The Dark
She cradled the coffee cup
her eyes on the door
each entrant receiving an expectant glance
but each time
it was not the one
her glance then
did a sad swan dive
into the swirling mist
above the coffee cup
she hoping to see a future there
in its foaming liquid
which would foretell
he would come
he would come.
She shifted her weight
to one side then the other
lifting her hand
to signal
for another cup to come
to sit beside the faulty one
which had erred;
he'd be there in a minute or two.
But he wasn't.
The new cup would correct that fault
new fumes would swirl
and tell a different tale
of one where he rush through the door
talking of late planes, cab fares
lost cell phones, eager anticipations
breathless sorrys, apologies and regrets
all to lie there on the white linen table top
on which was arrayed two dead mugs
of now cold and stale Colombian roast,
their porcelain profiles lined up
watching a third arrive
in the lengthening night
looking up to encounter my eyes
looking upon her tabled scenario;
she quickly looked away
and then back again
wondering I think,
if I was his messenger
had news of him
who should be in the Lausaus seat
opposite her
surely to rise from the dead
ever expected
but never arrived.
I take my coffee cup emissary
lift it in my palm
my hesitancy overcome
to glide into the Lazurus seat
my cup to my lips
as her's was;
all silent
no words needed
silent communion;
gentle healing
as my cup
came down to the table top
allowing a hesitant hand
to reach out
while her eyes
grew large
peering into the reflected glare
of the night window
seeing him descend
from a taxi-cab
planting a gentle kiss
upon she who smiled
falling back into the dark
and sitting erect
we both watched
her recede
a sideways smile
on her face
and he,
he came to the door
only then to realize
that the loving scene
he thought unseen
was in fact observed
by two
one of whom he knew
and one he did not.
His face wrenched, perplexed;
sin and retribution
joined now at the hip;
a bullet shot bounces back
once shot
and shooter then realizes
he will die
and apologize
simultaneously.
All now frozen;
he standing stock still
recognizing by eyewitness he is lost
turns on his heel
in full retreat
while we two
breathed for the first
our eyes
glide
to lock again
as we both rising simultaneously
to walk out
into the now hopeful dark.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Related quotes
Kangaroo
Delicate mother Kangaroo
Sitting up there rabbit-wise, but huge, plump-weighted,
And lifting her beautiful slender face, oh! so much more
gently and finely lined than a rabbit's, or than a hare's,
Lifting her face to nibble at a round white peppermint drop
which she loves, sensitive mother Kangaroo.
Her sensitive, long, pure-bred face.
Her full antipodal eyes, so dark,
So big and quiet and remote, having watched so many
empty dawns in silent Australia.
Her little loose hands, and drooping Victorian shoulders.
And then her great weight below the waist, her vast pale belly,
With a thin young yellow little paw hanging out, and
straggle of a long thin ear, like ribbon,
Like a funny trimming to the middle of her belly, thin
little dangle of an immature paw, and one thin ear.
Her belly, her big haunches
And, in addition, the great muscular python-stretch of her tail.
There, she shan't have any more peppermint drops.
So she wistfully, sensitively sniffs the air, and then turns,
goes off in slow sad leaps
On the long flat skis of her legs,
Steered and propelled by that steel-strong snake of a tail.
Stops again, half turns, inquisitive to look back.
While something stirs quickly in her belly, and a lean little
face comes out, as from a window,
Peaked and a bit dismayed,
Only to disappear again quickly away from the sight of the
world, to snuggle down in the warmth,
Leaving the trail of a different paw hanging out.
Still she watches with eternal, cocked wistfulness!
How full her eyes are, like the full, fathomless, shining
eyes of an Australian black-boy
Who has been lost so many centuries on the margins of
existence!
She watches with insatiable wistfulness.
Untold centuries of watching for something to come,
For a new signal from life, in that silent lost land of the
South.
Where nothing bites but insects and snakes and the sun,
small life.
Where no bull roared, no cow ever lowed, no stag cried,
no leopard screeched, no lion coughed, no dog barked,
But all was silent save for parrots occasionally, in the
haunted blue bush.
Wistfully watching, with wonderful liquid eyes.
