En.Citatepedia^®.ro

It Will Be Necessary

she will sleep there
till evening

from 2 o'clock in the
afternoon

after lunch, she will not
be waked up

by anybody of the house
she must know

after all these hours
that no one is coming

it will be sad but it will
be necessary

it is inevitable
it is always named departure

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare

AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE

An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-

Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-

Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.

There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Best Time Of The Day

Cool summer nights.
Windows open.
Lamps burning.
Fruit in the bowl.
And your head on my shoulder.
These the happiest moments in the day.

Next to the early morning hours,
of course. And the time
just before lunch.
And the afternoon, and
early evening hours.
But I do love

these summer nights.
Even more, I think,
than those other times.
The work finished for the day.
And no one who can reach us now.
Or ever.

poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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He Does Not Sleep That Well At Night

He does not sleep that well at night though his troubles are small
The possums walking on his roof the rats squeak in the wall,
The boobook owl is crying mopoke on the trees across the way
He used to sleep without once waking till after break of day.

He does not sleep that well at night his wife beside him snore
He lay beside her wide awake for three hours sometimes more
The moon shines through the window pane he hear the plover cry
And the hunting fox is barking in the old paddock nearby.

He does not sleep that well at night he lay in bed awake
And the voices of the nocturnal creatures he cannot mistake
The frogs are singing in the ponds to tell that rain is near
And occasionally the barking of the neighbourhood dogs he hear.

He goes to bed at ten o clock but he doesn't get to sleep till around two
Although he must get up to go to work at seven still his worries seem so few
Compared to some who do sleep well with him it used not to be this way
He often slept for ten hours straight till after break of day.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Coffee Dream

Although it’s only one hour till lunch -
my stomach won’t wait.
Non-stop growling for the past two hours
has gotten the best of me.
Besides, my taste buds
are ready to murder for a cup of coffee.
Should I say ‘murder’ in a courthouse?
I discovered myself in the eating lounge
with a coffee machine that still doesn’t work.
How unfair that I can’t leave the building
for a quick cup of coffee till lunch.
So, I resort to having the small salad and orange
that was to be my lunch.
Still, I want that coffee!
I’ll take it boiling hot
right out of the pot.
So now I look forward
to when then release us for lunch.
I plan to run down the street and get
a very large cup of coffee -
maybe two or three.
I desperately need my caffeine fix for today.

poem by Bob Barci
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Cortège

Four o'clock this afternoon,
Fifteen hundred miles away:
So it goes, the crazy tune,
So it pounds and hums all day

Four o'clock this afternoon,
Earth will hide them far away:
Best they go to go so soon,
Best for them the grave to-day.

Had she gone but half so soon,
Half the world had passed away.
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Best for them they go to-day.

Four o'clock this afternoon,
Love will hide them deep, they say;
Love that made the grave so soon,
Fifteen hundred miles away:

Four o'clock this afternoon,
Ah, but they go slow to-day:
Slow to suit my crazy tune,
Past the need of all we say.

Best it came to come so soon,
Best for them they go to-day:
Four o'clock this afternoon,
Fifteen hundred miles away.

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Concealing That Nocturnal Existence....

you realize that there is nothing that you keep
or can

at night a stranger of the house talks about
a departure

you listen as he is putting music to his flute
it is a sad one

it is like the sonorous sound of the rain at night
it is windy

the departure shall be early before the sun comes up
you never sleep

anticipating the excitement of the departure
there are only two of you

before the sun comes up between the two hills
both of you have already dissolve in the distance

blend with the trees, walk on grasses,
there are no traces, the two of you never exist

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Restful Sleep

I was sneaking off to sleep
and was waiting for my alarm to beep
and then I did weep,
with only three hours to sleep...
I could hear only
beep, beep, beep

From my bed I did ooze
and very quickly did press snooze,
crawled between my sheets,
fell into a restful sleep
until I heard a loud
beep, beep, beep

and once again, I did ooze
and once again, I did press snooze
but could not sleep
for all I could hear
was the tock, tock, tock
of the clock, clock, clock

I hit the sheets,
rose to my feet.
'You will not tock!
You stupid clock! '
and in the heat, it did
Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....

