A Morning Idea
when you arrive this morning
i am already prepared
for whatever you say and would want me to do
i have changed clothes, washed my face
combed my hair, and ready to go with you
wherever and whatever happens
I am waiting
and you are so silent
looking over the window
facing the sky blue sea
and the flying white seagulls,
since i respect you
i sit beside you and
i will not ask
why
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
This Morning
When I awoke this morning
a white dove was sat on my bed.
I wondered if I was seeing things,
so rubbed my eyes and shook my head.
It opened its wings and fluttered
and grew much larger in size.
Its face changed to that of a human,
with blonde hair and blue eyes.
I immediately thought it an angel,
but dismissed it as a visual lie.
“Seeing was believing, ” it whispered,
then changed into a blue bottle fly.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Are You Ready?
Are you ready?
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to climb another mountain
Are you ready?
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to swim across the ocean
Are you ready?
Be prepared
To fill you plate
Be prepared
Dont hesitate
Be prepared
For a great big bust
Be prepared
To do what you must
Be prepared
To take a hit
Be prepared
To go for it
Be prepared
For a sneak attack
Be prepared
Just dont look back
They say, where theres a will theres a way
Weve heard, these are the things that they say
So.
Reach out for that big fat star
Stick to the groove
And go real far
Outrun the ones who steal the abar (? ? )
Are you ready?
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to blast into the future
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to rearrange the picture
Are you ready?
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Are You Waiting
What can I do Im at the door
Ive tried turning back theres no point in that now
What should I say, what should I do
Should I fix my hair oh why am I scared now
Facing the world is so hard do you know what I mean
People are so often hard and far too ready to say...hey...ohhh
Why are you waiting?
Why are you waiting?
Why are you waiting?
What if I fail (you wont fail)
Why are you waiting?
What if I fail (you wont fail, you wont fail)
Look at me stand outside the door
Like a frightened child with a nervous smile see
What should I do, what should I say
Should I speak at all
I am much too small now
Facing the world is so hard do you know what I mean
People are so often hard and far too ready to say...hey...ohhh
Why are you waiting?
Why are you waiting?
Why are you waiting?
What if I fail (you wont fail)
Why are you waiting?
What if I fail (you wont fail)
Why are you waiting?
What if I fail (you wont fail, you wont fail, you wont fail)
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vision of an old Man
A cool breeze touched his white hair
While he was walking in the mystery street
Long life has made him to bend,
In front of the things those the history made
He was old, old enough to see the world for what it is
He was old, old enough to feels the death
He was old, old enough to think about the life that passes
He was old, old enough to see the real masses
White hair, as white as the teeth
Teeth those just moved for lots of times
Blue eyes…
Which were covered by glasses, Glasses of lies? !
Hands of times aren't cruel, it's their duty
We can't stop them of the work they are doing
BUT! A time, it's our turn...
To be old, and then burn...
The old man wanted nothing instead of a simple respect
Respect, the thing that is forgotten for these people
A day that old man was young and powerful, but so prideful
And now he is old like his father that was…but now he is none full
He just needs respect, a respect for his white hair
Respect for his long life that is passed
Respect for his respectful heart
That now is tears a part.
poem by Ellias Anderson
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Black Crow
Theres a crow flying
Black and ragged
Tree to tree
Hes black as the highway thats leading me
Now hes diving down
To pick up on something shiny
I feel like that black crow
Flying
In a blue sky
I took a ferry to the highway
Then I drove to a pontoon plane
I took a plane to a taxi
And a taxi to a train
Ive been traveling so long
Howm I ever going to know my home
When I see it again
Im like a black crow flying
In a blue, blue sky
In search of love and music
My whole life has been
Illumination
Corruption
And diving, diving, diving, diving.
Diving down to pick up on every shiny thing
Just like that black crow flying
In a blue sky
I looked at the morning
After being up all night
I looked at my haggard face in the bathroom light
I looked out the window
And I saw that ragged soul take flight
I saw a back crow flying
In a blue sky
Oh Im like a black crow flying
In a blue sky
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, I have nothing to say
Imagine me sitting
On a big rock
Facing the sea
The sea is peaceful
Seagulls are flying
Behind is the morning sun
And at a distance
Is the silhouette of a horizon
Broken by a mole
Of an island
Small boats sail
Fisher folks are fishing
Children are splashing water
Their mothers are watching
Oh, I have nothing more to say
Indeed this is a happy day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Poem #2
it is when i see
you facing a
window
alone and
silent that
i begin to
think of
a love poem
i could have
been the
window beside
you where
you put your
hands
or the road
outside
where you
put all your
gaze
and i could
have loved
the position
of the sun
early that
morning
feasting on
your face
in times
like these
i make a
series of heaves
of sighs
like i am
short of air
wanting to
be at your
side but then
the walls between
us have said
it all: it is simply
impossible
even
for you to read
this love poem
that i have
just written.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My White Bicycle
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
Riding all around the street
Four oclock and theyre all asleep
Im not tired and its so late
Moving fast everything looks great.
