Crossing Legs and Websites
She sat across from me
and crossed her legs
looking away from me.
I nodded a tiny nod
and she
looked back at me
to see
if I was looking still
at her
as she then uncrossed her legs-
her gaze
sweeping across me-
but not pausing to really look
just enough to see if I was looking still
at everything she did.
I gave her that satisfaction
and smiled.
She smiled back
flirtation accomplished
compliment received
.
I told her in my mind's eye
'you are beautiful
and I like looking at you.'
Her head tilted upward slightly
message received
and her hand plunged into her purse
and she rose
to walk past me
her card
floating gently
into my outstretched hand
on it her website and her name.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Related quotes
The Touch Of Your Hand
On the day that you were born
I touched your hand so chubby and warm.
I touched your hand when you were one
and helped you walk my beautiful son.
I held your hand when you were two.
We ran, your favorite thing to do.
I held your hand when you were three
as you climbed on my lap and smiled at me.
I touched your hand when you were four
as the ocean touched our toes at the shore.
I touched your hand when you were five
walking you to school but when we'd arrive
I felt the tug of your hand from mine
and I knew that we had crossed a line.
I looked at you and released your hand
and said'it's okay I understand.'
As I walked back home I cried some tears
thinking of all our hand holding years.
Holding your hand became sporadic now,
when you were feverish or I felt your brow.
I held your hand a few times as a teen
but always alone so it wouldn't be seen.
I held your hand after you said, 'I do.'
We danced together just me and you.
After some years went by my son
you held the hand of your little one.
And so the times of your life turn around
and now that my hand is old I've found
you take my hand and help me walk
and as you do we intimately talk.
And it takes me back to that bright early morn
when I held your hand so chubby and warm.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
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A Lesson On Poetry From My Five Year Old
I sat in bed one morning
With a note pad on my knee
When in wondered my Charlie
And he snuggled up to me
He said, 'You writing poems?
We are learning that at school
I know a lot about them'
I said, 'Really mate, how cool'
He stared at me intently
As he stretched out on the bed
His legs crossed at the ankle
And a hand propped up his head
After I had sorted through
And read back what I'd penned
He slid off of the bed
And peered up at me from the end
He stayed there quite transfixed
It kinda put me off my flow
I looked over my glasses
But he wasn't gonna go!
'Mum' he said ' has it got all
the things a poem ought
It should include good rhyme and rhythm
That's what I've been taught
Does it have some repetition
And patterns that are clear
What theme have you gone for? '
I smiled from ear to ear.
My Charlie, you've remembered well
It's Impressive, what you know
What else have you been taught then?
His face with pride did glow!
He ummed and arghed a little bit
To recall all he could
'Oh yeah, you need some 'wow words' too
They'll make it really good! '
I nodded with an 'oh I see,
Well thanks for all your tips'
He came and leant his head on mine
And kissed me on the lips
He left me to my writing
How adorable he'd been
And I put my first idea aside
And wrote one about him!
poem by Stevie Taite
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The Girl Who Held Your Hand
You got on the coach
for the day trip
organized by the chapel people
for kids who were poor
and this girl
sat next to you
and said
you can be my boyfriend
for the day
and she took hold
of your hand
and gave it a squeeze
and you looked out
of the window
at your mother
standing there
looking up at the coach
and you thought
is this part of the deal?
Is this girl for real?
And Mother waved
and smiled
and you smiled
uneasily back
with the girl’s hand
holding yours
out of sight
and she looked
over your shoulder
and waved
but no one
waved back to her
because her mother
wasn’t there
maybe she was off somewhere
or had to go to work
or maybe
she was still in bed
with another uncle
beneath the sheets
and maybe
he was holding her hand
and she was holding
something you never knew
or cared about
just sitting there
waving to Mother
beneath a sky of blue.
poem by Terry Collett
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The next to last pew
An old man was at church last Sunday
He sat in the next to last pew
I slid into the seat right next to him
And gave a him a friendly “hi-dee-do”
He gave me a nod with his time worn brow
Then swiveled his head all around
While his gaze sized up the parishioners
His ears seemed to soak up their sound
His sad gaze seemed to pick out each person
One by one, as he seemed to stare into their soul
To some he nodded, in an approving way
While to others his look was ice cold
I asked if he was a member of this church
I said I wasn’t familiar with him, was he new?
