Watch Out!
The best and finest work of art is stored in a house,
That looked rather grand and mansionly to put,
So much framed I made of this home for the living
That you even could not object and learn anew.
Do it and examine it, but do not let go of your life!
poem by Naveed Akram
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0012 The House of Metaphor
After you’ve negotiated that artfully-conceived
sharp elbow bend in the long, grand drive
through the fields of its estate,
and it hoves into view,
you always gasp – this palace
- no, more like a temple with living quarters –
set deep in the countryside, yet as sure
as one in Athens or in Rome;
yet that too is artfully contrived -
the slight mound it’s built on,
the cunning proportion that magnifies,
disguises, with its public face
the aptness of a family home;
its public rooms so grand, just echoing enough
to magnify a public speech; its family rooms
smallish, cosy; love and friendliness
live here. It says to the world,
stability; tradition re-affirmed; yet
this is our familiar family home.
It has its rooms, as rooms should be,
devoted to each family pursuit:
here’s the grand library
but here, with books so evidently, lovingly well read;
you almost missed the little girl, her hair and knees
curled round a book, deep in that leather green armchair;
the study, where your breathing seems to change,
there’s such a still and living silence here;
the nursery that emanates a lifetime’s care;
the children’s bedrooms set around it,
through which you ran and laughed and ran again; the window seats
from which you looked so wistfully
as childhood’s assurance faded into teenage questioning;
a house to leave,
a house to come back to;
a metaphor
as living, haunting, as the poetry it is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New house
Stepping onto the hard floor,
no memories to be shared here,
thoughts are neutral no emotion,
the unnerving stench of staleness,
and unlived in state feels so impersonal,
so uncomfortable,
memories piled high in our old home,
and stored like books in my head,
it feels so cold here,
unexplainable feeling of fear,
no aroma of delicious food flowing through the house,
the rooms are not personalised,
just stripped bare,
dust flies through the air,
it can't be called a home yet,
it's just a house with inhabitants,
it can only be called mine,
but i will continue to see our previous house as home,
it'll take getting used to,
it'll take time,
i'll try and make it feel like mine now,
living in the new house.
poem by Emily Summers
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Examination
Abolish examination.
And who are you to take examination?
Do you know whom to examine
And how to examine?
If you are so keen to take examination
Examine yourself first.
It is not easy to examine self
And pass the examination
scoring top.
Examine self while alone
Alone at night
Alone at bed.
Dare not examine others and
Dare not examine especially children.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Object
You know you turn me on
Eyes so white and legs so long
But don't try to talk to me
I won't listen to your lies
You're just an object in my eyes
You're just an object in my eyes
Sophisticated smile
You seduce in such fine style
But don't try to fool me
'cause i can see through your disguise
You're just an object in my eyes
You're just an object in my eyes
But i don't mind
I just don't care
I've got no objection
To you touching me there
Object object
Object object
Object object
Object object
You know just what to do
Lick your lips
And i want you
But don't try to hold me
'cause i don't want any ties
You're just an object in my eyes
You're just an object in my eyes
But i don't mind
I just don't care
I've got no objections
To you touching me there
You're just an object object
Object object
You're just an object
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Simplest Reason I Can Give You
i wish to build a house
away from here
i have stored the necessary
colors of the paints
on the walls of my mind
i wish to stay in that house
alone
i will be in the company
of paper and
pen
i will fence it
it will be high
simply because
our house is not
my home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My grand dad
I remember you grand dad
Back since I was only three
I remember you granddad
How much you adored me
I remember you grand dad
How you made me smile
I remember you grand dad
You made my toddler years worthwhile
I remember you grand dad
Your lovely smell of tobacco
I remember you grand dad
The love for others you would show
I remember you grand dad
When I came to see you, you would give me a jellybean
I remember you grand dad
You always made me feel like a queen
I remember you grand dad
And I miss you everyday
I Will Be Home Again
(words & music by lou singer - benny benjamin)
I will be home again
Dont worry dear
Ill be home again
So wont you dry the tear
The promise in your eyes
