Hairdresser
Have you understood tables and chairs?
Underneath the bench are a number of hairs.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Walking Tables
How do tables walk as one?
And why do chairs seem to run?
How my rest is desired, and how
Do I kick in the air for relaxation?
My chimney is found with the soot
Of a black utterance, as seemly as light;
The light travels up and down the world,
With smoke, crime is committed, like walking
Chairs and turning tables, this world is one.
With this house may I live alone,
Where wolves like criminals detest you.
Anyone walked a long distance, anyway,
Justice must be allowed, and searched
By the home and heaven.
How do tables and chairs move?
poem by Naveed Akram
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My Happy Heart
i
there are table
specially made for our kind
and some chairs too
they are made for
solo settings
ii
i sit on one of those
chairs
most often
and i eat on such
tables
more than what is
necessary
iii
sometimes people
stare at me
i eat alone, i sip my own cup of tea
alone
and it does not
really bother me
i am familiar with such
feeling
i am at home
and my heart is still a happy
place
for my dwelling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Mouse and House
Underneath the tables responds the mouse,
Inside it weeps, and soaks up water in its house.
Its house is a follower’s abode, of stealth,
May the tables bend and steal the wealth.
In its house we found the treasure of cool surroundings,
There was gold, water and many, many beginnings.
The gold was stationary, like the hostility in the tables,
The real dining occurred in this hole for animals.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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Between two chairs he falls below the bench.
Reflection 0.3
when loneliness is overwhelming
miracles happen
tables speak to chairs and
chairs are amazed to their
new actions
the roof cannot be stopped
telling something to the floor
and the garden too and the fence
and the stair and all of them here
entangled in a relationship of such closeness
that you begin to stop thinking about how to end
and lose yourself
presences are born and they begin to speak
and it is you who has become one inanimate human figure
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Happiness
The great stone Hall is silent
that is now millennia old.
Through the western windows
shines a glorious sun.
It floods the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
and illumines every one
until the wraiths that gather
cry out in their joy,
'Everything is gold!
Whatever is, is gold! '
A majestic cloud
emerges from the southern sea,
slides across the western sky
blotting out the sun.
Light through those western windows
pales to a thin grey day.
It dims the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
pales every one
until the wraiths in the shadows
cry out in dismay,
'Gone is gold, the gold is gone!
All joy has passed away! '
poem by Brian Taylor
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The Tables and Chairs
The tables resent the chairs, apt to sit
Like the people who sit, forming froth
And food, tables so clean, a likeable soot.
This may disguise chemistry, even biology,
Between the anger and hatred is beauty,
Fully we admire them who talk of it.
The table is sweeter with food than the chair with people,
And who does not eat on this furniture of the soul,
This future of living, kindness is adored,
For we are abhorrent in conversation, in laughter.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Common sense says that chairs and tables exist independently of whether anyone happens to perceive them or not.
quote by Charles D. Broad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything from the little house was in the wagon, except the beds and tables and chairs. They did not need to take these, because Pa could always make new ones.
quote by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Orient Express
One looks from the train
Almost as one looked as a child. In the sunlight
What I see still seems to me plain,
I am safe; but at evening
As the lands darken, a questioning
Precariousness comes over everything.
Once after a day of rain
I lay longing to be cold; after a while
I was cold again, and hunched shivering
Under the quilt's many colors, gray
With the dull ending of the winter day,
Outside me there were a few shapes
Of chairs and tables, things from a primer;
Outside the window
There were the chairs and tables of the world ...
I saw that the world
That had seemed to me the plain
Gray mask of all that was strange
Behind it -- of all that was -- was all.
But it is beyond belief.
One thinks, "Behind everything
An unforced joy, an unwilling
Sadness (a willing sadness, a forced joy)
Moves changelessly"; one looks from the train
And there is something, the same thing
Behind everything: all these little villages,
A passing woman, a field of grain,
The man who says good-bye to his wife --
A path through a wood all full of lives, and the train
Passing, after all unchangeable
And not now ever to stop, like a heart --
It is like any other work of art,
It is and never can be changed.