And all her weight, all her blood, dropping sackwise down
towards the earth's centre,
And the live little-one taking in its paw at the door of her
belly.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coffee!
Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
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For the Meeting of Hearts and Lips
Julie took
one of the cigarettes
out of the packet
you had bought
and said
you're too kind
and lit it
with a small
plastic lighter
she took from her bag
you both sat
in a side room
set aside
for patients and guests
just off the drug
dependency ward
she was in
there was a scene
of a few trees
and bushes
from the window
marred by the sight
of the other part
of the hospital
over the way
glad you could come
she said
my parents
won't visit me here
don't they love you?
you asked
it's a matter of what
the neighbours might say
if they found out
I was here
she answered
inhaling deeply
and looking at you
with her dark eyes
her dark hair
was pulled back
in an untidy bun
and the hospital
dressing gown
she wore
was stained
and open
at the neck
and down
revealing a small cleavage
of young pinkish flesh
why did you come?
she asked
I wanted to see you
you replied
none of the others
from the Church come
she said
it's all talk
and promises
and God talk
but none
have come to see me
so far
she inhaled again
and stared out
the window
you studied how
she had crossed
her legs
showing
a glimpse of thigh
where her white
dressing gown
and nightdress
rose high
a nurse entered the room
and said
would you like tea
or coffee?
yes
Julie said
two coffees please
and the nurse
went out and off
her feet pitter
pattering down
the corridor
through the half
open door
I'm lucky here
she said
some druggies
get shoved in mental wards
or poked in
psychiatric units
with other
damaged goods
it seems ok
you replied
lifting your eyes
from her thighs
to her face
pure in its makeup
less state
and dark eyes
19 years young
she said
and already buggered up
as my father has said
I'm sure they love you
in their way
you said
taking in her neck
and the run
of her chin
and her mouth
with the small
moving lips
the nurse came in
with a tray
with two mugs
of white coffee
and a bowl
of brown sugar
and set it down
on the small grey table
and walked out
my parents love me
as property
not as a person
she said
uncrossing
her legs
and lifting a mug
and taking small sips
and oh you thought
(lifting a mug
and drinking)
for the meeting
of our hearts
and lips.
poem by Terry Collett
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Oh friends, don't tell me farewell
The last time we met
Why did you press my hand so tightly?
Why did I see tears glittering in your eyes?
Why were you so silent when I opened the backdoor?
Don’t tell me farewell
I will take the hue of night
When I disappear in darkness
But I will be back soon
Some night when you put cups on the table
On the verge of pouring strong coffee
I will be back
Don’t tell me farewell.
poem by Asadollah Keshavarzi
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Young Lovers
I like sitting at this particular table in this lively Café
eating my cheese toastie and drinking black coffee.
At a nearby table, two lovers are kissing and making up,
but then after their last kiss they decided to disconnect
to take a deep drag from their shared cigarette
and to take a sip from their cooling coffee cup.
Placing the cigarette in the ash tray they cuddled back together
fitting like a glove with their arms around each other
totally preoccupied, giving no one else a second look.
After several minutes of holding, kissing and whispering,
and the occasional passionate tongue in mouth sucking
it looked as though they were here for the rest of the day.
Suddenly her chair flew backwards, as she quickly stood up
rocking the table, which spilled the coffee from their cups
and the ashtray to hit the floor, as she pushed him away.
She then slapped his face and shouted at him in anger,
but he sat calm and collected, and said that he loved her,
and she had misunderstood what he was trying to say.
With her hot temper cooling she decided to sit back down
and asked him a question, which caused her face to frown,
as he explained she dragged the chair closer to him again.
Picking up the fallen ashtray she listened to what he said
whilst others in the Café were drinking and being fed,
and outside it persistently poured with torrential rain.
She ordered two fresh coffees, with a deep sigh of regret
while he lit up another blue tipped cigarette,
which they both drew upon until none remained.
He held out his hands as they looked into each other’s eyes,
with a smile she touched his finger, as though to apologise
then dragged her chair closer and began kissing again.