Will see me through
Therell be brighter skies
When I come back to you
A-a-ah sweetheart
The love youre giving
Thrills my hungry heart
You make my life worth the living
Although we are apart
I will be home again
Well start anew
Darling until then
Our dreams will have to do
A-a-ah sweetheart
The love youre giving
Thrills my hungry heart
You make my life worth the living
Although we are apart
I will be home again
Well start anew
Darling until then
Our dreams will have to do
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Home
It is not a house, and so it is not a piece
Of structure, not the roof or
The floor
Or the kitchen or the living room,
My home is where I grow
Wherever it is
Where I become fully myself
Alive &
Prosperous in my endeavors
It is where my most important
Work is started
And finished and
Appreciated
In this sense my home becomes
A certain place
Where I am accepted
& affirmed
& appreciated
Where I have self-esteem
Where I
Do not feel this sense of
Sickness & death
This alienation
It is when I travel so far
Searching
And it is where
I must return and always desiring
& dreaming
To be back
And find it again
With all anticipation
This is also my home
My home is not what I buy
And pay
It is what I made
For myself
My personal touch
My own way of showing
What I am
And can be
And as one what one writer once wisely puts it
My home is not a house
It is me
It is people
It is the people around me
It is the love that I give
And they give in return
That makes
My home and it is where
Despite everything
That I am truly
Always
Homeward bound.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Examine Yourself
Examine yourself,
Overcome your odds,
Learn for the better,
And, by loving one another;
For, we need to change everyday towards righteousness.
12th July 2012 with car number, 'E 8068 FPD';
16th July 2012 with car number, 'E 2340 DJJ';
And like the muse of the Underground Park House! !
With, number 1060 behind your car.
Examine yourself!
For, in the same land was the biggest underground cave of the world! ! However, you need righteousness to overcome your odds.
Put it back where it belongs to,
And, learn to do the right thing always;
For, changing yourself positively needs the laid down laws to back you up.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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If a dog will not come to you after he has looked you in face, you should go home and examine your consicence.
quote by Woodrow Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.
quote by Woodrow Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiny Teachers
If we looked to our children,
So simple and pure.
If we looked to our children,
We could learn so much more.
If we looked to our children,
We could rise above.
If we looked to our children,
We could learn how to love.
If we looked to our children,
We could find a way to be free.
If we looked to our children,
We could learn how to see.
If we looked to our children,
Without being so stern.
If we looked to our children,
How much we could learn.
poem by Cindy Kocsis
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Lovingly Do The Work
Work is
Life...
Life is work...
Any work is not
Wrong...
Without work is
Worng...
Human every budy works
Wny way too work...s
Work is making you...
Work is given good life
For you...and your's...
So...
Understand too work
Earn money too work...
Live life with your work...
Love too work...
Learn to do the work...
Lovingely do the work...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Life's Grandest Things
What is the greatest work of all?
The work that comes every day;
The work that waits us on ev'ry hand
Is work that, for us, is truly grand,
And the love of work is our pay.
What is the highest life of all?
It is living, day by day,
True to ourselves and true to the right,
Living the truth from dawn till the night,
And the love of truth for our pay.
What is the grandest thing of all-
Is it winning Heaven some day?
No, and a thousand times say no;
'Tis making this old world thrill and glow
With the sun of love till each shall know
Something of Heaven here below,
And God's well done for our pay.
poem by Jean Blewett
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That Was My House
(I had spent my childhood in Kashmir/India.)
Once upon a time
that house
housed my home
narrow lanes led to outside roads
which I used to roam.
Once upon a time
that house
woke up with temple bells
loud prayers stirred the souls
with blowing of conch shells.
Once upon a time
that house
had an open window
cool breeze refreshed me
with the chirrup of a sparrow.
Once upon a time
that house
overlooked the river
I could jump and swim
like an expert diver.
Once upon a time
that house
had a long kaeni (balcony)
made all the children play together
by tough grand old Kakni. (grand mother)
Once upon a time
that house
basked under the sun
warmth spread to people around
everyone used to have fun.