He smiled a soft smile and shook his head no
Said “I’m here most of the time…
here in this next to last pew”
I said “what do you think of our little church”
He rubbed his hands through his hair of silver grey
Looked deep in my eyes and gave a soft, sad sigh
And said “you may not like what I have to say”
He said “ Son, I can see into the soul of these people
And to you, what I say is on the level”
That Most are fools in the eyes of the Lord
The rest are pawns in the hands of the devil
I looked all around at my fellow church-goers
Of whom he spoke, I knew of more than a few
And when I turned back to allow “that could be so”
I was all alone in the next to last pew!
poem by David Whalen
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The Rose Fairy
When God created the very first rose,
All the forest fairies were thrilled!
They formed a queue to line up for a smell,
Each swooning at its delightful fragrance.
The king of the fairies called them to his throne,
Reminding them that each flower is blessed,
With each one appointed its own fairy...
But who could they choose for the rose! ?
All the fairies not yet appointed flew near,
Each pointing to herself as the right choice!
Then the queen of the fairies calmed them down,
'Settle down, impetuous ones! ' she said...
So all the female fairies flapped their wings no more,
Settling once again upon the ground...
'Come, come! ' she scolded! 'None of you will do! '
The fairies' faces went blood red with shame!
The king looked at them in turn, loving them all.
Such enthusiasm, such devotion, but who would do?
The queen pointed directly to the king himself!
'You, Your Majesty, you must be the rose fairy! '
'What! ? ' remarked the king! 'That's unheard of! '
She held his hand with love and told him,
'There's no-one greater than you for this rose! '
The fairies leapt with joy! Flying here and there!
Doing athletics flips and backward somersaults!
When the king saw the joy of all the fairies, he smiled.
He was humbled by this wondrous spectacle
And he stood up, wiped away a tiny tear and told them,
'Never has a king been so blessed as I feel today! '
And so it was that the rose fairy was announced.
And God looked down upon the fairies in the forest
And smiled... and smiled... and smiled...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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What The Priest Said
What a Priest told me.
I was young, fourteen, late at night, I was hasting home, jumped over fences,
crossed a garden when I saw a naked woman by the fireside, wood fire casted
a warm glow on her body, washing herself with a cloth she dipped into a sink
bucket placed on a chair in front of her. She slowly cleaned her arms, neck,
breasts, legs feet and finally she washed the part where legs meet the body.
All in slow caring motion. She put a kimono on sat down and opened a book,
after a few minutes she put the book down looked out of the window, I was
petrified and hoped I looked like a bush, she smiled, to me or herself, I shall
never know. At this point I hastily left, woozy, confused and in love. Later
I saw her at the grocer’ she had bought flowers, looked up and smiled at me.
Of course I didn’t know, at the time, that she was one of Ruben’s women put
there to tempt me into a life of infidelity forever seeking perfect, chaste love
and not involved in the physical side that smells of under- arms transpiration.
If I see one of Ruben’s women, and she smiles at me I now her love is a dream
and with aching heart and regret I walk away.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 5)
Mr D took off his glasses,
and raised his white cane.
He struck the dark figure,
hard with the crook of the handle
in the middle of the back.
The dark figure bends backwards
revealing his mask of death.
Quickly he recovered and twisted around.
He went to strike out at Mr D,
who hooked the white cane
around one leg and pulled.
The dark figure with the mask of death
fell upon the ground.
He pulled a blade from his pocket
that glinted under the moonlight.