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
See that man, hes all alone
Looks so happy but hes far from home
Ring my bell, smile at him
Better kick over his garbage bin
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
The rain comes down but I dont care
The wind is blowing in my hair
Seagulls flying in the air
My white bicycle
Lead:
Policeman shouts but I dont see him
Theyre one thing I dont believe in
Find some judge, but its not leavin
Lift both hands, his head in disgrace
Shines no light upon my face
Through the darkness, we still speed
My white bicycle and me
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
(burgess/west)
Getaway music
Copyright 1975 nazareth (dunfermline) ltd
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom Curtailed
Freedom for some
Seagulls fill the air with joy
anchored sailboats tug want to be free
sail around the world alone,
just as a Japanese fishing vessel did
ending up on the shores of Canada.
Alas, caught by the coast guard as it
prepared to sail for Chile and Peru.
Anchored in a lonely bay
waiting for its captain to catch up.
This slavery of navigation, yet it
had a year of freedom.
Seagulls fly, sleek bodies white as snow,
a storm is brewing
and the ocean is theirs alone.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Song To A Seagull
Fly silly seabird
No dreams can possess you
No voices can blame you
For sun on your wings
My gentle relations
Have names they must call me
For loving the freedom
Of all flying things
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I came to the city
And lived like old crusoe
On an island of noise
In a cobblestone sea
And the beaches were concrete
And the stars paid a light bill
And the blossoms hung false
On their store window trees
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
Out of the city
And down to the seaside
To sun on my shoulders
And wind in my hair
But sandcastles crumble
And hunger is human
And humans are hungry
For worlds they cant share
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I call to a seagull
Who dives to the waters
And catches his silver-fine
Dinner alone
Crying where are the footprints
That danced on these beaches
And the hands that cast wishes
That sunk like a stone
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Washed My Face In The Morning Dew
The first strange town I was ever in the county was hangin' a man
And nobody cared if he lived or he died and I just didn't understand
So I washed my face in the morning dew bathed my soul in the sun
Washed my face in the morning dew and kept on moving along
The second strange town I was in they were laughing at a poor crippled man
Begging for nickels and dimes on the street and I just didn't understand
So I washed my face...
The third strange town that I was in was settled peaceful and nice
The rich got richer and the poor got poorer and to me it didn't seem right
So I washed my face...
Now someday times are bound to change it can't be very far
And each injustice that I have seen will come before the bar
Then I'll wash my face in the morning dew bathe my soul in the sun
Wash my face in the morning dew and my journey will be done
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Dont Be There By Morning
By bob dylan and helena springs
Blue sky upon the horizon,
Private eye is on my trail,
And if I dont be there by morning
You know that I must have spent the night in jail.
Ive been running from memphis to l. a.
Had an appointment set sometime for today,
And if I dont be there by morning
You know that I must have gone the other way.
Finding my way back to you girl,
Lonely and blue and mistreated too.
Sometimes I think of you girl,
Is it true that you think of me too?
I got a woman living in l. a.
I got a woman waiting for my pay,
And if I dont be there by morning,
Pack my clothes, get down on your knees and pray.
Chorus
I left my woman with a twenty dollar bill.
I left her waiting, I hope shes waiting for me still.
If I dont be there by morning
You know that i, I never will.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rain Platter Against The Closed Window
The rain platter against the closed window,
lightning bolts flame down in sheer blue-white light
and outside everything flees before the storm
as if it’s a kind of gigantic beast growling.
I have not know a person like you,
who likes to dance in the pouring rain,
as if you want to touch the sheer thunder
that comes powerful like the voice of God.