Behind everything there is always
The unknown unwanted life.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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The Bungler
You glow in my heart
Like the flames of uncontrolled candles.
But when I go to warm my hands,
My clumsiness overturns the light,
and then I stumble
Against the tables and chairs.
poem by Amy Lowell
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I have made a great discovery. What I love belongs to me. Not the chairs and tables in my house, but the masterpieces of the world. It is only a question of loving them enough.
quote by Princess Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The handyman
His knowing hands
could hit nails
and lay bricks exactly right
and with his eyes,
he could draw and measure lines
and know exactly
how the plans wanted things.
Developer and businessman
and the best handyman was he
and he took an oath,
that his children
would get higher education.
Wood turned into beautiful objects
under his hands
and tables and chairs
was shaped magically.
He constructed a church without charge
and houses without number,
but a door fell
with a thundering crash
and in his body
some veins were cut
and the medical science
was still too primitive
to help and rescue
a man bleeding internally.
Still his works
exists in places
and one lesson still stays with me,
to do the best
with every thing
on which you lay your hands
and that nothing is too large
to dream about
or to accomplish.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Brief Bus Stop
she sat there like a photograph
of someone much further away
we shared a brief bus stop
on one of those inbetween days
she gave me her smile
and I looked underneath
at the lipstick on her teeth
she asked me for a light
and if I thought her hair looked okay
we grew out of the small talk
into stuff strangers just don't say
we discovered we are both
pleasently furious half of the time
when we're not just toeing the line
we sat underneath the shelter
as the rain came down outside
the bench was cold
against the underside of our thighs
I said I think we need new responses
each question's a revolving door
and she said
song performed by by Ani DiFranco from Not So Soft
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll Take That As A Yes
You like a dozen wine red roses
Candle lights on porcelain-set tables
And that's fine
I'll go out of my way for you anytime
The fire's warm, so you take off your sweater
Now it's my turn and I'll do you one better
That's the game we both like to play
You wink, I laugh
Cause we know a little hug leads to a foot rub
Then a hot tub, then a French kiss on a bear rug
Do you like it? Do you like it?
How bout this, wanna try it?
Oh, I'll take that as a yes
You like snugglin with your pillow
With my arms tied, holdin us together
Breathing deep, drifting like a feather in a stream
Them I touch you on your shoulder
Feel your skin, soft underneath my fingers
And I know, we'll never get to sleep
Chorus
It's written all over your face
There's no mistake
No guess, not doubt, no beating around the bush
Baby it's understood
Chorus
song performed by by Phil Vassar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Superstar
Superstar (Interlude)"
This goes out to you, you, my number one (number one, number one)
I won't stop until I see you, suga
You know who you are
This is for my number one, number one (I see you)
So many shows, swear wherever I go I'm gonna keep on lookin'
Lookin' for my number one, number one (Oh)
This goes out to you baby
Wherever you are (my only one)
Just know that you're mine (number one, number one)
Are you there?
I can't hear you
On the road doin' shows
Girl I can't get you off my mind
All around the world
So many faces
All these places
Girl I just need one
My number one
This is for you, you, my number one
[Crowd chanting]
Usher! Usher! Usher!
song performed by by Usher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Divorced from Dumb Reality - Number Lesson on Numb Pointless Love
DIVORCED FROM DUMB REALITY
My fun begun with number one,
swore to be true to number two,
happy to be with number three,
then to adore fair number four.
No more alive is number five,
mix stones and sticks Styx number six,
who’s in heaven, number seven?
its now too late for number eight.
Another line for number nine,
begin again with number ten.
13 May 1982 revised 20 January 2009
robi03_0199_robi03_0000 WXX_LXX
for previous version entitled Numbers see below
Numbers
My fun begun with number one,
swore to be true to number two,
happy to be with number three,
then to adore sweet number four.
No more alive is number five,
beset by tics was number six,
she’s in heaven, number seven,
its now too late for number eight.
Another line for number nine,
begin again for number ten.
13 May 1982
poem by Jonathan Robin
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