At 55
she sleeps with the
tv on
at 6 o'clock in the morning
in the kitchen the
breakfast is
cold
he walks upstairs
waiting for the sunrise
sparrows are busy
feeding the fledgelings
he sits on a chair
by the veranda overlooking
the sea
there alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Waiting For The Sunrise
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can take your hand and stroll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go on the streets and see the people smile.
Give me your hand,
So I could tell you that things will be alright.
The rooms still dark,
But it wont be so long,
And I can take you outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the park and roll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the docks and watch the boats go by.
Come on, love, give me your hand,
And things will be alright.
The rooms still cold,
But it wont be so long,
That we can go outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I could see your hair shining in the air.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can see the sky reflected in your eyes.
Come on, love, dont be depressed,
Things will be alright.
The rooms too low,
But it wont be so long,
That we can be outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Sparrows
on the corner of the ventilator sits
two sparrows
sits as if two kids
two sparrows
sreek sreek sreek
the old clock strikes
Tik Tik Tik
poem by Mohammad Jahoorul Islam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As The Master Suggests
Wasn't it just yesterday,
It was said...
He was too incompetent to lead.
And today they hope he succeeds,
To keep them protected...
From experiencing total economic devastation.
And yes,
The situation is a mess.
But guess who's gotta clean up...
After they have treated themselves,
Less than guests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda,
As the master suggests?
Then joke...
Sitting from a chair,
Known to be the master's favorite seat.
Overlooking the cleanup.
And sharing jokes with similar minds...
About eating fried chicken,
Watermelon.
And who commits all the crime!
Producing babies 'they' can't feed.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
Me!
Wasn't it just yesterday,
It was said...
He was too incompetent to lead.
And today they hope he succeeds,
To keep them protected...
From experiencing total economic devastation.
And yes,
The situation is a mess.
But guess who's gotta clean up...
After they have treated themselves,
Less than guests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda,
As the master suggests?
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We can also fly
A winter afternoon
Just snowed and
Everything white everywhere
I was waiting in one of the busy
Airports of United States of America
To board a flight to New York
Delayed flights
I was wandering in the lounge
Afternoon turning to twilight
So soon, was my wonder
Checking in,
Security checks
Announcements
Calling people by name to board
All were busy
And I was waiting for
The announcement for
Boarding my flight
Overlooking the aircrafts
And people boarding thereon
Through the tall glass panel
And I happened to see
Two sparrows
Chasing one another
And perching on cables
And wires those were running along
The walls of the lounge
Did I hear them talking
It looked like that
One sparrow telling
'Why they are so busy'
The other answering
'They have rescheduled
Most of the flights and
They are trying to accommodate
Everything within a particular time'
'Oh, I see.
But how come they are not taking
A note of us'
'Why should they take a note of us'
'Because, we can also fly'
'You only can fly
But they make others too fly'
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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What is life? Let us talk about it
ok, let us talk about life
my cat Kuting has just given birth
to three kittens
she must have loved their fathers
too much
three for i love you
the bitch in the house is pregnant again
we are sad
she is having a relationship with a native
dog
the one that takes trash for breakfast
no definite master
and house
a vagabond
she loves
i think and that is what we too believe
a cat has nine lives
and with her three kittens she gets
an extended twenty-seven lives
wow, that is amazing
cats indeed know how to live a longer time
than us
people who is into
birth controls
life is an early morning tea
a view from the veranda to the sea
a sunrise
a run to take the dip of the salt of the sea
closing your eyes
and see everything that this world is offering
life is a march of the ants
keeping an empire stable
feeding the queen
to ensure a birth of a hundred or more
soldiers
life is what we are here for
who thinks about death tomorrow? Nobody.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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a picture of roger Y.
he falls asleep
rocking himself on
a molave
chair
he is the model
of life in
old exhaustion
his mouth is open
the wind enters freely
his hands on the arm
of a chair
his feet on the marble
railing of the
veranda of the house
hard and cold.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Cold Cup Of Coffee...
must i know now the
significance of a coffee getting cold
after it is being served
on my table?
how do i not notice time passing?
like a breeze from the sea
because i have been preoccupied
looking at the horizon
anticipating the glory of the
sunrise that
i am waiting for most of my time
having spent
nights on isolated veranda
away from friends
and relatives?
a cold coffee now
that i regret having asked
and just like the rest of
my other coffees
it shall remain as it is
coffee on its brim
returned
untouched.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monobloc Poetry
man sits
on mono bloc
facing a woman
standing beside
a mono bloc
chair, man looks over
the window
woman leaves
mono bloc chair
solo mono bloc
on a monologue
monochromatic
point of view of
a mono bloc
chair overlooking
a window without
sun
night rain
fog and dog howl
mono bloc chair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About Being Extrasensitive The Places Around You...