Mr D used the cane again
to knock the blade from his hand
into the dark waters of the lake.
The sound of sirens and blue lights filled the air.
The figure with the mask of death
tried his best to flee.
Mr D went after him.
He ran onto the wooden bridge.
Mr D caught him there.
They struggled with each other,
one getting the upper hand for a moment,
then the other.
Mr D finally hit him with his fist.
The figure spun and stumbled against the wooden guardrail.
The rail snapped under the sudden weight.
Into the dark waters,
the figure plunged and disappeared below.
Mr D came off the bridge
moments before the police arrived.
It was over now he said to himself.
The pretty woman waited there for him.
She looked, smiled, and held her hand out
to the man who saved her life.
“How did you know? ” she asked.
“My eyes told me it was going to happen.”
He then went on to explain.
When they were allowed to leave,
they left hand in hand.
“I don’t know your name.” She said,
“And here you save my life.”
He smiled. “Are you sure you want to know? ”
She nodded.
“My name is Henry De Ath,
but just call me Henry or Mr D.
On the far side of the lake,
a figure emerged
from the dark waters of the lake.
He crawled up onto the shore,
and then removed the mask of death that he wore.
He waited for a few moments
while he caught his breath,
and then hurried back to his black car.
He gave a quick glance at the blue lights,
on the far shore,
before disappearing
into the swirl of traffic for another day.
The End……………………..or is it?
poem by David Harris
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Leg
I know your legs are
On the legs of Baali the demon king
I know your legs are
On the head of Bharata your brother
I know your legs are on the
Head of Uddhaba your follower.
You have no leg I heard.
I Know you are present everywhere
Everytime and in everybody.
I do not know what a leg is.
I know the insect has six legs
I know the animal has four legs
I know the bird has two legs.
Your leg is my project paper
I do not know howmany legs you have
I do not know I a leg is.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Condolence
They hurried here, as soon as you had died,
Their faces damp with haste and sympathy,
And pressed my hand in theirs, and smoothed my knee,
And clicked their tongues, and watched me, mournful-eyed.
Gently they told me of that Other Side-
How, even then, you waited there for me,
And what ecstatic meeting ours would be.
Moved by the lovely tale, they broke, and cried.
And when I smiled, they told me I was brave,
And they rejoiced that I was comforted,
And left to tell of all the help they gave.
But I had smiled to think how you, the dead,
So curiously preoccupied and grave,
Would laugh, could you have heard the things they said.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Not Last
It was not last but first
When I tried to rest
Nothing succeeded like acid test
But something was coming out as best
There were positive signals
In batches I received their arrivals
Like Siberian cranes they landed
Smiled at me and befriended
It gave me all I wanted
All rules are to be flouted
How I wish it could be true
It may stay longer too
I got some indication
It had some relation
Otherwise why earth always wanted
Beautiful songs aired and chanted
It may shower and wet the earth
That feeling may remain till then death
Who may know the message behind?
I must try and earnestly find
Am I caged in beautiful place?
From where I daily see the beautiful face
If that is prison sentence offered
I will never dispute and differ
I wish to fly back and remain with
She is all that I want and don’t wish to crush the grip the teeth
I shall smile in open under sky
There is not much to left and ask why
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Dozen Red Roses
God told me to take fifty dollars,
And buy a dozen red roses;
To give them to strangers,
Just as His Spirit impresses.
I gave the first red rose to a homeless man,
Who was sitting on a street curb.
He looked so stunned as he accepted,
But his eyes filled with tears of joy superb.
I then took the subway
That was rather busy.
I saw a mother who looked stresssed;
So gave her a red rose of mercy.
She smiled sweetly, as I walked away.
I sensed this red rose was special;
Gave her a sense of worthiness,
Made me feel like her guardian angel.
The Spirit led me to nine others,
Who were very touched indeed,
By a stranger gifting red roses;
An unusual type of deed.
