Almost Twelve Noon
it is the silence
that i shall wait
when the clock strikes
twelve noon
when everyone goes out
of the door
and when i am left alone
talking
with my thoughts
it is perfect for me
when i begin to look
around
and find out that this world
is too small
for departures
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Nurse's Watch
From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'
The moon it shines,
My darling whines;
The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer
The sick both far and near.
God knoweth all;
Mousy nibbles in the wall;
The clock strikes one:--like day,
Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
The matin-bell
Wakes the nun in convent cell;
The clock strikes two:--they go
To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows;
The clock strikes three:--the wagoner
In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable door;
The clock strikes four:--'tis plain
The coachman sifts his grain.
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes;
The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone,
He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking;
The clock strikes six:--awake, arise,
Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run;
The rolls are done;
The clock strikes seven:--
'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar, too;
The clock strikes eight:--
Now bring my baby's porridge straight.
poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Identity Of Moment
At twelve of night philosopher thinks with a cup of tea
At twelve of night exuded in dream
At twelve of night cloud of blue sky burns
At twelve of night strip by strip waves fall to ground
At twelve of night full moon flashes of light
At twelve of night horn of car strikes on door
At twelve of night couple enters into dwell of love
At twelve of night loud cry of progenitors comes
At twelve of night machinegun of devilish roars
At twelve of night whistles of train strikes
At twelve of night the red sun of monument raises.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Buckled
like a highway buckled by a heat wave
so does a poem warps time like a yarn
arranged lengthwise on a loom and then
crossed by a woof, your body shape
twisted by the way i look at some distance,
you know it, you sit there and begin to write
the words, it was still 3 o'clock in the afternoon
when the people speak of arrivals and then
departures, and then you finally finish your
poem, carefully weaving and weighing and
asking which word fits what you want to drive
to the niche of your dead thoughts or to the
womb of the birth of your fertilized words
suddenly, the clock strikes 7: 09 in the evening
you forget dinner, you forget the birthday party
of a friend, you have forgotten time, and yet you
are so alive, like the stars in your window that
now have started to appear like fireflies on a
very lonely tree. You close the door. It is dark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
IT is dark (2)
like a highway buckled by a heat wave
so does a poem warps time like a yarn
arranged lengthwise on a loom and then
crossed by a woof, your body shape
twisted by the way i look at some distance,
you know it, you sit there and begin to write
the words, it was still 3 o'clock in the afternoon
when the people speak of arrivals and then
departures, and then you finally finish your
poem, carefully weaving and weighing and
asking which word fits what you want to drive
to the niche of your dead thoughts or to the
womb of the birth of your fertilized words
suddenly, the clock strikes 7: 09 in the evening
you forget dinner, you forget the birthday party
of a friend, you have forgotten time, and yet you
are so alive, like the stars in your window that
now have started to appear like fireflies on a
very lonely tree. You close the door. It is dark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Dark
O in the depths of midnight
What fancies haunt the brain!
When even the sigh of the sleeper
Sounds like a sob of pain.
A sense of awe and of wonder
I may never well define,--
For the thoughts that come in the shadows
Never come in the shine.
The old clock down in the parlor
Like a sleepless mourner grieves,
And the seconds drip in the silence
As the rain drips from the eaves.
And I think of the hands that signal
The hours there in the gloom,
And wonder what angel watchers
Wait in the darkened room.
And I think of the smiling faces
That used to watch and wait,
Till the click of the clock was answered
By the click of the opening gate.--
They are not there now in the evening--
Morning or noon--not there;
Yet I know that they keep their vigil,
And wait for me Somewhere.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bones ache, sleep evades…
Oh, grandfather clock strikes twelve;
Someone snores next door.
Its same time, but different strokes
One rich but the other broke.
tanka by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Astronomy
(originally recorded by blue oyster cult)
The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst
Out at you from their hiding place
Like acid and oil on a madmans face
His reasons tend to fly away
Like lesser birds on the four winds, yeah
Like silver scrapes in may
Now the sands become a crust
And most of you have gone away, then youre gone away
Ah, come susie dear, lets take a walk
Just out there upon the beach
I know youll soon be married
And you want to know where winds come from
Well, its never said at all
On the map that carrie reads
Behind the clock back there you know
At the four winds bar, mm, yeah
Yeah
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Four winds at the four winds bar
Two doors locked and windows barred
One door left to take you in
The other one just mirrors it
Hey!
