Ghazal
I wish to go and dwell,
In such a place,
Where there's no one else.
No one to understand my speech,
No one around to talk with,
There, I want to reach.
I wish to build,
One such house,
Without a door to enter,
Without the boundary walls,
Thus there will be no neighbours,
And there will be no guard.
There will be no one thus,
To take care of me,
When I will fell ill.
And there will be no one,
To mourn or cry,
When I will die.
poem by Mirza Ghalib
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Related quotes
By The Fireside : The Builders
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The House of Odes
Writing
these
odes
in this
year nineteen
hundred and
fifty-five,
readying and tuning
my demanding, murmuring lyre,
I know who I am
and where my song is going.
I understand
that the shopper for myths
and mysteries
may enter
my wood
and adobe
house of odes,
may despise
the utensils,
the portraits
of father and mother and country
on the walls,
the simplicity
of the bread
and the saltcellar. But
that's how it is in my house of odes.
I deposed the dark monarchy,
the useless flowing hair of dreams,
I trod on the tail
of the cerebral reptile,
and set things
-- water and fire -
in harmony with man and earth.
I want everything
to have
a handle,
I want everything to be
a cup or a tool,
I want people to enter a hardware
store through the door of my odes.
I work at
cutting
newly hewn boards,
storing casks
of honey,
arranging
horseshoes, harness,
forks:
I want everyone to enter here,
let them ask questions,
ask for anything they want.
I am from the South, a Chilean,
a sailor
returned
from the seas.
I did not stay in the islands,
a king.
I did not stay ensconced
in the land of dreams.
I returned to labor simply
beside others,
for everyone.
So that everyone
may live here,
I build my house
with transparent
odes.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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I Did Not Build This House
I did not build this house alone
Upon foundations of folly
Wood floors have split and groan
Knotty planks creep
Out the front door
Beyond walls stretched
Over mossy stone
I did not build this house alone
The symbiots fed it
As they were nourished
Engorged like an unborn child
Who stretches and kicks it
Then, vacates it for a while
This house whose pathways
Were fed by blood and breath
Humming and pumping
Beating and strumming
Dancing the rhythm of life
and death.
I did not build this house
It has morphed and grown
Then alas, has shrunk again
as now I am alone.
Betsy Schreiber © 2009
poem by Betsy Schreiber
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Rock Of Life
Big beat talk to me
Waking up blind with the house on fire
Well I pick up my guitar, (I tune up)
I look in the mirror
Its like a stranger in my hand (the baby is crying)
There comes a time when the boy must leave (get up)
And the man has to enter
For the soul to understand (all of the changes)
As if it aint hard enough this life Im living in
I was caught with my guard down
When the world came knocking
I feel the big beat, the rock of life
Big beat talk to me
I feel the back beat, the rock of life
Waking up blind with the house on fire
Is it something in my head (look up)
Or the time of season
Or the little boy in my hands (must be a reason)
Yeah, theres new meaning in my life (a shake-up)
But theres pain and confusion
And Im trying to understand (all of the changes)
Ive been cut so deep but I cant make it bleed
I was caught with my head in the sand
When the world came knocking
I feel the big beat, the rock of life
Big beat talk to me
I feel the back beat, the rock of life
It aint no perfect life
This one Im living in
And I was caught with my guard down
When the world came knocking
I feel the big beat, the rock of life
Big beat talk to me
I feel the back beat, the rock of life
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tea for Sympathy
can you be able to love
without dream
can you be able to own
without understand
you will never take
you will never care
I'm only a name
you will never run
you will never look around
my shadow far from your heart
can you be able to care
but never reach
should I hate
to make you understand
without talk
without try
only emotion
you just say
can't get it right
just erase me here
can you be able to promise
but your heart's tired
can you be able to protect
without see me
I realize
I really know you
you only hide
you will never care
you will never understand
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Good Carpenters
I mourn a dead friend, like myself, a good carpenter.
-Pablo Neruda about César Vallejo
I looked at the book.
'It will stand,' I thought.
Not a palace
built by a newspaper czar,
nor a mud hovel
that the sea will soften,
but a good house of words
near the sea
with everything plumb.
That is the most I can ask.
I have cut the wood myself
from my own forests,
I have sanded it smooth
with the grain.
I have left knotholes
for the muse to whistle through
-old siren that she is.
At least the roof does not leak.
& the fireplace is small
but it draws.
The wind whips the house
but it stands.
& the waves lick
the pilings
with their tongues
but at least they do not suck me
out to sea.
The sea is wordless
but it tries to talk to us.
We carpenters are also translators.
We build with sounds, with whispers & with wind.
We try to speak the language of the sea.
We want to build to last
yet change forever.
We want to be as endless as the sea.
& yet she mocks us
with her barnacle & rust stains;
she tells us what we build will also fall.
Our words are grains of sand,
our walls are wood,
our windowpanes are sprayed with solemn salt.
