Be My Space-Time Einstein Valentine
Yesterday...
Valentine's, you missed it, too bad, he left no forwarding address-
I watched from the pub window
as a van from a high-class Consultant on
spatial and temporal problems
it implied
in one of those pretentious titles
of enterprising thirtyish freelance entrepreneurs
gunning for a profitable big corporation buy-out I guess
pulled up and parked in the very place
and for the very time
guaranteed to cause most disruption
to the desperate gotta-buy-her-sump'n traffic on the busy road
while I in my righteous citizen mode
frowned and awaited developments
until many minutes later
he returned
looking very pleased with himself
carrying a bunch
of not many red roses
in a cut-glass vase (clever florist) ,
i'm not sure about the water - the vase was tilted
in his hasty, laddish, anticipatory hand
and drove off.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers In A Vase
A bunch of flowers
Sat in a vase
Colourful and lonely
A mind looks at them
Wondering
What is it they have to say
Are they a thank you
Or a gift of love
Are they an apology
Or given in remorse
Perhaps they are for nothing
Given to bring a smile
The mind looks on
Wondering for a while
The flowers sit in their vase
Unmoved by thought
Or the reason given to them
A little water at their base
To keep them fresh for a while
They are the end of the day
Just flowers in a vase
poem by Matthew Holloway
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0075 The Connoisseur
Do come in. I’m so glad that you came –
it’s good to have someone to
share one’s pleasures and delights with.
Some of my family think I’m
some sort of misanthrope, hiding away
with my collection of Chinese porcelain…
I tell them, it’s the opposite – I feel that
I’m in touch with the finest work of
contented men, creating some sort of memory of
perfection, for others to enjoy – I guess
you feel the same way about those poems
you write? Now –
your hands are clean? Not because of
this celadon Sung vase, let’s start with that –
but I’d like you to feel the outer layer
of skin on your fingertips touching
the surface of the vase and yet
not quite touching, feeling
the air between – silk on silk,
almost – I was going to say, the skin of
a young girl’s cheek greeting
another young girl’s cheek, but that wouldn’t
sound quite right – you must have
the same problems, with choosing just the right
similes and metaphors, that are
thrilling without being ‘clever’?
I don’t want to be pretentious about
all this – just feel the surface: not matt,
not shiny, the colour not bright, not blatant,
but not in hiding – and see
how the potter takes the vase’s curves and contours
from neck to belly, like a yacht,
like a horseman, like a lover – put
this vase in a room to itself and its stillness
fills the room with presence…
they talk a lot of nonsense about
connoisseurship – it’s just loving what
is fine, and long reflected over, and
as human an activity as can be. You meet
the maker in the art. And yes,
there are other connoisseurs who
love the roughness of a cracked, irregular
Japanese tea-cup, a one-off from a woodman’s kiln…
I expect you feel just the same
about poetry? How fortunate
we are, you and I..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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bottom of the stairs
red red roses in a vase
I srace to the top
red red roses in a vase
seem to get there before me
tanka by Dónall Dempsey
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Zen and the art of plastic flower maintenance
From time to time, when
I’ve been meditating, and
these things matter, I pick respectfully
the plastic flowers from their vase,
wash the vase, wipe the dust
off the leaves with a moist cloth,
dip the flower-heads in water
as one would give someone
a holy bath
and then replace them in
a slightly new position in the vase,
a slightly new position on the table.
absurdity and
something beautiful
have met and got along together rather well.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A vase of flowers
I saw a vase of purple-pink roses
lying on your dark brown buffet
and simply had to have it.
“Who painted this, ” I immediately enquired
loving the picture more with each look
that I took of it
as it’s not your thing
to paint still life’s with flowers.
“I painted it. It’s like painting pillow slips, ”
you replied and astonished
I looked at it again
and this was on board
and not in water colours
but done with oil paint.
The folds of the cups were edged
in ridges along their lines
using the techniques
of your abstract paintings
and one smaller unopened bud
laid next to the bowl
almost running into your name.
Little pink flowers was in the background
where the transparent vase with green stems
was against the wall on a tiled floor.