Hey! yeah!
Hey! yeah!
Hey!
Ooh, in hellish glare and inference
The other ones a duplicate
The queenly flux, eternal light
Or the light that never warms
Yes, the light that never, never warms
Yes, the light that never, never warms
Never warms, never warms
The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst
Out at you from their hiding place
Miss carrie nurse and susie dear
Would find themselves at four winds bar
Its the nexus of the crisis
And the origin of storms
Just the place to hopelessly
Encounter time and then came me
Yo!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Call me desdenova, eternal light
These gravely digs of mine
Will surely prove a sight
And dont forget my dog, fixed and consequent
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy (astronomy) - a star, yeah
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Twelve O'Clock
Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
She Is Rising
Those pretty feet are stuck deep in the ground
And all that junk just keeps coming
Must be the time to rearrange it all
Another place another time has called
She is rising above this world
She is heading for an open door
She is rising above this world
She is heading for an open door
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
One day he wakes up to a different drum
Rhythm coming from so far away
He had no time to tell anyone
His hips were moving to a perfect sway
He is rising above this world
He is heading for an open door
He is rising above this world
He is heading for an open door
Give it up let him in
All he wants is to begin
Give it up let him in
All he wants is to begin
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
She is rising above this world
She is heading for an open door
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
Give it up let her in
All she wants is to begin
Give it up (she is rising)
Let him in (he is rising)
All he wants is to begin (all I want is to begin)
Give it up (she is rising)
Let him in (he is rising)
All he wants is to begin (all he wants is to begin)
She is rising
He is rising
All I want
All I want is to begin
She is rising
He is rising
Give it up
We are rising
She is rising
She is rising
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Travelling
a travel is a metaphor of a journey
and a journey is always
what life is all about
arrivals and departures and i see it well
at airports
and well, so well, at pre-departures
then we move inside the plane and
the doors close and we are lifted to the skies
for hours you are beside the clouds
but you never have the courage to open the window
and touch each fine cotton beside you
crazy but sometimes i think that way
opening closed windows and think not of the
prohibitions and the consequencies,
there is so much silence up there and it is the mind
that does much of the talking and you listen
always for the reminders of the stewardess
and the captain telling you that
we are 30,000 feet above sea level and out there
you see Panay Island
we will be flying for one hour and a half
it is a fine day
and then the seat belt sign is on for the
turbulence but you do not mind
you look forward to an arrival and the another
opening of a door to a destination
touchdown, the plane lands perfectly as always
no plane crash, no headlines for the daily news
but i do not really think about these matters anymore
i am thinking of the silence. I am thinking about the mind that
keeps on talking. Data. Ideas. Sad memories.
Dead parents. Sick sibling. Flowers. Trees.
The sun brightly shining behind a
Thick Cumulus cloud.
the stewardess announces an arrival, fifteen minutes
earlier than scheduled. Fast plane. My thoughts unconsumed.
we step down. we take our bags. this journey never stops.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Perfect World
In a perfect world
I wouldn't have to fantasize
you would be more than text on a computer
but the world is broken
In a perfect world
you would feel my love
you would feel my warmth
but the world is broken
In a perfect world
I wouldn't have to wait
you wouldn't have to hide me
but the world isn't perfect
In a perfect world
I would already have you
but the world is far from perfect
and I have to wait
In a close to perfect world
I could wait forever
but the world is very far from perfect
and......
I can't wait forever
poem by Kaysen Fraker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Klondike
Never mind the day we left, or the day the women clung to us;
All we need now is the last way they looked at us.
Never mind the twelve men there amid the cheering—
Twelve men or one man, ’t will soon be all the same;
For this is what we know: we are five men together,
Five left o’ twelve men to find the golden river.
Far we came to find it out, but the place was here for all of us;
Far, far we came, and here we have the last of us.
We that were the front men, we that would be early,
We that had the faith, and the triumph in our eyes:
We that had the wrong road, twelve men together,—
Singing when the devil sang to find the golden river.