I like sitting at this particular table in this lively Café
eating my cheese toastie and drinking black coffee
watching people fall out who later make up,
and it’s by no means unusual to see in this busy place
a few exchanged words followed by a slap across the face
and then a kiss and make up, over a fresh coffee cup.
poem by Orlando Belo
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In The Healing Night
She didn't really look at me
those silver eyes flash
and can blind
mirage you
and make you confused.
In the long night
my mind reconstructs the day
often then
vacationing
from the days reality
thereby offering myself comforting
from the betrayed, the rejected
the scorned and the unloved reality
of one who nonetheless
lingers inside my Emotions Shadow
half-face peering
behind doors
inside peep holes
wondering if in the glancing
rejection can be undone
be tossed outside reality;
from a glance that would say
that she was sorry
didn't mean it
come to her senses
find out the other
wasn't really for her
hurry back
to my arms
where I
kindness in hand
would brush her hair
and tell her it was alright;
this scenario
running again
and again
in my bed-room night
I'm face down
in the crying pillow
where I can let no tears fall.
Up and pacing
phone in hand
a trembling receiver,
dial tone screaming
mind saying
don't be foolish
don't call
heart saying
it might be she
is thinking of me
and this call
produces a miracle
punctuated by
my heart filled
with a sense of our destiny
our meant to be
if only she
could come to her senses.
I replace the phone
into its cradle
dial tone dead
eyes lifting
seeing
this is perhaps
my day time dream
lifting me
in this night
back into reality
with a mending sound
coming from where my soul rests.
Is this how loves end?
Is this how we move on?
I lay my self down
marking this point
as when
my healing
had begun.
enough at least
to face seeing her
again at the office
the next day.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Zoom-in
Snow flowers in the midst of lonely night,
Lonely moments wrapped in the mist,
The walkway, lit with the dim light of moon,
Cold and black road at
The gate of deserted house,
A forlorn voice, clings desperately to the window,
Doorsill, drowned in an unknown fear,
Everything, bewildered andspeechless,
Weary and desolate,
A lone candle on the table,
With the head thrown back
Eyes, fixed at the door.
Coffee cup on the table, cold and quite,
Distressing thoughts, daydreams and I,
A lonely book, in my cold lap and I.
poem by Amjad Islam Amjad
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Last Sunset
The old man staring out a frosted window.
Watching life his go by.
Wondering what could have been.
Had he only tried.
Things could have been so different.
He thinks with such regret.
His end is coming closer.
This is his last sunset.
He thinks of the love that he lost.
And how he let her go.
If he could turn back the hands of time,
His love for her he'd show.
Success it was his idol.
Money, work and fame.
His work's what he took serious.
His life was but a game.
A game he played against the odds.
He thought that he would win.
But money wasn't everything.
Much to his chagrin.
He remembered a story he heard one day,
About a man named Christ.
And all the lives this man had changed.
And changed without a price.
Their lives were complete and full of peace.
And all their dreams came true.
Not with money, work and fame.
But with how their spirits grew.
The old man knowing his end was near.
Called out to The One.
“Help me know just what I missed”
He cried out to God's son.
The man with tears now in his eyes.
Looked up to heaven above.
And felt a hand upon his arm.
That filled the man with love.
And then a hug, a warm embrace.
He held the man so tight.
He vowed to not let that man go.
Alone into the night.
The man he spoke to Jesus.
And repented all his sin.
Jesus spoke with a gentle voice,
“I know just where you've been.”
“That's why I came to save you,
and I hung upon my cross.
Even though your end is near.
Son, you're no longer lost.”
The man he then closed his eyes.
With a smile upon his face.
Knowing the home going to,
Was a much more loving place.
The Savior then he took his hand,
And led the old man's soul.
To an eternity full of peace.
From a life with no control.
The old man now young and looking down.
Wondering why did he wait,
To feel the joy that Jesus brought.
But at least it wasn't too late.
The Father will come running.
To his children when they cry.
For you only have one life to live.