[Reference: Vase with roses by Mandi Engelbrecht. (This painting belongs to me.) ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Up North (Down South, Back East, Out West)
(Danny Wells/Jill Wood)
In spite of the name, Independence, Kansas
Didn't grow many wild roses
But she was young and restless
And I loved her though holding her down was hopeless
I wanted her to say she couldn't live without
The life I had to offer but all she could talk about
Was faraway dreams, cities she'd never seen
How do I find that girl when she could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didn't leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
She could be up in the Windy City
Where the world spins a little bit faster
Or gettin' a tan down in Miami that might be where I'd catch her
Maybe back in Virginia, her cousin lives there
Out in Arizona, she'd fit in anywhere
It's anyone's guess where she came to rest
My one chance for happiness is
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didn't leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
I'm sitting here at a four-way intersection
Praying Lord won't you point me in the right direction
She could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didn't leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
Up north, down south, back east, out west
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up North
(danny wells/jill wood)
In spite of the name, independence, kansas
Didnt grow many wild roses
But she was young and restless
And I loved her though holding her down was hopeless
I wanted her to say she couldnt live without
The life I had to offer but all she could talk about
Was faraway dreams, cities shed never seen
How do I find that girl when she could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didnt leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
She could be up in the windy city
Where the world spins a little bit faster
Or gettin a tan down in miami that might be where Id catch her
Maybe back in virginia, her cousin lives there
Out in arizona, shed fit in anywhere
Its anyones guess where she came to rest
My one chance for happiness is
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didnt leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
Im sitting here at a four-way intersection
Praying lord wont you point me in the right direction
She could be
Out there anywhere she just up and left
She didnt leave a forwarding address
Or a trail for my lonely heart to follow
Which one of those four winds should I go chasing
She could be in a million places I guess
Up north, down south, back east, out west
Up north, down south, back east, out west
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Vase Built With Love
For Melvina Germain
Who suggested I write something about a simple vase.
A vase stood on the mantle piece
and two red roses within it stood
one for each heart for whom the vase belonged.
A century before on a potter’s wheel
the vase was carefully crafted by two loving hands
then fired in an oven to keep the love within.
It was then decorated with the same loving care.
The images on it told a story
of two lovers parted by a war.
It told how they had met down a leafy lane
and how their love had grown.
Then came the thunder of an approaching war.
It recorded their last kiss together
before the war tore them apart.
It also told of the years of agony
of waiting for his return,
then of the joys of reuniting,
and how after so long
their love began again to burn.
All this lovingly painted
so everyone could learn
that love never diminishes
even when separated by a war.
18 October 2008
poem by David Harris
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A Valentine Mystery
A Valentine Mystery
The day is drawing near,
Valentine day is here,
I have not heard from
Karina: the one I hold so dear
As all my poems does she read,
Comments on a few,
Gives me courage, to carry on,
This I must do.
As writing a new valentine not an easy task,
After all many years gone by, I sent out quite a few.
The thoughts all there, memories too.
The only thing gone wrong is whom I sent them to.
As any girl with ponytails, I knew what I had to do.
Many years gone by waiting for an answer this they never do.
As I left no forwarding address just hoping that they knew.
Some day I hope to get a Valentine from someone,
even if they don’t sign their name, I’ll think it’s just from you.
I be 83 my heart still has a spot, waiting just for you.
charles Garcia
2008
poem by Charles Garcia
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Heart Is A Vase
A heart is a vase
Love is a flower we put in the vase
Passion is the water for the flower
But romance, respect, trust, and commitment
Is the sunshine that makes the flower bloom
(2011)
poem by Michael Ernst
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The Address
we are but
a thousand
tiny deaths
poured into
the vase
that stands
on the table
by the window....
by the bed
in the room
that only
our most
powerful longings
can enter....
the address
known only
by love.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Tulip That Does Not Wilt
there is a vine, so green
i put on a vase
of glass, there is water
and pebbles
the vine grows some more
leaves
alive on the filtered light
from the window pane,
there is a red tulip that never
dies there
but also does not
grow,
that plastic one i bought
a year ago,
i do not remember having washed it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Vase
the vase where
your flower is put
is filled with
mosquitoes
do you still want to
put it there?
in this lousy metaphor
my body is the vase.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Running All Day
I see him on TV and everyday you can see me
getting more wound up by the fact that he's loved
You dont know who he is, I was once that kid
Fans screaming my name but now there not.
And I know who's to blame.
He took it all from me everything that I own
Left me with nothing broke and unknown
If theres one thing I know im gonna take it all back
The gloves are off and anyway that I can
rip him down from ontop of that thrown
Then we'll see whos really unknown
standing toe to toe he doesn; 't stand a chance
He's gonna learn the hard way what it means to be a man.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to give your own life.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to take another mans life.
Knocked down once, get up again
Knocked down twice see the other man dead.
Led to war by the skin of our teeth
Friends and enemies share the same seats.
They're sweet together cos they know what its like
To live this life that takes you by suprise.
Anytime, day or night, priority one just to stay alive.
And that's what you just cant see
The fact that your just not me
You cant ask questions bout living this life, only ones that know already those that died.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to give your own life.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to take another mans life.
But this is it no place left to go
your gonna hand it back everything that you stole
and now we're patiently gonna wait and see
what the world has to say bout you and me
If they'll take you side after all this time
and believe the lies that you drove inside
but I still have faith that its not a dead end race
and I place my life in the hands of the good lords grace
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to give your own life.
