Bench
Sitting on a bench watching people go by.
Smiles and frowns, Stares and glares
Wondering what they are thinking?
Is it me greeting them one by one
Or me sitting on a bench.
The seat of comfort and distractions
a place to think and read
Feed the birds, Friendly chats
Surprising hellos, A lot of old fellows
wanting the seat, for they are beat!
Everyone's favorite seat
The bench of life
poem by Michael Peterson
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Related quotes
A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Old Man On A Bench...
An old man on a withered bench
Down by the ocean's end
Staring at the stormy sky
wondering if she's there up high
watching him sit in their favorite spot
where he wrote - forget me not...
'Here is the bench where we would sit
you and I a perfect fit'
He whispers softly to the wind
and wishes she would hear
how he misses her
or wipe the tear
that silently creeps down his face
as he remembers a time and place
Her lively eyes
Her soft grey hair
Memories so bitter-sweet
are all he has of her
And in his gnarled old hand
he lovingly holds her wedding band
poem by Chantelle Ribeiro
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At the Pond
As I looked around the pond
I see people playing in the snow
Laughing and throwing snowballs at each other
Making snow angles with great pride
Children sledding down the hill as if flying
As I look on the pond
I see people skating
Skating like soaring eagles
Twirling like tornadoes
But graceful as a ballerina dance
As I look around the pond
I see a people having fun
Enjoying themselves
Helping each other as if they were their little sister
I see a peaceful and fun world
But I
I am having no fun
No fun at all
For I am sitting on the bench
Sitting on the bench like a lost dog
For I am cripple
poem by Cassy Taberna
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The Bench
I saw her and felt very sad
There she was, thinly clad,
Sitting on a bench on a railway station,
Motionless, there was no animation,
No showing of any observation,
Her aura was one of devastation,
Although things were happening all around her,
Nothing seemed to make her move or even stir,
Actually no movement of any kind,
She was acting, totally blind,
No spark of recognition,
Or of making a decision,
Staring blankly into space,
As if lost without a trace.
I wondered what was making her this way,
All I could do for her, was to silently pray,
And watch the tears go sliding down her face,
Oblivious of the place, that was her location,
Which was, sitting on a bench on a railway station.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Old Man
The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.
Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.
He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.
Everyone spoke about him,
but no one ventured to talk.
Then one day the old man
wasn't on the park bench
and he was nowhere to be seen.
Now a different question was asked.
Day after day, the bench was empty.
Where had the old man gone?
Had he simply passed away?
The questions remained unanswered
because no one ever stopped
to enquire of his name.
I would like to think
that in the dying hours
on the park bench one day
that he had found
what he was waiting for
and then happily he faded away.
12 July 2012
poem by David Harris
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Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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A Book And Its Cover
Sitting alone on a bench in the park
I gleaned and deemed and seemed
To be a pretty fine woman
To all who streamed and deemed and
seemed
To have a better plot in life than I
Who but yet in turn thought my life
Was by far a parade everyday
A charade, a play, a beautiful display
Oh, how wrong they were
Oh, how wrong I'd be in a sphere
I watched, I leaned and judged
With music in my ear and shaded eyes
The man there he beamed
A suit and tie, a noble steed indeed
Suddenly my music stopped, unstopped
by me
My ears sharp and inward iris focused
Listening to the whisperings of a silent
stream
I heard all I had heard but never listened
to
In a heart that walked past
Her smiles were like a bloom in spring
She seemed full of life and
spontaneously
Did all she loved and simultaneously
Succeeded in all she did
But I could hear her heart beating in sad
motions
As she wondered why she always failed
And why Cupid in her case had ditched
his bow for a gun
My suit and tie noble steed
Handsome as they come, sure to make
hearts bleed
Mr irresistible he seemed and beamed
His hands trembled, 'I need my fix'
This life is deep, I can't swim, I need to
fly
He dreamed and waited for his dealer
She sat a bench away
With a face with no smile to feign
That fought with a flint for who was
harder
She caught me staring like a fool earlier
And with her eyes put me in my place
What a mean being she must be I'd
thought earlier
A roughened road, a rope's ending
All I heard was silence, all I saw was
darkness
A nervous breakdown, a quiet mind
There was no one inside
Everyone strolled and sat with a
common thought
'My problem's bigger, I couldn't care less
about you'
I sat there still, then saw myself
All who streamed by deemed me better
'Her light shines brighter than mine'
they fumed
The passion I injected in the earth's vein
Grows and grows and it announces my
name
The cap I wear, it's heavy
Yet some that see it turn green with
envy
Passion knows not passion in me
That burns my soul and flames my heart
Yet my heart looks like a punching bag
Since Cupid ditched his bow for gloves
If you ask me this, I'll deny it so
But all you see, is not what you see
If ever you choose indeed to open
Your eyes, your ears and heart indeed
And you somehow happen to be
Sitting on that bench like me
Or a judge's seat with ease
Judge easy, I plead, for every face you
see
Is a book you haven't read
But yet seem to know all about.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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If you sit on a seat, and that seat is a comfortable seat, sit on that seat, and do not leave that seat.