So don't wait until your last goodbye.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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With all glitters
She knocked the gate
Stood out side and preferred to wait
I was fast asleep and dreamed about her
Where as she was out side with gentle smile there
Another gentle knock and I was troubled
As if someone had really struggled
To enter the life from back door
Here she was out side but waiting to be in door
I rushed at the gate to see the stranger
But found beautiful moon with no anger
She might have waited for long
But I was dreaming unconsciously wrong
"Will you not let me in" she enquired
I replied apologetically and simple offered
Free passage with forced smile on face
As it was feared some thing else
"I am here to be with you" she gently smiled
I knew it can't be anything else with nice style
In dream I was dancing in club with her on floor
Where as she was worried and stood at the door
"I hope you have made up mind and got ready"
I had conveyed it number of times and was steady
There was no question of sending her back at night
She has now taken the decision and she must be simply right
We had seen many ups and down with indecisions
It was now right time to be seen together with relation
We were honest enough to weigh pro and cons from all aspects
Now it was needed to give fair signal with all the acts
It was moon light month with all glitters
Stars and sky were the witness to be looked after
They were our natural alley and stood side by
She was in jovial mood now to give fair try
We have no more reasons to explain it to anybody
As it is our own affair and we needed nobody
We both looked at each other and greeted
I had only pretty eyes to look at and feted
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Dark Of Night
IN THE DARK OF NIGHT , YOU REACH OUT TO ME , AS I TAKE YOUR HAND, YOU DRAW ME CLOSER AND TOGETHER WE STAND.THE LOOK IN YOUR EYES, THE TOUCH OF YOUR KISS, OUR HEARTS BEAT IN RYTHEM WHEN YOU HOLD ME LIKE THIS, THE TOUCH OF YOUR FINGERS AS THEY SEARCH AND EXPLORE, LEAVES ME BREATHLESS AND WEAK AND YEARNING FOR MORE, THE FEEL OF YOUR BODY PRESSED TIGHT AGAINST MINE, WE ARE LOST IN EACH OTHER, AS THE DARK OF NIGHT TURNS BACK TIME.I REACH OUT TO YOU TO DRAW YOU NEAR, ONLY TO WAKE TO FIND YOU ARE NOT HERE, .IM HOLDING YOUR PILLOW, AND HOLDING IT TIGHT, AS MY CRIES OF SORROW PIERCES THE QUITE, I CALL OUT YOUR NAME IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, I ASK FOR ONLY, ONE LAST CHANCE TO TOUCH YOUR FACE, TO HOLD YOU CLOSE ONE MORE TIME IN THE DARK OF NIGHT. .THE ONLY ANSWER THAT I HEAR, IS THE SHATERING SOUND OF A BREAKING HEART, AND THE ROARING SOUND OF THE SEA OF TEARS , AS I BEGIN FALLING APART., MY FINGERS KEEP SEARCHING THE EMPTY SPACE , WISHING FOR ONE LAST CHANCE TO REACH OUT AND CARESS YOUR FACE.THEY ONLY FIND YOU ARE NOT THERE, THE COLD ROUGH SHEET AWAITS THEM THERE, AS THEY KEEP SEARCHING IN THE DARK NIGHT AIR.
poem by Judy Compton
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The Stone
"And will you cut a stone for him,
To set above his head?
And will you cut a stone for him--
A stone for him?" she said.
Three days before, a splintered rock
Had struck her lover dead--
Had struck him in the quarry dead,
Where, careless of a warning call,
He loitered, while the shot was fired--
A lively stripling, brave and tall,
And sure of all his heart desired . . .
A flash, a shock,
A rumbling fall . . .
And, broken 'neath the broken rock,
A lifeless heap, with face of clay,
And still as any stone he lay,
With eyes that saw the end of all.
I went to break the news to her:
And I could hear my own heart beat
With dread of what my lips might say;
But some poor fool had sped before;
And, flinging wide her father's door,
Had blurted out the news to her,
Had struck her lover dead for her,
Had struck the girl's heart dead in her,
Had struck life, lifeless, at a word,
And dropped it at her feet:
Then hurried on his witless way,
Scarce knowing she had heard.
And when I came, she stood alone--
A woman, turned to stone:
And, though no word at all she said,
I knew that all was known.
Because her heart was dead,
She did not sigh nor moan.