I SEE sparrows gathering
little pieces of leaves and
light husks
for the building of
their nests
it is time for laying eggs
this summer
when the winds are a little bit
colder
i see leaves falling
the trees getting bald
becoming like new fingers
under the sky
i see grass spreading
slowly turning brown
like muscovado sugar
i see mountains
where clouds hang like
smoke from pipes
of old men waiting
still on there
veranda
i see roads where old cars pass
leaving an eddy
of dusts
slowly settling down again
like a light brown mantle
of the breakfast
table
you should have seen me
how foolishly have i waited for you
in this old house
where we first met
many years ago
you should have felt how a poem like this
can be written
because waiting can be an agony
and without being extra sensitive to all that i see beyond all these longings
the horizon over there
the mountains and grass and roads running without ending
and eddies of dust of old cars that conk and honk
and winds that manipulate the helplessness of leaves
as cold as feelings of being
ruthlessly abandoned
without all these
life could have long surrendered
could have long ceased
like a calendar
on the last day of Christmas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Squalor & Chips
My angel of the night
came down the stairs of morning
his hair, brown locks of greasiness,
his mouth, those sweet lips, yawning.
He stopped three steps from earth that day
and gazed at trainers in his way
and then as I began to pray,
stepped over and ignored them.
He took four steps across the room
he missed the cloth, the pan, the broom
and squashed cold chips, bare footed
upon the kitchen flooring!
Alas my fallen angel there,
sat his bottom on a chair
and sweeping hand through tousled hair,
ate his breakfast without care.
Without thought for chips all squashed,
flattened on that kitchen floor.
A floor so needy for a wash
as I exclaimed, "Oh my dear God! "
I found the mop, the bucket too
I cleaned the floor, mopped up the goo
and then I had a notion to,
but my angel wouldn't let me through.
Squashed chips on the kitchen floor
last nights washing up,
sticky table, dustbins full
and an empty coffee cup.
poem by Ruth Walters
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A Cat's Tale...
it comes back again
i have shooed it away yesterday
it walks on top of the roof
silently it sits there
at noon,
it stares at passersby
when i return from work
it is still there
waiting
i do not know where it comes from
and i do not like it
it is white and does not make any sound at all
i shooed it away still
and has no plan feeding it
there is something disturbing
not about this insistent cat
it's this struggle within, the storms that people do not see
perhaps, this cat
and i will still drive it away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Morning Chat With You
a morning chat with you
sweet nothings
words of concern
like the simplest hello
and little talks about
anything
something that has nothing
to do with burdens
something so light
like a trivial
nonsense, a casual
conversation beside my
cup of coffee
at the veranda
on a window overlooking
the sea
with outlines of the mountains
stretching a line
on a horizon of blue and
gray
like sunshine on my shoulder
and then i dress myself
and face my own wars
out there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sitting On The Veranda
Sitting on the veranda
watching the world go on its way.
The sun is out and the sky is blue,
you can see forever
as you rest back in your chair
with not a worry in the world to bother you.
Just sitting on the veranda
watching the world go on its way.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves
that is in front of you,
a gentle breeze to ease
the weariest of souls
as you sit and relax on the veranda
leaving the rest of the world
a million miles away.
21 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Deciding On A Disposition For The Day...
early this morning
before my walk
i go up the house and
stay for a while at the veranda
overlooking a garden
of anthuriums and
mahogany trees
i take some long breaths
feeling my lungs with
fresh air
i stretch my arms and legs
and breathe some more
i put some numbers of this
inhale and exhale
cycles
and then
last night's storm inside my head
is fully
overtaken
i tell myself
i'll make this day
perfect.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old Chiming Clock
There's a clock on the shelf in the old lady's house
and I have a bad feeling inside,
for it ticks and tocks and it chimes every hour
and I fear it marks time till she dies.
She sits all day long by the fire in a shawl,
knitting in rhythm to its beat.
and she seems quite oblivious to time passing by
as she stops now and then to make tea.
It's dark in her house and the furniture is old
the curtains are brown where they've aged.
I'd really like to stay but it's getting very cold
and the clock on the shelf says it's late.
She rocks in her chair, by the fire, most days,
knitting and watching the TV
Sometimes she will hum a funny little song,
then she'll talk to the cat or to me.