We whisper, as we build, 'Forever please,'
-by which we mean at least for thirty years.
poem by Erica Jong
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Hope Is An Open Window
(christopher ward/tim tickner/diana ross)
Are we not more than hunger and music
Are we not more than harlequins and horns
Are we not more than color and drums
Are we not more than anger and dance
Give me courage so I can spread it over my face and mouth
Give me courage, give me courage
Give me courage, give me courage
I walk these city streets see the people there
Look into the eyes of quiet despair
And the faces tell a story that words never can
And it falls to everyone of us to try and understand
Out of kindness
One act of grace makes the world we walk a better place
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
We build walls of suspicion with bars of fears
Tell ourselves well be safe in here
I know more brings us together
Than keeps up apart
First we got to tear down these walls within our hearts
We might be strangers, we can be friends
You and I we both need to let somebody in
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
Give me courage so I can spread over my face and mouth
We are secret rivers with shaking hips and crests
Come awake in our thunder so that our eyes can see behind trees
Give me courage so I can spread over my face and mouth
Give me courage, give me courage
Give me courage, give me courage
Hope is an open window
Loves an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
Gotta be there for each other
Is what we sent here for
Through an open window
We can find a way
To love one another
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rock Of Life (12' Mix)
I feel the big beat, the rock of life
Big beat talk to me, waking up blind with the house on fire
Well I pick up my guitar (I tune up), I look in the mirror
It's like a stranger in my hand (the baby is crying)
There comes a time when the boy must leave (get up), and the man has to enter
For the soul to understand (all of the changes)
As if it ain't hard enough this life I'm living in
I was caught with my guard down, when the world came knocking
Chorus:
I feel the big beat, the Rock of Life, big beat talk to me - hey, whoo
I feel the back beat, the Rock of Life, waking up blind with the house on fire
Is it something in my head (look up) or the time of the season
Or the little boy in my hands (must be the reason)
Yeah, there's a new meaning in my life (a shake-up)
But there's pain and confusion
And I'm trying to understand (all of the changes)
I've been cut so deep but I can't make it bleed
I was caught with my head in the sand, when the world came knocking
chorus
(Solo)
It ain't no perfect life, this one I'm living in
And I was caught with my guard down, when the world came knocking
chorus repeats 2x
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House
For many years, the house
stood empty and forlorn.
The windows had been boarded
preventing the sunlight coming in.
No welcoming mat lay by the door;
laughter was a thing of the past
as spiders spun their webs
within the gloomy silence.
The house stood empty
abandoned by most living things
and there were those who said
spooky goings on went on
after night fell in there.
No one could prove it
because no one would stay there.
Only the fool hardy
would ever enter after dark.
The paintwork pealed
and the front door creaked
if someone dared to open it.
They say the house is haunted,
but no one knew
by what or who.
The house began to crumble
as each season came to pass.
The glory of its birth
lay somewhere in the past
and now the crumbling walls
would never reveal
any of the secrets that it knew.
Then a fire started
by a hand unseen
and the house finally died
within its own funeral pyre
15 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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House To Rent
This house to rent, was plain the sign
A structure built for man
But God’s prepared a place divine
Before my life began
A house beyond man’s wildest dream
Garden beyond compare
Where water from a living stream
Births endless fruit to share
Yet this from God is no reward
But gift to house a king
Purchased through blood of Christ my Lord
Who’s endless praise I’ll sing
Yet rent a house, I must a while
Although it may sound dumb
Still deep inside I can but smile
For that which soon will come
A promise few can understand
A mansion to endure
But those who’ll dwell The promised Land
Will verify it sure
God’s real-estate is purpose built
Eternally to stay
Unlike as this we build on silt
That sure to fall one day
Eternity draws ever nigh
This house I’ll soon vacate
But till Christ’s cloud fills up the sky
Who knows how long I’ll wait
Within this rented house on sand
Behind it’s wooden door
Through faith prepared through love I’ll stand
Awaiting Christ once more
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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The House of Treasures
There is a house filled with treasures
Many strife to enter and get a sit
But the sits are reserved for only a few
War begin in the land as they crave to enter
They inflicted injury on some
Damaged the properties of some
And even eliminated others
Who their chances of getting in debar
And now the house of treasure still remains
Occupied by thieves and murderers
Plowing the treasures into foreign accounts
Living in luxurious houses and bullet proof cars
Their neighbours can live in a hut
And ride rickety bicycles in empty stomachs
If it were easy they would try their luck
Next time there is the call
To enter into the house of treasures
poem by Anthony Seyi Abiodun
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The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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These Walls
If these walls could talk,
I wonder what what would they say
Would they thank me for being painted
Or will they ask me, to wash the paint away.
Would they tell me of the pictures
That once hung upon them their
Pictures that once adorn those walls
Or I wonder would they even care.
Would they speak upon the stories
That was heard within these walls
That no one else even knows about,
That is if the stories these walls could recall.
Was there children laughter all about
Or any secrets heard and being told
I wonder what have they listened to
And I wonder if anyone will ever know.
These walls inside this house
That for years have stood alone
With the stories that was told and heard
While this house had became a home.
The Sadness that they might had seen
And the worries and sorrow that they felt
Maybe they don't want to remember it at all
And maybe they too keep it bottled upon their self.