His mother wept:
She could not weep.
Her lover slept:
She could not sleep.
Three days, three nights,
She did not stir:
Three days, three nights,
Were one to her,
Who never closed her eyes
From sunset to sunrise,
From dawn to evenfall--
Her tearless, staring eyes,
That, seeing naught, saw all.
The fourth night when I came from work,
I found her at my door.
"And will you cut a stone for him?"
She said: and spoke no more:
But followed me, as I went in,
And sank upon a chair;
And fixed her grey eyes on my face,
With still, unseeing stare.
And, as she waited patiently,
I could not bear to feel
Those still, grey eyes that followed me,
Those eyes that plucked the heart from me,
Those eyes that sucked the breath from me
And curdled the warm blood in me,
Those eyes that cut me to the bone,
And cut my marrow like cold steel.
And so I rose and sought a stone;
And cut it smooth and square:
And, as I worked, she sat and watched,
Beside me, in her chair.
Night after night, by candlelight,
I cut her lover's name:
Night after night, so still and white,
And like a ghost she came;
And sat beside me, in her chair,
And watched with eyes aflame.
She eyed each stroke,
And hardly stirred:
she never spoke
A single word:
And not a sound or murmur broke
The quiet, save the mallet stroke.
With still eyes ever on my hands,
With eyes that seemed to burn my hands,
My wincing, overwearied hands,
She watched, with bloodless lips apart,
And silent, indrawn breath:
And every stroke my chisel cut,
Death cut still deeper in her heart:
The two of us were chiselling,
Together, I and Death.
And when at length my job was done,
And I had laid the mallet by,
As if, at last, her peace were won,
She breathed his name, and, with a sigh,
Passed slowly through the open door:
And never crossed my threshold more.
Next night I laboured late, alone,
To cut her name upon the stone.
poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson
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Sonia and You and The Promise
Sonia closed
the door
behind her
and leaned
against it
you go out
with me?
she asked
her Polish/English
grated on your ears
look I can't
I have other
things to do
you said
running a hand
to smooth
Mr Dubbin's bed
she looked around
the room
and said
what if someone
come in
and see you
here with me?
what if they think
you been having me?
but it wouldn't
be true
you said
standing up
and moving away
from the bed
you know that
and I know it
but others
they do not
she said
her voice
crisp and cool
what if I undo
my uniform
and show my breasts
and say you did it?
you blushed
at the thought
look
just leave me be
you said
she stood firm
against the door
her hands
on the lapels
of her uniform
you could say yes
she said
you could take me
out to cinema
and then
it would be good
huh?
you watched
as she undid
one button
at a time
you watched
her fingers undo
each button
with deliberate
slowness
if I say yes
you'll stop this folly?
you asked
if you mean it
I will walk
from the door
and we can leave
and I do up
the buttons
before others see
she stared at you
her pale blue eyes
on you
her lips parted
just so
you could see
her small white teeth
where do you want to go?
you asked
cinema is good
she said
in the dark
we can kiss yes?
the buttons
were undone
to reveal
her compacted tits
ok ok
you said
the cinema
it is promise?
she said coolly
you make promise
and keep?
yes I make promise
and keep
you repeated
she began to do up
the buttons
her eyes
looking at you
and she smiled
and said
good boy
we have fun no?
you breathed out
the held in breath
sweat dampened
the back
of your shirt
and trouser legs
but if
you do not
show up
she said
brushing her uniform
I'll say you make love
to me on this
Mr Dubbin's bed
and I make bed
look all untidy
and they believe
me yes?
