Rickety Chair
On a chair ricketier than himself
He is awake in his slumber
Slumber that comes when days are long
Yet numbered…..
In the relished stupor
The lost years show up as dreams
The remnants announcing
That he’s still alive!
He’s though never sure
He was ever part of them
They must be his imagination,
A myth or a tale he loves to believe.
The wrinkles mock the idea
That there was once a smoothness
The dimming world around his chair
Taunts to say the sparkle was a deceit
Did youth really ever embrace him?
It came to fleet away in a moment
Leaving him on the rickety chair to lament!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Cogitation
if this chair does not exist
will i, this, chair, me, who asks,
if this chair, exists at all,
can i, exist, too? will i be dependent
on the thought of a chair
a thought of me that i think i
can touch, that i think thoughts
touching this thought of a chair
does the chair think about me,
i ask, looking for that therefore
beside the chair that i thought
is a chair, that i thought is I,
am, therefore, a chair, thinking
chair, on four feet?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Chair Is No Longer Just A Chair
it is your experience that
gives you more meaning to all those which
you think
have been too common and
insignificant,
perhaps
now you must have realized as you sit upon a chair
that someone used to sit there
and that someone waited for another to be with her
that on the same chair
there were some fears
and pains and even longings
and hopes
unrealized and by then
you see that chair not just a chair
you sit there
and you ask it
for this chair though muted by wood
will always have
a story to tell....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Arrow The Chair And The Falling Star
the chair is silent
it has feet but it does not leave
it screeches sometimes
because you are heavy
with your load (this burden
this baggage of the
soul)
the chair faces the sea
because your finger points to
a falling star
and the chair like you
makes a wish
like you
it wishes that the moon
may soon have lips
that you can
kiss throughout the night
unlike you
the chair never dreams of arms.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Chair Don't make the Man
People see me in this chair and whisper look at that poor man over there. They believe my life is wasted all because I’m in this chair. Well I got some to say that I want you all to hear. Just like clothes don’t really make a man neither does a chair. The chair is just what I use to get me for here to there. Just like people who walk use their legs to get them everywhere. Because besides the chair I’m just like you; I laugh, I cry and yes I have sex too. Now that you all know the next time you see me don’t whisper look at that poor man over there. In fact don’t say anything just remember the chair don’t make the man.
Red Chair Fade Away
Red chair fade away
bring back memories
Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Grandpa's fairy tale
Red chair round the fire
Rainbows all the time
We're all going higher
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Bring back memories
Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away....
Red chair fade away....
song performed by by Bee Gees from Bee Gees 1st
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You know the first time I sat in the chair I felt anything but up, it was very emotional for me. I had a chair in my hotel room, a chair at rehearsal, and I was trying to spend as much time as I could in the chair.
quote by Gregory Hines
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Big Green Chair
Look over there. See the big green chair. Its my favorite place, the chair over there.
I sit there quite often thinking of this and sometimes that. Sometimes when I sit there I wear a hat. Pink of course, nothing else would do. I even have pink shoe, the other one blue.
When I'm sleeply sometimes I crawl up in the big green chair. It smells of dad, his name is brad. But only mom call him brad, to me he's dad.
But my favorite thing about the big green chair is when dad calls my name,
Lainey, my dear, come and sit with me here in my chair, my big green chair.
poem by Brad Milner
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Blue Chair
Now its just you and me, my blue friend
And you say that its you that shes thinking of
And our affair must end
But if its you that shes thinking of
I think my broken heart might mend
Chorus: now its my turn to talk and your turn to think
Your turn to buy and my turn to drink
Your turn to cry and my turn to sink down in the blue chair
Down in the blue chair
Now Ive made up my mind Ive made my mistake
And I know that she cries for you
When shes barely awake
Well shes going to bend your mind
Well I hope it dont break
Chorus
Down in the blue chair
We can watch our troubles rise
Like smoke into the air
And drift up to the ceiling
Down in the blue chair
You can feel just like a boy or a man
And next minute you can find yourself kneeling
Down in the blue chair
Theyre boasting of loving the daylights right out of her in the small hours
Down in the blue chair
You say that your love lasts forever when you know the night just hours
And still I want her right now
Not any minute, hour or day
And wherever she is tonight
I want her anyway
I suppose she never said to you,
You were just in the way
Chorus
Down in the blue chair
Down in the blue
Blue becomes you
Down in the blue chair
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Man (Faraway)
old man, old man,
sitting in your chair;
tell me the story
behind your faraway stare.
i can see by your wrinkles,
and the scars on your hands.
it's been a long journey
from that faraway land.
tell me who and why you fought,
tell me what you won and lost.
tell me who that you loved,
and who paid the cost.
tell me what you learned,
would you do it all again?
have you made peace with yourself,
are you ready to go 'round the bend?
old man, old man....
sitting in your chair;
tell me the story
behind your faraway stare....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Plain
I was alone with a chair on a plain
Which lost itself in an empty horizon.
The plain was flawlessly paved.
Nothing, absolutely nothing but the chair and I
were there.
The sky was forever blue,
No sun gave life to it.
An inscrutable, insensible light
illuminated the infinite plain.
To me this eternal day seemed to be projected --
artificially-- from a different sphere.
I was never sleepy nor hungry nor thirsty,
never hot nor cold.
Time was only an abstruse ghost
since nothing happened or changed.
In me Time still lived a little
This, mainly, thanks to the chair.
Because of my occupation with it
I did not completely
lose my sense of the past.
Now and then I'd hitch myself, as if I were a horse, to the chair
and trot around with it,
sometimes in circles,
and sometimes straight ahead.
I assume that I succeeded.
Whether I really succeeded I do not know
Since there was nothing in space
By which I could have checked my movements.