Edge Of My Seat
Nothing more
That there's nothing more
Nothing here's the same
It's all a dream
Life on a movie screen
And I'm sitting on the
Edge of my seat
I can't tell what happens next
Just what I've seen
Don't know what it means
But I'm holding on the
Edge of my seat
I can't forget your name
Forget your name
Yeah, I can't forget you
Now I know
I can't forget you girl
I promise
Sit back, buckle in
And hold on tight
A roller coaster ride
And I'm holding on the
Edge of my seat
And I don't know for sure
'Cause I just landed
On your shore
But I think you've got nothing
But another thing comin'
If you think there's nothing more
That there's nothing more
song performed by by Switchfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ol' gents on a bench(in the park after dark)
Ol’ gents on a bench (in the dark in the park)
Two grizzled ol’ gents
On a bench in the park
Talking sagely of baseball
In the late evening dark
“ya think there’s baseball in heaven? ”
Mused Shecky to Levi
Levi furrowed his brow deeply
As he sighed soft reply
With an old man’s wet wheeze
He sonorously said
tis fairly certain we’ll know
Shortly after we’re dead
Let’s make a deal, they solemnly proposed
Whoever goes first will return to reveal
If there’s bleachers to seat and hot dogs to eat
And heavenly bases to steal.
As fate would have it, Shecky passed on that very night
And the next night Levi on their bench sadly sat alone
When out of the night, giving Levi such a fright
Levi heard Shecky’s ghostly voice intone
“Levi, oh Levi! I have good news and bad
Levi, there’s baseball in heaven” Shecky said with delight
And the bad news my ol’ friend I hate to relate
is…you’re the starting pitcher tomorrow night.
poem by David Whalen
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Lonely
There was an old man
sat on a park bench,
his trousers were baggy,
his hair was unkempt.
It flowed long and white
right down to his shoes
and children would pass by
looking bemused.
A glint in his eye
and a glow on his cheek
he sat all day long
not a word did he speak,
but should you have asked him
why he was there
he'd had given you reasons, I'm sure
with a stare.
He sat on the park bench
eating some berries,
he didn't look sad
and he didn't look merry,
then just when the church clock
struck quarter to four
the old man got up
and he fell to the floor
Nobody noticed him tumble
nobody even passed by
and as sunshine hid behind a cloud
that lonely old man, he did die.
But sometimes as I pass that bench
I have a strange feeling inside
that someone is eating a berry or two
and watching the people go by
poem by Ruth Walters
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Illustrious Ancestors
The Rav
of Northern White Russia declined,
in his youth, to learn the
language of birds, because
the extraneous did not interest him; nevertheless
when he grew old it was found
he understood them anyway, having
listened well, and as it is said, 'prayed
with the bench and the floor.' He used
what was at hand--as did
Angel Jones of Mold, whose meditations
were sewn into coats and britches.