I'll be there
trust me
you said
just let me go
I need to get
the other beds
made before lunch
she moved aside
and opened the door
her perfume
filtering your nose
off you go
she said
and be good
you went off
to make the beds
and show up
that night
as she knew
you would.
poem by Terry Collett
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Rusty Confidences
She had the rusty confidence of an older woman
who had fixed her mirror at 23
no later images allowed
as she took in my face
and allowed
those beautiful eyes of hers
to wander down and over me
lingering longer than a lady's eyes should
which made them into bedroom eyes
which she did not seek to conceal
looking up to see me looking into those eyes
having their forbidden views
but she didn't mind that I knew and understood
their meanings and intents
while I could see she could see
me the younger man
learning lessons from her
and she guessed
needed what she had to teach,
if I could get pass her lined face
and see with her 23 year old eyes
behind the mirror time had obscured,
hoping I could see that which would make me wiser than my years
and I was
because need recognizes needs
irrespective of the years
and facial lines
drawn down from time
did not obscure that beating heart
I could hear thumping loud
behind the blue sheer blouse she wore
elbows on the table
her breasts lying there
like the evenings two course meal
waiting to be consumed
or petted like puppies
appreciated because they
shined still after all these years.
Her eyes followed my eyes and she watched me watching them
shifting wanting to wring appreciation from me,
impatient to give the two be given their just due
parts of her she still liked and loved
almost like mementos from her youth which
had remained the same and had not betrayed
like those lines in her face
and I was to corroborate and vindicate that view
with just a lingering glance and willowy simile
which I gave with true admiration and kindness mixed
because she had asked me to with her eyes.
A tear formed there
and a silent thank you flowed across that table
and we both understood
kindness, appreciation and need
met and married there
rolling back time
if only for an instant.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My Dark Room
Time has ended so I lay
The end to a very painful day
I lay silent with nothing to say
Here in my dark room
With eyes open I can hardly see
Staring at the ceiling thinking of me
Wondering in the future what I will be
Here in my dark room
Will I still have my dark room
The place where there is peace
Or will I feel deceased
In a new dark room
But maybe when the night turns to shine
I won’t feel so but feel fine
Until night when I come back and whine
Here is my dark room
Now it is late I can’t see no more
My arm falls and drops to the floor
The liquid dreams in my head start to pour
Here is my dark room
poem by Paul Celano
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Gnarled
It was the eternal summer of her soul
which mesmorized me-
a shiny shimmering-
which glowed in the day time
and at night emitting its golden light
which played among the fireflies
on the veranda where we sat
sipping ice tea
in the Carolina smoldering,
smoky
evening;
where magic lived and crickets chirped
and her staring me full in the face
from which an overpowering innocence radiates
across the short space
between that look
and my paralyzed fearful state
while I was transfixed by her sky blue eyes
revealing to me it seemed the very face of God
looking out,
looking through me
unflinchingly
unapologetically,
unselfconsciously
unjudgementally;
her soul-being peering into my
my guarded hidings,
feaful of stepping
into
the daytime-at-night gaze
while feeling my hand rise to my face
unable to stand the nakedness in her look
of which she herself was unaware
a look which withered me
as she took that hand
and placed upon it a gentle kiss
which seared into my cringing soul
propelled by gratefulness
for that little bit of innocence
from her hand kiss
my gnarled inner self
frozen cold over time
and out of touch
with Innocent Innocence
blushed.
There was only the gentle sigh
to part the night
and my own weeping regrets
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Palmed Heart
I knocked on the door of her soul
peered into its window
tried to see her there at the table
where she sits each day;
I listened for her heart beats
tried to divine her secret place
her mystery needs.
But no;
my trek and voyeurism
came to naught;
she kept all her secrets in her pillow keep
and I had at last
to knock her door
and wait for her to turn the lock
peer out
and ask
'Hi, do I know you? '
She did not; but my eyes had fixed her
many times
and she knew them, their gaze.
She looked at me-
looked at my eyes-
beginning to slowly recognize
they had sought her many times.
I hoped they could speak for me
that they could communicate what words could not convey.
But, I could only stand there and allow proximity
to inveigh what I could not, make my silence speak;
place my soul in the palm of my hand
for long seconds
while she looked and looked
a puzzle-stranger at her door.
She finally said.
'Come in, have something to drink; I have made some tea.
I think she recognized me finally
as someone who from afar
had given her their heart
and she was kind enough
not to slam the door
on it
and I.
It was not love
but kindness here
but that dear reader
is what allows True Love in the door
and she did.