Say the gleam was not for us, but never say we doubted it;
Say the wrong road was right before we followed it.
We that were the front men, fit for all forage,—
Say that while we dwindle we are front men still;
For this is what we know tonight: we’re starving here together—
Starving on the wrong road to find the golden river.
Wrong, we say, but wait a little: hear him in the corner there;
He knows more than we, and he’ll tell us if we listen there—
He that fought the snow-sleep less than all the others
Stays awhile yet, and he knows where he stays:
Foot and hand a frozen clout, brain a freezing feather,
Still he’s here to talk with us and to the golden river.
“Flow,” he says, “and flow along, but you cannot flow away from us;
All the world’s ice will never keep you far from us;
Every man that heeds your call takes the way that leads him—
The one way that’s his way, and lives his own life:
Starve or laugh, the game goes on, and on goes the river;
Gold or no, they go their way—twelve men together.
“Twelve,” he says, “who sold their shame for a lure you call too fair for them—
You that laugh and flow to the same word that urges them:
Twelve who left the old town shining in the sunset,
Left the weary street and the small safe days:
Twelve who knew but one way out, wide the way or narrow:
Twelve who took the frozen chance and laid their lives on yellow.
“Flow by night and flow by day, nor ever once be seen by them;
Flow, freeze, and flow, till time shall hide the bones of them;
Laugh and wash their names away, leave them all forgotten,
Leave the old town to crumble where it sleeps;
Leave it there as they have left it, shining in the valley,—
Leave the town to crumble down and let the women marry.
“Twelve of us or five,” he says, “we know the night is on us now:
Five while we last, and we may as well be thinking now:
Thinking each his own thought, knowing, when the light comes,
Five left or none left, the game will not be lost.
Crouch or sleep, we go the way, the last way together:
Five or none, the game goes on, and on goes the river.
“For after all that we have done and all that we have failed to do,
Life will be life and a world will have its work to do:
Every man who follows us will heed in his own fashion
The calling and the warning and the friends who do not know:
Each will hold an icy knife to punish his heart’s lover,
And each will go the frozen way to find the golden river.”
There you hear him, all he says, and the last we’ll ever get from him.
Now he wants to sleep, and that will be the best for him.
Let him have his own way—no, you needn’t shake him—
Your own turn will come, so let the man sleep.
For this is what we know: we are stalled here together—
Hands and feet and hearts of us, to find the golden river.
And there’s a quicker way than sleep? … Never mind the looks of him:
All he needs now is a finger on the eyes of him.
You there on the left hand, reach a little over—
Shut the stars away, or he’ll see them all night:
He’ll see them all night and he’ll see them all tomorrow,
Crawling down the frozen sky, cold and hard and yellow.
Won’t you move an inch or two—to keep the stars away from him?
—No, he won’t move, and there’s no need of asking him.
Never mind the twelve men, never mind the women;
Three while we last, we’ll let them all go;
And we’ll hold our thoughts north while we starve here together,
Looking each his own way to find the golden river.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silence Part III
Silence is the only thing I hear
Silence is what I fear
Silence tells me that nothing remains
Silence tells ne that its the end of your game
As silence fills the air
I begin to wish he was there
I wish I didn't let him walk out that door
And I hate that there's nothing I can do anymore
To make him mine again
I love him more than anything but I didn't know it then
And now silence is all that's left
Silence because of an unnecessary bereft
The silence rings in my ears
Because I let go of what I should have kept near
The tears pour out of my eyes
As I lay there in silence - but that's no surprise
My Search For Silence
I'll sit here in my bedroom
where the silence is sometimes deafening
(when I have thoughts on my mind
that need to be discussed) .
As I clear my mind to listen
to the silence
I realize there is no silence here.
The ticking of the old wind-up alarm clock
becomes so loud...
I feel compelled to move
my ''experiment'' to another room.
I find a comfortable spot
in the bathroom.
Sitting on the bench that normally holds
the all-important reading material
I begin to listen for the silence.
It takes very little time
for me to realize this is not the room
for silence.
The sink begins dripping
almost as if to mock me
and say ''Silence...yeah right! ''
I tighten the faucet only
to be laughed at by the toilet
as it makes it's usual
groan while it levels off the water in the bowl.