Well, I would like to make,
thinking some line still taut between me and them,
poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with his needle in the air.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Park Bench
Sitting on a park bench,
the fragrance of the grass
scents the fresh air.
It makes you look more closely
to everything that is there.
The beauty of the day,
white clouds, no black ones of dismay.
A breeze that bends
every leaf and petal to and fro.
Then there are the colours,
a multitude of green.
Everything assaults our senses,
every smell and flower there.
The sun is over my shoulder,
blue skies, and no clouds in sight.
As I sit here on a park bench
enjoying everything, I see.
(7 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
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I respect people who feel things passionately. I do. But when someone is a judge, that is not what they should bring to the bench. It is not really passion, except in rare instances, that serves the bench well. It is, rather, an ability to understand the law and follow it.
quote by Charles Schumer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetics 6....
in april
the firetrees are blooming
beside
a very calm lake
where some swans
make
a show
we take our
seat
on a bench
watch
the world glowing
with beauty
the two of us
isolated from the thought
of
the nuclear leak
in Fugushima
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Studied the deep language of some relatives that's similar to Esperanto!
I dreamed a big university
The roof touches the sky
And the professor comes
By a flying saucer
And I sit on a diamond bench
But the golden bugs below the seat
Anyhow I received the Master's degree
But still a dilemma
Why they burnt my certificate?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A gloomy picture in a slice of life
An orphan in the dormitory stares through the lower window
And he saw one of his colleagues sitting on the campus lawn bench.
She hums his favorite song; 'The green green grass of home...'
He waves but she continues on humming without any notice.
She holds a Braille not a Mandolin
And he realized the situation.
He murmurs to himself ' Oh! My somber idol I would like to to be a perfect Sun forever into your dark World.'
* [How beautiful the garden was, how alive.To see its small things grow big, change, and wither; and new little things come again in the same endless, unceasing cycle.]
'The Thorn Birds'
-Colleen McCullough
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Green Ricefields
green ricefields spreading to a distance
some white herons circling and landing finding a hiding place
for a while gone and then the wind comes from the trees swaying
the white herons in a flock of fives fly away again
to another rectangular spread of a green ricefield
a scarecrow stands in the middle of the place
the clouds arrive turning from pale to grey to blue
the sun has come in full grandeur
i am just amazed, sitting on a bench praying
simply watching and wondering
they all say that i am lazy and doing nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Under the Sunset Sky
Sitting under the sunset sky
Laying around I wonder why
You value me so much more
Than any other you’ve met before
Why you feel so safe by me
And no the others that you see
Sitting under the sunset sky
I find comfort and I sigh
Knowing all is well by you
Having peace in all I do
Watching my troubles fall away
Not wanting then back any day
Sitting under the sunset sky
When you’re sad I want to cry
Feeling you’re sorrow, hurt and pain
When it’s done, all for gain
Drawing away from the past
What’s done is done and shouldn’t last
Sitting under the sunset sky
Only thing to do is deny
The comfort found when we’re alone
Feelings around us never shown
If only to live for how we feel
Soon this love would we seal
Sitting under the sunset sky
Longing for you by and by
Can’t get you off my mind
All the reasons trying to find
Thinking so hard never to know
Why you might care for me so
Sitting under the sunset sky
Hoping you won’t chose another guy
To be the one, to live the life
That good men live, without strife
To be with you is my goal
Are you the match for my soul?
Sitting under the sunset sky
To be with you when I die
Would be the best of any dream
Looking around, you see me beam
I’ve found the one out of all
Now it’s done, this task not small
poem by Brian Potthast
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The Haunted Haven
Beyond the woods
The branching oak and canopy of leaves still abide
The bench is there
The leaves still fall
The cree still flows beneath the trees
The difference is
The oak is baren
The shiny bench is covered in moss
The leaves now lie beneath my feet
The place now lacks the presence of life
Though our laughter still echoes
Haunting the place of our childhood haven
poem by Humna Hamid
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