You cling to me with your wet rain washed clothes
with the smell of your twisted damp hair,
with the heat of your body glowing through
the covering, with a deep need for togetherness
with a intimate thing in every single kiss,
tasting like honey and ripe fruit
and in the depths of your eyes there is happiness
while my poems, my words fall like rain on you
and in the morning I will pick fresh flowers,
arms full of grass carnations,
sweet smelling jasmine, some roses
and many, many more bunches of kisses.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Waiting For A Blue Sky
He sits upon the empty sand
and gazes up to the endless grey
The weathered face
and battered hands
Protest the soul
that carried them so far this way
The beaten skin
is turning to a wrinkled smile
And his eyes light up
and give his soul away
He said, I'm waiting for a blue sky
I am waiting for a bright day
I'll be there thru the wind and rain
Don't care what anybody says
I'm waiting for a morning bright
that fills the day with all its clean bright light
I'm waiting for a blue sky
I'm waiting for a blue sky
I'm waiting for a bright day
I'll be there thru the wind and rain
Don't care what anyone else says
I'm waiting for a morning bright
that fills the day with all its clean bright light
I'm waiting for a blue sky
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lazy Imagination On A Friday Morning
sitting on a bench at the veranda
facing the sea
calm sea with seagulls
the sun is not yet here but he is ready
with his act
first he puts his legs on the table
toes wriggling angle
direct to this point of view
the sun arrives
his thumb perfectly covers the sun
his toes like trees
filtering the morning light
he smiles and finds content
on his crazy moment
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Snow White
There once was a girl and if I remember right,
She went by the name of Snow White,
Skin white as the snow, hair black as the night,
She lived with seven men of very short height.
She washed their clothes and prepared their food,
And that’s not all, I’m afraid it gets rude,
Each one she loved and each one she screwed,
Snow white kept the dwarfs in a very good mood.
One day an old hag jealous of what she had,
Fed her an apple which had gone bad,
Then out popped a maggot, Snow White was mad,
Another little man all shrivelled and sad.
All this for a roof above her head,
Now another man to please and take to bed,
She looked at the dwarfs and angrily said,
“I’m moving to the house made of gingerbread.”
Off she went following a path of crumbs,
Sniffing the air and licking her gums,
Pushing Hansel and Grettle into the slums,
Deep into the forest with their two gay mums.
She ran to the house made of biscuit and vanilla,
Excited to see her gorgeous dream fella,
Who she found on the floor with Cinderella,
What the hell was she doing out of the cellar?
Snow White shouted and screamed at the pair,
How could he be shagging her,
She stinks of shit and is covered in hair,
Snow White felt sick just standing there.
Too sad and weak to put up a fight,
She cried herself to sleep that night,
From then on she stayed low and out of sight,
That’s the last I heard of good old Snow White.
poem by Lindsey Ashton
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Good Morning To Morning
Whoever wants good must respect the morning
whoever need a goodday must have a good morning
Morning is the mother of the day
Morning is the root of hardwork.
Morning is a time to make hay
morning is the time to gain experience of which
you will use in experimentingyour future
in order to expect a good result.
Respect the morning and tell us your result
disregard the morning and we shall you
your returns.
Good morning only comes to determaned people, people who are ready to explore it.
If you want to have a good morning, respect it
for I have repect for my morning and
I have experience an illustrious returns.
Good morning to my morning so he may do me good.
poem by Freeman David Remi Socrates
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Miss Pinkie in for the Kill
Miss Pinkie
had him spread out
upon her bed
an object
to seduce
and adore
his clothes folded
neatly on a chair
hers cast here
and there
upon the floor
there's an art
to seduction
she said
moving in
upon him
her tongue
about to lick
his pecker
he laying there
taking in
the tinted colour
of her greying hair
her eyes
opals of blue
not white
outside the window
the approaching night
and she
came down on him
and was silent
of words
but licked
and sucked
and he moved
as the motion
moved him
his pecker saluting
and he noticed
how her earrings
dangled
as she downed
upon him
and up again
for breath
oh
he thought
but saying nothing
what a way to go
what a pleasant death.
poem by Terry Collett
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Who Referees?
I don't know if I am ready or not.
And what would I not be ready for...
If I were to be ready?
And then there are those,
Who say they're always prepared.
If it doesn't come,
Whatever they are prepared for...
What would be the purpose to stay prepared?
'Just in case! '
Just in case?
Just in case of what?
Someone discovering,
They are a descendant of Mother Goose?
And the shoe they all lived in...
Was found to sit on an oil field?
And they have inherited wealth?
I don't know if I am ready or not.
And what would I not be ready for...
If I were to be ready?
I was told as a child to always do my best.
Because you never know...
What's going to happen.
And have clean underwear on!
The clean underwear I understand.
The rest of that I don't!
What's going to happen?
An 'accident'?
Well...
There goes the clean underwear theory!
What would be the purpose to stay prepared?
For whose benefit?
And when you are ready to deliver...
Will what you have prepared,
Be suitable for anyone's taste that is declared?
Suppose you know you have been ready.
And 'they' don't care how much you 'suppose'.
Who referees?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dr's Waiting Room
Silver grey hair
wrinkles like hiways on a map
a floral pattern on her dress
must have been made in 1932
she sat waiting
Silver white hair
wrinkles like ditches by the roadway
white t-shirt, blue suspenders-no belt
tan slacks
he sat waiting, with her
She reached over
kissed his cheek
he held her hand...
in their ninety's....
young lovers
poem by Joe Howell
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