As I left the train station,
I was led into a nearby hospital.
I asked to whom I should give;
This last red rose, so beautiful.
I was led into a room,
Where a small boy was dying of cancer.
Too weak to take the last rose;
I placed it on his dresser.
He looked at the beautiful red rose;
He could smell its perfume.
Tears fell down his tiny face.
I thanked God for this red rose mission,
As I left the young boy’s room.
Sometimes God asks us,
To do things that may seem strange.
But, in His wisdom, love is His exchange.
The red roses were a token
Of our Saviour’s love
sacrificially given to His children—
Hearts touched from heaven above.
poem by Maureen Lefanue
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The Rosebush
There was a rosebush
With only one rose
And I fell in love
With just that rose
I couldn’t grab it for fear
Of the many thorns
But I had to get it
‘Cause I loved that one rose
So I took a chance
Took a jump
But the rose was too
Far out of my reach
As I sat in the bush
I started to bleed
And I bled and bled
And sat there in pain
Then came a friend
Who held out her hand
She helped me up
And got me through
I tried again and again
Yet she kept helping me
Get out of the rosebush
And then I gave up
I… shouldn’t have
But I gave up on myself
And I told my friend,
“I can’t get the rose.”
For weeks upon weeks
I avoided the rosebush
Until she said to try
One last time
So I did and
Excitedly received
The only rose
That grew upon that bush
I then gave it to the girl
Who stood by my side
Day in and day out
Who told me not to give up.
poem by Chris Pacion
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Most Memorable Valentine
I would see the old lady in the halls where I did volunteer work.
About eighty plus years old, with the bent over shuffle of the very old or very feeble.Pushing her walker laboriously, yet with determination as she went to her appointments.
I stopped often to talk to her, usually in the cafeteria where she had her favorite spot.
During one of these chats she excitedly told me the doctor had told her that very day that her cancer had seemingly gone away. felt good for her, and had a warm feeling the rest of that day.
I didn't see her for quite some time and began to think she might have died, so I was relieved on Valentines day to see her slumped down dozing in her customary seat in the cafeteria, her walker folded
Beside her.
I didn't bother to chat her up since she looked so peaceful, eyes half closed, head on her breast.I sat down in a booth just across a divider between us. No more than three feet separated us from
each other as I worked my crossword puzzle and had breakfast.
My attention was taken by the voice of a bus girl replying to the old lady, who asked again if she could get her another coffee and a cinnamon donut. The bus girl said 'of course, but it would be a
few moments before she could get it.' After a moment, I got up and approached the bus girl and told her 'never mind, that
I would take care of the ladies coffee and donut.'
I bought and paid for it and then tapped the old girl on the shoulder. She recognized me as the man who chatted with her occasionally and gave me a tired, friendly smile. I told her that today was Valentines day and I didn't have a Valentine to call my own, and that It would please me so much If she would be my Valentine and gave her the coffee and donut. 'just for today, okay? '
At first she looked taken aback, and then smiled broadly and said 'of course, of course my dear! '
I put my hand on her blue veined, withered hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. She put her other hand over mine and gave the squeeze right back. As I took leave I said 'don't forget…today you're my Valentine' and she smiled, winked, and said 'and you'll be mine.'
For a short while, after I went on with my day, I replayed our exchange over in my mind, thinking what a fine, gallant man am I, doing such a generous gesture for an old lady. Then I realized that she had done much more for me than I had done for her.
She had made me feel good about myself at that moment, but the memory of her smile and wink, would make me feel warm and fuzzy for the rest of my life.
She will always be my favorite…most memorable Valentine of my life.
poem by David Whalen
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Shelly Looked at Me and Smiled
No chirpy birds were singing,
No flowers were in bloom,
But the sun nonetheless was pleasing
On that warm September noon.
It was the time of innocence,
Nay, more of wild abandon,
And youthful hearts were prone
To early pricks of Cupid's arrow.