Running all day
Gunning all night
Be prepared to take another mans life.
poem by Paul Daniel
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Carrie
Sorry to disturb you,
But I was in the neighbourhood,
About a friend Ive her picture,
Could you take a look?
Oh I appriciate youre busy,
And time is not your own,
Yeah maybe it would be better,
If I telephoned.
Chorus:
Carrie doesnt live here anymore,
Carrie used to room on the second floor,
Sorry that she left no forwarding address,
That was known to me.
Carrie doesnt live here anymore,
You could always ask at the corner store,
Carrie had a date with her own kind of fate,
Its plain to see.
Another missing person,
One of many we assume,
The young wear their freedom,
Like cheap perfume.
(its useless information),
Returning my call,
(to help the situation),
Theyve nothing at all,
Youre just another message,
On a pay phone wall,
Chorus:
Carrie doesnt live here anymore,
Carrie used to room on the second floor,
Sorry that she left no forwarding address,
That was known to me.
Chorus repeated.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scared Of Girls
An introverted kinda soul,
The earth did open,
Swallow whole,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Her next of kin who lived in sin,
Was asking God to let her in,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Im a man, a liar,
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
An extroverted kinda girl,
Did tour the world with mc5,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Her younger sister, had a blister
Where I kissed her on her thigh
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Careenin,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Get into your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
I got a place inside it,
Im a man a liar
Guaranteed in your bed,
I gotta place it on the rack,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it,
Got a place inside it.
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking Out My Window Through The Pain
(John Schweers)
I watched from my window as she slipped from the house
Once again she's leaving, but Lord, she's not to blame
This morning a memory phoned her and he's a habit she can't break
So 'til she returns, I'll wait for her,
looking out my window through the pain
The devil drove the taxi that carried her away
And it hurts to know she's hung up on some guy from yesterday
Once again she's chasing memories and I'm losing everything
But I love her, so I'll wait for her,
looking out my window through the pain
I'll pick up the pieces when he lets her down again
With love and understanding, I'll give her reasons this time to stay
And I'll close my eyes pretending maybe someday she will change
And I won't be left lonely,
looking out my window through the pain
Yes, the devil drove the taxi that carried her away
And it hurts to know she's still hung up on some guy from yesterday
Once again she's chasing memories and I'm losing everything
But Lord I love her, so I'll wait for her,
looking out my window through the pain
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reminds Me Of You
A bunch of dead flowers, kept in a vase
And its all that remind me of you
Why do I keep them, well might you ask
Theyre all that remind me of you
Two seperate people, two seperate ways
And I hope they may pass again
Withered and dead like, your love for me
And theyre all that remind me of you
Once fresh and green now no, honey for the bee
Theyre all that remind me of you
A bunch of dead flowers kept in a vase
And theyre all that remind me of you
Why do I keep them, well might you ask
Theyre all that remind me of you
Theyre all that remind me of you
Theyre all that remind me of you
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confused
i was walking
along a busy road
of this village
where the sound of
squeaking bikes
abound, and
this old woman
carrying a basket of
fish
stared at me, i
was carrying a book
and an umbrella
it was sunny and
the old woman
stared at me, perhaps
i guess, he must
have missed his son,
perhaps his son
stopped schooling
enlisted himself as
a soldier
because there is no
more money
to spend
for his tuition in
school....
perhaps, his
son died in
combat, and perhaps
his son once had
a book.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Valentine--To Lizzie Siddal
YESTERDAY was St. Valentine.
Thought you at all, dear dove divine,
Upon the beard in sorry trim
And rueful countenance of him,
That Orson who's your Valentine?
He daubed, you know, as usual.
The stick would slip, the brush would fall:
Yet daubed he till the lamplighter
Set those two seedy flames astir;
But growled all day at slow St. Paul.
The bore was heard ere noon; the dun
Was at the door by half—past one:
At least 'tis thought so, but the clock—
No Lizzy there to help its stroke—
Struck work before the day begun.
At length he saw St. Paul's bright orb
Flash back—the serried tide absorb
That burning West which it sucked up,
Like wine poured in a water cup;—
And one more twilight toned his daub.
Some time over the fire he sat,
So lonely that he missed his cat;
Then wildly rushed to dine on tick,—
Nine minutes swearing for his stick,
And thirteen minutes for his hat.
And now another day is gone:
Once more that intellectual one
Desists from high—minded pursuits,
And hungry, staring at his boots,
Has not the strength to pull them on.
Come back, dear Liz, and looking wise
In that arm—chair which suits your size
Through some fresh drawing scrape a hole.
Your Valentine & Orson's soul
Is sad for those two friendly eyes.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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