I bring her a newspaper every day
and a loaf of bread twice a week
On Sundays I stay for a lovely piece of cake
that she bakes extra specially for me!
Someday I'll be old like the frail lady there
I'll sit in my house all day long
I might have a cat and a big rocking chair
but I wont have an old chiming clock.
poem by Ruth Walters
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I'm Cold
Album : Silencer (2001)
I've been waiting for years now, or so its seems
I've been waiting for word to come down on whats up
I've been rolling over trying to get some sleep
But the night is cold and someones taken my bed
And I'm cold
More than you'll ever know
Yeah I'm cold
Or so I'm told
I've been waiting for someone to ease my pain
I've been waiting for someone you can see
I've been rolling for years now, or so it seems
But I ain't got a handle on who's upstairs
And I'm cold
More than you'll ever know
Yeah I'm cold
Or so I'm told
Super fightin', super triggin', super trooper action figure (x3)
Wanna take me on? I know ya wanna take me cos you're
super, you're fightin, you're triggin!
I'm cold or so i'm told it's more than you'll ever know
I'm gonna steal the show from "huh" but it's not like that
I'm singly doubly fine and i'm going to triple your
time trying to rhyme but no can do it's so true cos
i'm cold...
Yeah I'm cold
More than you'll ever know
Yeah I'm cold
Or so I'm told
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Struggle Is Endless
after the years of struggle
the fighter now savors the spoils of the war
he sits on a rocking chair
with coffee on one hand
and cigar on the other
looks at the road in front of his house
and cams himself down with the view
a car passing by
a woman with a green scarf driving
her hair free to the directions of the wind
some children playing in the park
chasing and riding the seesaw
on to the swing
and the slide and grass
he hears laughter and mothers' reminders
and fathers fetching wife and kids
from work and school
now he is unto another struggle
he got peace and progress
he got wealth and work and whatever
tonight when the day is over
he sits again and watch the neon lights
sipping wine and puffing cigars
sleeps with lovers for rent
and comes home drunk and
tipsy
this time it is the struggle within
remorse, guilt, loveless
forlorn, alone
lifeless, bored
waking up in the morning
swallowing alka seltzers
and other pills
having breakfast with junk
and watching TV
on another unsolved murders
and scams.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Young & The Old
Whoa oh
Staggering home everybody sings
All the old songs the cockney routines
All the old women, all the young men
Try changing places then back again
Old man in the morning,
Young man at night
Breakfast full of wisdom
Until you hit the lights
Knock back the drinks , hitch up your skirt
Fall over backwords undo your shirt
Everyone shouting what a terrible state
Age creeping backwards as it gets late
Old man in the morning,
Young man at night
Breakfast full of wisdom
Until you hit the lights
Have a quick short, forget about work
Have a couple more then you go beserk
Who cares about this morning, wise old man
The wisdom comes up later and goes down the pan
Old man in the morning,
Young man at night
Breakfast full of wisdom
Until you hit the lights
Then another round, forget whos turn
Waking up to feel your stomach churn
Whos in the chair and whos on the floor
Incoherants knocking on the door
Old man in the morning,
Young man at night
Breakfast full of wisdom
Until you hit the lights
Hit the lights
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lazy House...
Mommy's having her
manicure
the fingers of the right hand
hang in air
to dry the red paint
on the nails
she is very sleepy
the housemaid is feeding the
baby with
bottled milk
her diaper is wet
and stinking
Aunt is having Facebook on her notebook
giggling to her chatmates'
latest gossip in town
Jinky is pregnant to an
undisclosed gambler
breakfast consists of
chinese noodles and
fried egg
you an either have steamed rice
or congee
you have to boil your own
water
the floors are not mopped yet
and it is about 10 o'clock in the morning
of a supposedly manic
Monday
Daddy is still asleep
still on a hangover on last night's
drinking spree with
fellow drunkards
Outside the dogs wait beside
the door
for their missing beef bones
The big gray cat sits on the
beam of the house looking at all of them
seemingly pondering but nothing
to meow meow...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Water That Quenches Your Thirst
at four o'clock in the morning you wake up.
blood is boiling and you look for water to quench the fire.
there is no water in the kitchen.
you go upstairs
no one is there.
you open the window
there is no rain.
it is just the silence of the world
that becomes the water
to your soul.
you drink every moment of this silence.
every dew
in the leaves
of the tree of
solitude
you are refreshed and from that moment on
you know where water
is.
what dew is
what leaves are.
there is a thirst that you have just
defined.
it is not their water
neither yours.
it is beyond the ownership of everyone.
and you know
now
where to find it
because you
also know
what it
really
is
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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