Once upon a time
that house
witnessed many celebrations
gupp bacche/bhand and melodious Henze*
were hallmark of jubilations.
That house, like a dream to me now
and may remain that for ever
its indelible impression, admit I must
can never be erased, my dear.
-----xxxx-------
* dancer/singers and singing of wedding rhythem.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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The Desperate Woman
She stands there, dripping saliva
She is sick and going wirry
She reampts slowly like a tortoise
Leading down to the loo
And back into the thatched house
She was, and has anew born
On the mat, striped palm leaves mat
But why is she
not in the medicine house
She has delivered yesterday
On the river of life,
she counts her life
and desperate she is of knife
So life is dying in her eyes
With a need of help
Coming from the new home
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Home
(alan jackson)
In a small town down in georgia over forty years ago
Her maiden name was musik til she met that jackson boy
They married young like folks did then, not a penny to their name
But they believe the one you vow to love
Should always stay that same
And on the land his daddy gave him, a foundation under way
For a love to last forever or until their dying day
They built a bond thats strong enough to stand the test of time
And a place for us to turn to when our lives were in a bind
And they made their house from a toolshed
Grandaddy rolled down on two logs
And they builts walls all around it
And they made that house a home
They taught us bout good living
They taught is right and wrong
Lord therell never be another place
In this world Ill call home
My momma raised five children, four girls then there was me
She found her strength with faith in gof and love of family
She never had a social life, home was all she knew
Except the time she took a job, to play a bill or two
My daddy skinned his knuckles on the cars that he repaired
He never earned much money but he gane us all he had
He never made the front page but he did the best he couold
And folks drove their cars from miles around
To let him look underneath the hood
And they made their house from a toolshed
Grandaddy rolled down on two logs
And they builts walls all around it
And they made that house a home
They taught us bout good living
They taught is right and wrong
Lord therell never be another place
In this world Ill call home
No therell never be another place in this world
That Ill call home
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Band
Hey, there! Listen awhile! Listen awhile, and come.
Down in the street there are marching feet, and I hear the beat of a drum.
Bim! Boom!! Out of the room! Pick up your hat and fly!
Isn't it grand? The band! The band! The band is marching by!
Oh, the clarinet is the finest yet, and the uniforms are gay.
Tah, rah! We don't go home -
Oom, pah! We won't go home -
Oh, we shan't go home, and we can't go home when the band begins to play.
Oh, see them swinging along, swinging along the street!
Left, right! buttons so bright, jackets and caps so neat.
Ho, the Fire Brigade, or a dress parade of the Soldier-men is grand;
But everyone, for regular fun, wants a Big-Brass-Band.
The slide-trombone is a joy alone, and the drummer! He's a treat!
So, Rackety-rumph! We don't go home -
Boom, Bumph! We won't go home -
Oh, we shan't go home, and we can't go home while the band is in the street.
Tooral-ooral, Oom-pah!
The band is in the street!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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My Life's Been Grand
(Merle Haggard/Terry Gordon)
My life's been grand
I been a hand at livin' it up all the way
I've had good times and bad times and hard times and done time
But life's been a blessing every day
My life's been grand
You know I'd write home and tell 'em
But they wouldn't believe how good my luck's been
And if it ended today I've been all the way
My life's been grand
My life's been grand
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Yellow House on Tucker Avenue
Saturday mornings brought promises,
of starting over,
beginning anew.
Trying to make the week over
and re-invent my life,
a life that I wanted with you.
The house sat high against a slope,
far enough away from the road to make it seem inaccessible
Painted a cheerful yellow, the colour
of happiness
And there in the yellow house on Tucker Avenue
I imagined my life with you.
Loving you in rooms filled
with laughter,
days and nights turning into years
In a house painted the colour of sunshine
and happy children that looked like you,
There in that yellow house on Tucker Avenue
I created a life spent with you.
The weekends gave way to reality
And the house sits deserted still
Steadily fading into memory, alone against the sturdy hill.
Abandoned to the fantasy and the careless dreams that I knew,
When I pass by the house that a love built
That yellow house on Tucker Avenue
poem by Karen Touzalin
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