As I sat on the chair I pondered sadly, but not desperately,
Why the core of the world exuded such black light.
Musical chair
Musical chair is not mine
I can not share the musical chair with others.
I never play with musical chair
I do not believe musical chair can be played.
I believe mine is mine
And yours is yours.
I can not take away your right
You can not take away mine.
The world is here, look
With a musical chair.
I am here and also you are.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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World War Veteran.
he limped from chair
To chair, walked along
With the help of a stick,
Sat on the steps
Of the memorial,
recollecting his years of war,
Hunger, pet infested farms,
His lady love of war days,
Their short stay together,
The joy they shared,
The mud which he crossed,
How his stockings took
away his skin after month's
Of wearing, the death
Of his fellow soldiers,
Burst of shells, heavy bombings,
Search for water,
Trip through forests on day's end,
The joyous arrival of news
Spontaneously of winning
The war, his return from war
With one leg less
To his dear wife an daughter,
the passing of years
In peace, leaving his wife dead
His lonely life with dreary dreams
Of his war days to waken up
To a morning of peaceful sky
Looking at him through the window.
Ravikiran arakkal
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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To Dream
'Neath these hallowed halls of dreams
Came a stirring blush of aware
Deeply felt-too soon to melt
The warmth of 'truly care';
Truly care grew into love
Where dreams make their way
In tender arms of loves embrace
My dream came true this day;
Slumber, oh sweet slumber, sublime
I thank you from my core
For showing me, loves divinity
With the promise of forevermore;
poem by Theodora Onken
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You give me electric chair. I no afraid of that chair! You're one of capitalists. You is crook man too. Put me in electric chair. I no care!
quote by Giuseppe Zangara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boiling Point
Boiling Point
What no shame
Broken Dreams
What no shame
I have come for you
Since I was to die
Boil to unknown sights
Make believe broken dreams
Broken dreams
Boiling point
Point of no return
Fears and dreams disguise
Lifes noose
Can I
Face the chair (electric chair I assume)
Face the chair
Face the chair
Boiling point
Falling to darkness
Where the sky turns red
Turns into stark features
Letting you wish you would live
You wish you would live
What no shame
Boiling point
Broken dreams
What no shame
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Chair
Grandma’s chair is rockin’, but she ain’t sittin’ there,
so who’s that sittin’ in grandma’s favourite chair?
And whose is that shadow standing by the wall?
Could it be our grandma..? ‘No, not at all.’
I’ve no idea whose shadow that could be,
it’s certainly not mine and you’re behind me.
Who is that sittin’ where grandma sat each night?
and could it be the shadow is a trick of the light?
Could it be our granddad standing by the wall?
‘No, it’s not granddad, he wasn’t that tall.
The chair’s still rockin’, but the shadow has gone.
The chair has stopped; they’ve both moved on.’
poem by Orlando Belo
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Dog Trap
s/he got a new dog &
like many dogs before it,
it shed & it jumped up on the
sofa, the comfy chair in the
living room, etc.-
in regards to the prior dogs in
her/his life, s/he had
"suffered" the hair deposits,
the smell of dog, be it dry or
wet, and the rest of the
litany of petty problems
which dog owners will claim
when going to great lengths
to tame & beat their happy dog
into submission-
one day,
s/he came up with an idea
as to how to get the dog off the
chair & the sofa-
s/he got up early in the morning,
wrapped the chair in a sheet &
then subsequently wrapped that
sheet in electrical tape, masking
tape &
that really sticky gray duct tape,
all with the adhesive side facing up-
after the chair was engulfed in tape,
s/he left the house &
went to work.
low & behold,
when the once-frustrated dog owner
returned to her/his abode that evening,
there was a whimper coming from the
living room-
the dog, a shaggy dog whose resemblance
to a frayed towel
was uncanny,
had gotten itself stuck on the tape &
the pulling of its hair in the attempt to escape
the tape-engulfed chair,
was too much for the poor dog,
who had been undergoing the pain for
who knows how long-
the satisfied owner
talked conceitedly to the dog,
asking it what the problem was
(as if the poor dog had any idea what
this horrible human was babbling) &
then got down on her/his knees to
help the dog from the trap that had
worked out just the way the owner
suspected that it would,
because the dog never set foot on the
chair or the sofa again.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Old Blue Chair
There's a blue rockin' chair
Sittin' in the sand
Weathered by the storms
And well-oiled hands
It sways back and forth
With the help of the winds
And seems to always be there like an old trusted friend
I've read a lot of books
Wrote a few songs
Looked at my life where it's goin' where it's gone
I've seen the world through a bus winshield
But nothing compares
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it when I sit in that Old Blue Chair
From that chair I've caught
A few fish and some rays
And I've watched boats sail
In and out of cinnamon bays
I let go of a lover
That took a piece of my heart
Prayed many times for forgiveness
And a brand new start
I've read a lot of books
Wrote a few songs
Looked at my life where it's goin' where it's gone
I've seen the world trough a bus winshield
But nothing compares
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it when I sit in that Old Blue Chair
That chair was my bead one new year's night
When I passed out from too much
Malibu and Dye
And I woke up to a hundred mosquito bites I swear
Got em' all sittin' right there in that Old Blue Chair
There's a blue rockin' chair
Sittin' in the sands
Weathered by the storms
And well-oiled hands
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want to Meet the Person who Made the Chair
I want to meet
The person who made
The chair
Kings and Politicians
Fight for the chair
Fight may be fair unfair
One goes other comes
The chair remains
Always Waiting
For the old to go
New to occupy
I keep thinking
If only benches were there
Hundreds
Could have sat on them
Fights and killings
Would have been less
Less enmity
Less blood shed
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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