—T'was on that warm September
Shelly looked at me and smiled.
Her hair fell down in glorious waves
That danced along the wind;
They compliment those eyes,
So full of charm and mystery.
A boy can't help but be spellbound
If once caught unaware,
And on that mesmerizing smile,
He'd chance a foolish stare.
—I risked a stare, lo and behold,
Shelly looked at me and smiled.
Perhaps it was September warmth,
Or blame it on my youth,
But by some stupid valor,
I walked steadfastly then stood
In front of her to give
Three crimson roses which expressed
My heart's content; she silently accepted
‘Fore she left.
—A couple paces past when
Shelly looked at me and smiled.
But that was then, how swift time flies,
Many a decade hence;
The corners of my eyes now creased
By years of decadence.
Yet looking back among my faded,
Yellowed memories,
That warm September noon stands out
With so much prejudice.
—At least, even just once then,
Shelley looked at me and smiled
Will One Day Go.
Sorry about
your granddad's death
Judith said
as you stood
beside her
by the pond
at the back
of the house
in the woods
the autumn sun
lighting up patches
of the water's skin
it was sudden
you said
my uncle told me
she took
your hand
in hers
and squeezed
her soft skin
on yours
her thumb
rubbing
the back
of your hand
best remember him
as he was
she said
living and smiling
not some place
lying dead
you nodded
trying
to conjure up
when you'd
seen him last
sitting in
the back garden
of his house
months earlier
talking
of his flowers
he'd grown
from seed
his white hair
moved slightly
by the breeze
he liked my new suit
you said
thought it looked smart
she kissed your cheek
and said
hold on
to things
like that
your memories
place them
in a drawer
inside your head
a jackdaw flew
across the skin
of the pond
the black and white
of wings and tail
reflected
in the water
below
what comes
from God
she whispered
whether
nature's beauty
or ones
we love
will one day
sadly go.
poem by Terry Collett
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Rachel and You and The Day Trip
It was a day trip out
to some seaside place
arranged by the Gospel church
for kids whose parents
were poor
and having got on the coach
you sat in a seat
by the window
and waved at your mother
standing on the pavement
along Rockingham Street
and she waved back
then this girl sat beside you
who you didn't know
and she smiled and said
all right if I sit here?
sure
you said
and looked back out
at your mother
and waved again
and she waved back
and you thought
who is this girl?
and why is she
sitting next to me?
and she looked at out
the window
and waved to her mother
who started talking
to your mother
and they both waved back
to you and the girl
and you said
do you want to sit
by the window?
and she said
ok yes that'd be nice
and so she got out
and you got out
then she got in
and sat
by the window
and you sat
down beside her
and then the coach
started up
and drove off
and you both waved
at your mothers
until they were out of sight
and the girl turned
and said
I'm Rachel
this is my first time
to the seaside
and you said
you can walk around
with me if you want to
and she said
that'd be good
I don't know
anyone else here
and so she did
all day
walked around with you
along the beach
and on the sands
making sandcastles
and in the cafe
where they took you all
for a meal
of fish and chips
and she talked
and talked
and smiled
and laughed
and once she took
hold of your hand
and it seemed
for a while
that she was happy
at least it seemed so
by the width of her smile.
poem by Terry Collett
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Still Smiling........
Smiled When Mother Took Me Into Her Arms For The First Time,
Smiled When Saw World Outside The Hospital For The First Time,
Smiled Whenever Went To School,
Smiled Even Being Laughed At....
And Called A Fool....
Smiled When Stood First In The Class,
Smiled When I Wasn't Misunderstood..... At Last!
Smiled When My Poem Was Said Wow!
Smiled When Realised That Only Day Is Today....
And Time Is Now......
Smiled When Got My 'True' Love,
Smiled As I Always Felt We Are Two Doves,
Smiled Even When Came To Know He's Not Mine,
Smiled Even When He Married My Friend.....