Were they painted to cover up secrets
Was they battered as to protect someone's lies
Or were they wallpapered to cover up the truth
And did they hear the whispers and the cries.
These walls they are still standing
Through the years of the days and nights
While listening and knowing all done and said
In the darkness and also in the light.
I look at these walls just one last time
As I head home from my walk,
How I wish I knew what they heard and know,
But that is, if these walls could only talk.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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To Build A House
to build a house, a beautiful one,
i just do not need land and nails
not just wood, and grass
not just beams and roofs, for they
are but necessities, projections of
the house upon a hill
of the mind,
to build a house, one needs the soul
of the home,
the words of memories, the gutters
of our emotions,
unlike you, my house requires the fences
and walls
keeping away the ill winds
of publicity, the rumors of who i was,
a slope, the steep one, inclined
towards no other
than the whiteness of the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On the Boundary
I Love the ancient boundary-fence,
That mouldering chock-and-log.
When I go ride the boundary
I let the old horse jog
And take his pleasure in and out
Where the sandalwood grows dense,
And tender pines clasp hands across
The log that tops the fence.
’Tis pleasant on the boundary-fence,
These sultry summer days;
A mile away, outside the scrub,
The plain is all ablaze,
The sheep are panting on the camps,
The heat is so intense;
But here the shade is cool and sweet
Along the boundary-fence.
I love to loaf along the fence,
So does my collie dog,
He often finds a spotted cat
Hid in a hollow log;
He’s very near as old as I
And ought to have more sense,
I’ve hammered him so many times
Along the boundary-fence.
My mother says that boundary fence
Must surely be bewitched;
The old man says that through that fence
The neighbours are enriched;
It’s always down, and through the gaps
Our stock all get them hence,
I takes me half my time to watch
The doings of that fence.
But should you seek the reason
You won’t travel very far,
’Tis there a mile away among
The murmuring Belar:
The Jones’s block joins on to ours,
And so, in consequence,
It’s part of Polly’s work to ride
Their side the boundary-fence.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Never To Be Heard From Again!
gonna lay down my pen,
and pick up a hammer.
gonna build a house big enough
to house all the homeless.
gonna build a bridge
over the chasm of need.
then i'm gonna lay down my hammer,
and pick up the cookpot.
gonna fill it with enough food
to feed all the hungry.
gonna build a fire
that both lights the way
and warms...
gonna talk, and listen,
and really hear!
gonna show them how to plant,
and how to work the fields.
gonna work side by side,
and know every man's name.
gonna take everything
that i've seen and felt,
and lay it like an offering
on the path to tomorrow.
then i'm gonna put on my hat,
and walk out the door...
never to be heard from again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stay At Home
Outside these, four walls lies, anarchy babe
Unnatural acts and sights abound
Glass glaring, eyes staring, young pairing, maybe
What does the world care if Im not around
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know
The bright lights, are like traps, for the unwary
You need a guard just to walk at night
Fights flaring, bombs scaring, pants tearing, maybe
How can you say it will be alright
And, I think Id rather stay at home
And my face not show
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
Where cold winds dont blow
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Outside these, four shores lie, countries of strangers
They have water that you shouldnt drink
Bad driving, crime thriving, lifes full of dangers
Its not that Im frightened to walk on the brink.
But I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the bad guys never go, they never go
Stay at home
With people you know, people you know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the pimples never show, they never show
Stay at home
Stay at home
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I dream of a little house
I dream of a little house
that’s in a suburb,
or a place at the sea
just big enough for two.
There are surf breaking on a white beach
and it’s a place,
where the sun always shine
and where worries disappear
When I wake up
you lie next to me
and I see how the sleep
take you to a wonderful place,
but we life in a big house
where the dogs bark at the neighbours
and the cats lie in the sun
and at that moment I know
that this place is far better
than the places of our dreams
and that you
make it heaven for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Don't Want To Hear It Anymore (mono)
(randy newman)
In my neighbourhood
We don't live so good
The rooms are small
And the buildings made of wood
I hear the neighbours talking 'bout you and me
I guess i heard it all
'cause the talk is loud
And the walls are much too thin
He don't really love her
That's what i heard them say
He sure wasn't thinking of her today, oh no
(he wasn't thinking of her today)
I saw them in the front yard
Said the boy in room 149
He was talking to a girl i've never seen before
And standing there together, oh they looked so good
I don't want to hear it anymore
(i don't want to hear it)
I don't want to hear it anymore
(anymore)
'cause the talk just never ends
And the heartache soon begins
The talk is so loud
And the walls are much too thin
Ain't it sad, said the woman down the hall
That when a nice girl falls in love
Ain't it just too bad that she had to fall
For a boy who doesn't care for her at all?
(it's so sad)
I don't want to hear it anymore
(i don't want to hear it)
I just can't stand to hear it anymore
(anymore)
'cause the talk just never ends
And the heartache soon begins
The talk is so loud
And the walls are much too thin
I don't want to hear it anymore
(can't stand to hear it)
(don't want to hear it)
I just can't stand to hear it anymore
(don't talk about it)
(can't stand to hear it)
Oh, baby, baby
I just can't stand
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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