same
With rooms and rooms of people
Each without a name
Hearts that beat, though breaking
And smiles that mask the pain
Of fading hopes of sunshine
Through windows drenched with rain.
Once lovers, now not speaking
Except to lay the blame
For broken dreams and the poverty
Of unemployment shame.
Empty cupboards and drunken sleep
Are all part of the game
But hungry babies wake them still
On mornings all the same.
poem by Jane Solanrobertson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!