And Raised A Toast Of Wine,
Smiled Even When Lost Every Hope,
Smiled Even When Wasn't Able To Cope,
Smiled Even When Knew My End Is Near,
Smiled And Enjoyed Cutting My Nerve.......
No Fear...............
Smiled At Every Moment Of My Life,
Whenever, Wherever And Never Cried.............
But Now, I'm Lying Under A White Cover,
Father Putting Me On Fire.........
With No Blessings Left To Shower.....
People Around Have Nothing To Do With My Death
But Are Crying.........
And I'm............
Still Smiling.................................
poem by Apurva Jain
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A Matter of Trust on a Summer's Day
Jane's mother said
she was up by the church
and so you went up
the path leading
to the church of St Mary
and there she was
laying some flowers
on a gravestone
she looked up
as you approached
and smiled
your mother told me
you were here
you said
I think Mother
must like you
she wouldn't
have told you
otherwise
Jane said
getting up
from the graveside
and brushing her hands
on her summery dress
who are the flowers for?
you asked
looking at the flowers
placed in a small jar
on the grave
a parishioner
we used to know
who used to like
this type of flower
oh I see
you said
looking at the graves around
and the Downs further back
and the trees nearby
where did you want to go?
you asked
how about a walk to Cocking?
we can do some shopping
while we're there
and enjoy each other's
company in the process
is it far? you asked
a mile or so
she replied
ok
you said
and you followed her
down the path
and along the lane
to her house
and you waited outside
while she went inside
after a few minutes
her mother came out
with her and said
it's very good of you
to go with Jane
all that way
I wouldn't like her
to go alone
that's all right
you said
and she smiled
and went in side
and Jane said
see she trusts you
not many boys
around here
she'd say that to
oh right
you said
looking at
her dark hair
and her eyes
gazing at you
and her hand
holding a shopping bag
and her lips
breaking into a smile
come on
she said and
so she took
your hand
and you walked
along the lane
keeping close
to the hedgerow
the sun warm
and the sky blue
and you sensed a joy
of it being
just her and you.
poem by Terry Collett
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What Others May Think.
Apart from the water tower
and the farm
and a few scattered cottages
there were no other buildings
for a mile or more
just you and Jane
and birds in the early morning sky
I like it at this time of day
she said
I like the fresh smell of nature
and the farm
and having few people about
you walked beside her down the lane
that led away from the farm
you noticed how her black hair
seemed freshly washed
and blew slightly in the mild wind
does you father mind
you being out with me?
you asked softly
he doesn't know
she replied
he thinks I came out alone
for a morning walk
why didn't you tell him?
you asked
he was busy writing his Sunday sermon
and it was easier to just go out
and not disturb him
she said looking around at you
her eyes studying you
as she walked on down the lane
would he mind you being with me?
you asked
I don't think he knows you as yet
seeing as you have only moved here
a few months and don't come
to the church
you stopped and took her hand in yours
it was warm and soft
and pulsed with life
she looked at your hand
holding hers and she rubbed
her thumb over the back
of your hand
you wanted to kiss her lips
or cheek just to feel
her flesh on yours
but you didn't you just looked at her
and waited to see
what she would do next
she let go of your hand
and looked around her
there might be people looking
from those cottages up there
she said suddenly pointing up
at the rising bank which went up
to two cottages high up
if they see us they may tell Father
and then it would be awkward
and he might suspect things
and then she went quiet
and looked at the running stream
by the lane
but we haven't done anything
we just walk out and talk
and hold hands now and then
it's not what we do
it's what others think we do
she said softly
and stood looking at you
waiting for you to speak
but you said nothing
just leaned in close to her
and kissed her cheek
and said
even Christ permitted kisses
even the one from Judas
and she smiled
and the early morning sun
pushed through trees
and shone on her hair
and there was the sound of birds
singing in the air.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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