And that was the main thing I needed to know about her
and that was what made me love her.
first from afar
and now
up close.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jeanny Needs A Shooter
I was born down by the river
Where the dirty river flows
And the cool wind cut through me
It cut right through my clothes
And the anger and the yearning
Like fever in my veins
Set the fire burning
She came down from knightstown
With her hands hard from the line
From the first time I laid eyes on her
I knew that shes be mine
Her father was a lawman
He swore hed shoot me dead
cause he knew I wanted jeannie
And Id have her like Id said
Jeannie needs a shooter, shooter like me
Jeannie needs a shooter
Jeannie needs a shooter, shooter on her side
Jeannie needs a shooter
Jeannie needs a shooter
Jeannie needs a shooter
We met down by the river
On the final day in may
And when I leaned down to kiss her
She did not turn away
I drew out all my money
And together we did vow
To meet that very evening
And to get away somehow
Jeannie needs a shooter, shooter like me
Jeannie needs a shooter
Jeannie needs a shooter, shooter on her side
Jeannie needs a shooter
Jeannie needs a shooter
Jeannie needs a shooter
The night was cold and rainy
Down by the borderline
I was riding hard to meet her
When a shot rang out behind
As I lay there in the darkness
With a pistol by my side
Jeannie and her father
Rode off into the night
Jeannie needs a shooter
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Chair
We sat at the table talking
when we noticed from the corner of our eyes
the door seemed to open and close again.
No one took much notice of it;
each thinking it was a draft that had caught it.
Then we watched amazed
as the chair at the far end of the room
began to move on its own.
Each time it caught our attention the chair stopped.
Turning back to our conversation
from the corner of our eyes,
we watched the chair move again.
Each time it inched closer
towards the table where we sat.
Our guests and we were hypnotised
by the spectacular of the moving chair.
We had lived here for many years
and nothing like this had ever happened before.
We all watched intently the chair
with not a word being spoken.
Whatever was moving it
could clearly not be seen.
Someone smiled and said,
“That is a neat trick you must tell us all
just how you’ve done it.”
I shook my head and replied,
“It is not us doing this.”
Faces paled at the thought
of the chair moving on its own.
The chair then stopped
and the outline of a figure appeared,
its eyes were flaming red
and it stared intently at us all.
“Who are you? ” Someone asked.
“Who do you wish I be? ” The reply came
from a voice that seemed to surround us.
You could see the fear begin to inherit everyone’s eyes
as the eyes of whatever looked around at everyone.
A crackling laughter then arose.
“Who are you? ” I asked,
“You are frightening everyone.
I tell you now you were not invited;
your presence is not welcome here.
Be gone I say, be gone and leave us in peace.”
The flaming eyes stared at me
as if to devour my soul.
Outside a lightning bolt struck,
its explosion made us jump.
When we looked back,
the chair was where it should be
and the flaming red eyes were gone.
Was this an hallucination
or did we really see a ghost.
Whatever, when we returned to talking,
we abandoned the conversation
of strange phenomena we were discussing
before our encounter.
15 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Door and the Window
My love, you are timely come, let me lie by your heart.
For waking in the dark this morning, I woke to that mystery,
Which we can all wake to, at some dark time or another:
Waking to find the room not as I thought it was,
But the window further away, and the door in another direction.
This was not home, and you were far away
And I woke sick, and held by another passion,
In the icy grip of a dead, tormenting flame,
Consumed by the night, watched by the door and the window.
On a bed of stone, waiting for the day to bring you.
The door has opened: and can you, at last beside me,
Drive under the day that frozen and faithless darkness,
With its unseen torments flickering, which neither
The dearest look nor the longest kiss assuages?
poem by Henry Reed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead Next Door
Watch the sky
For a reason why
Im safe here
Sunday it was part
Monday it was none
Monday was none
For the dead next door
One pair of silent terror reins
And were the dead next door
The heat of the day fades away
Fades into the night
The heat of the day
Offering a wedding
Suffering away
For the dead next door
You see
One error, silent terror
And were the dead next door
In animal land
And dark is in command
One thing you should know
Dont hear that knocking
Dont eat out of their hand
Dont stumble, die
You say
Dont stumble, cry
They see you and me
You and me
With the dead next door
You and me
With the dead next door
You and me
With the dead next door
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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