This is surely not the room for silence.
I head to the kitchen.
There must be silence here.
I find it still and quiet until I really listen.
The flourescent light above the stove
is whining as if to say ''I'm here! ''
I turn it off and begin my quest for silence
once more.
The refridgerator lets out a God-awful noise
that makes me jump.
It only last a few seconds but it's enough
to ruin the mood.
I begin to wonder if silence
can ever truly be found
in a house that is lived in.
I go sit in the living room.
As I plop down on the micro-suede couch
and listen to the music it makes against my flannel pajamas
I laugh.
Who wants silence?
I love the sounds of my life.
This house is full of sounds...
love, laughter, water dripping, lights flickering,
the clocks ticking....
and I'm listening
and loving every sound!
I can not wait for two o’clock to come
I cannot wait for two o’clock to come
to climb on my motorbike
and to ride to the place
where the words of other poets
get life and energy
and bring bliss and burning beauty
and sometimes sincerity
or stark reality
as magic to me.
I cannot wait for two o’clock to come
to hear the words
of a master and to find something
in his thoughts that I can make mine,
as if it was buried in my soul
just waiting for the sun and rain
and interaction to sprout
growing green like a living thing.
I cannot wait for two o’clock to come
to read my own poetry
and to see what other
people make of it
and to know
if my words are truly
hitting their mark.
I cannot wait for two o’clock to come
and to experience something great
that makes life worth living
and perhaps for some time
to sit near the presence
of the Immortal One
that gives man the ability
to turn words into the magic
that life aught to be.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Middle Of The Crowd
in the middle of the crowd
where there is so much noise
all mouths talking
with no one listening
all arms and hands
moving and shouting
and all feet walking to
and fro like grandfather's
clock's mechanical pendulum
when the world seems to be
crowded not just with people
but with words
dishonest words and other
things that we do not really mean
why not try the silence of the stars
outside this crowd
on the grass, soft, soft grass
with the wind, cool cool winds
why not try the silence of the stars
under the sky
why not spend a little time with
the moon
let us try silence for a while
who knows
this world may still have peace
who knows
our overbeating hearts may
find its needed rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mrs Cinderella
Mrs. cinderella
Please dont pound on my chest
I can not see you now
I can not have seen you before
When it turns twelve oclock
Ill be back by myself
And youll be back in his arms
As mrs. somebody else
Mrs. cinderella
Please dont knock down my door
Youve been around the world
And Ive been around my block
When I hear you say (when I hear you say)
I hear somebody talking (I hear somebody talking)
And when I hear you talking (and when I hear you talking)
I hear somebody say (I hear somebody say)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Perfect World
Everybodys dreamin bout a perfect world
Where you could have everthing your heart desires
A perfect boy will meet a perfect girl
And the perfect love will set the world on fire
Well what you ganna do, when one and one makes three
And a vision of the future is impossible to see
Nobodys perfect, not even a perfect fool,
But if youll have faith in me
Ill keep faith in you
Aint no livin in a perfect world
There aint no perfect world anyway
Aint no livin in a perfect world
But well keep on dreamin of livin in a perfect world
Keep on dreamin of livin in a perfect world
Everybodys got secrets, now you know that its true
They talk about me and theyll talk about you
Something happens to the pledges of trust
Down through the years they begin to rust
Now here we are amid the tears and the laughter
Still waiting for our happily ever after
Well keep on dreamin as long as we can
Try to remember and youll understand
Aint no lvin in a perfect world
There aint no perfect world anyway
Aint no livin in a perfect world
But well keep on dreamin of livin in a perfect world
Keep on dreamin of livin in a perfect world
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In My Room
I stand alone and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
And in the room locked up inside me
The cutout magazines remind me
I sit and wait alone in my room
And in my room against the wall
There is picture very small
A photograph I took some years ago
It shows a picture of the room I know
I sit and wait alone in my room
Chorus
The walls are white and in the night
The room is lit by electric light
I stand and watch the clock
I only wait for it to stop
The doors are shut and all the windows lock
The only sound is from the clock
I sit and wait alone in my room
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Yaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!