And with my all
I kicked the clock against the wall!
after which,
in my sheets I did creep,
and did nothing but
sleep, sleep, sleep

poem by Joseph Wordsmith
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Lunch With Gina

That must be her again
She's leaning on my bell
That cold psychotic brain
The one I know so well
So I'm nailed to the floor in the no-option zone
There's about zero chance she'll give up and go home
This endless afternoon
It started on the day I met her
Lunch with Gina is forever
She's coming round the corner
Her body's just a blur
I peel out like The Flash
It don't mean boo to her
So I duck into Nino'sshe's barred from the place
The minute I walk out she's right in my face
She's got nothing but time
No use in trying to be clever
Lunch with Gina is forever
Now I'm in my apartment
The blinds down the lights out
The phone rings God help me
There's nobody home
I crouch on the carpet
Not breathing just being
Like meat on the bone
I'm in a cozy booth
Maybe my watch is fast
Another Tanqueray
I'll wait till twenty past
I'm about to go postal when she waltzes in
I guess she's a knockouthey where have I been?
The waiter never comes
God knows the service could be better
Lunch with Gina is forever
Coffee and a kiss
Maybe later maybe never
Lunch with Gina

song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa's Clock

in that ticking of the clock
three generations of time
had ticked past...
with some tickings fixed firm
each ticking concealed
tireless roar of the sea
and a conundrum of emotions
time has its way of
teasing and tiring us
one fine evening during
a casual chitchat as sister
got off from the chair
she hit back at time and
the grandfather's clock-
though i had never known him
but through the clock fixed to the wall-
that seemed to chime
eternally into the wee hours
each time waking me up cruelly
from an innocent sleep
lay there in pieces...

the pendulum, still oscillates
the conundrum, still unsolved
the flux of the sea, still echoes
though we could never manage
to get another clock

and external surfaces
still gleam and glitter...

20dec2009
08.21hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Daily

you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid

you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen

you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping

they call it life

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clock O Clock of Times

Hours of the night in their deep
Sinuous on and always flowing
Fog bound rhythm speeding keep
Their onward footsteps going
Yesterday is now becoming new
In the rushes hours gnawing on
Clearance of the daybreaks thru
Till old shadow’s dance are gone

In the litter of their lost time
Everything moves forward still
Eve goes and morning‘s in prime
Every opportunity to fulfill
Clock o clock of times keeping
Rushing hours thru to make more
All old of dust down sweeping
Opening up the pluviose door

So much in the moldering way
Like the cadences of fog bound
Coming thru but no time to stay
All’s going in the merry-go-round
Feelings lost in pacing’s to break
As this roadway leads to its side
New thoughts in moving uptake
Is there now time for some abide?

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Whinny and Spit

When a man's young,
this work is hard
but it pays well
and he can feed
the wife and kids.
In the morning
he throws crates off trucks,
and after lunch
throws crates again
till five or six o'clock.
But as he grows older,
and some say
ready to retire,
he has to stop
in the late afternoon,
mount his throne of skids,
let his legs drip over the side,
toss his head, inhale,
whinny and spit.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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At Toni’s

Just before I want to drive
through the portcullis at work,
you phone me
and I have to stop
to hear
what’s on you mind.

The roar of the motorbike
makes that I must listen well
to hear what you say
and you want to go to Toni’s
and I wonder if you know
where the new precise are?

I have just cut through the traffic
and parked my bike beyond the house
when you stop at the front gate
and the barking of the dog’s tell me
to catch some speed.

The afternoon sky is clear and bright blue
and its still hot afternoon
and I give you a nice kiss
through the car door
that you open for me.

You are very early
and had left early at work
and the watering
of the vegetable garden,
have to wait till later
and there’s magic
in your smile

At Toni’s which now
is just beyond chamberlain’s
small lamps are already burning
and although we arrive without a booking,
a table is quickly
given to us.

The evening is romantic and peaceful
that’s much better than just nice
while the sun slowly sets
and your eyes
glitter and shine with the lamps.

I wish I could drag hours out
like this with you
and throw a bit of
balsamic vinegar in my plate
while the calamata olives
and pizza
taste heavenly
and you
and the sweet desert
with a cup of strong coffee
make the evening special for me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Factory

In passage of time
To a cigarette burn
In the book that I read
To the sentence I learn
Up and down
Going round
Going round till we drown again
Im gonna set myself up
Im gonna up to the top
Up to the top
To the top
Im going down to the ground
Going round
Till we drown
Going round till we drown again
Factory
Imitation of life
Factory
We all go out to lunch
A certain raion we know
Has left us unaware
Someone else has taken leave
Someone who did care
Elevators just dont crash
The answer lies within
Elevators elevators
Answer lies within
To the glittering prize
To the fool in the sky
Ive got a jewel in my eye
Im going up
Coming down
Going round
Till we drown
Going round till we drown again
To the centre of the man
Because he had a plan
He had a plan to escape
But now weve got it on tape
Going up
Coming down
Going around
Going round till we drown again
Factory
Imitation of life
Factory
We all go out to lunch
A certain raion we know
Has left us unaware
Someone else has taken leave
Someone who did care
Elevators just dont crash
The answer lies within
Elevators elevators
Answer lies within
Factory
Going out to lunch
Factory
Going out to lunch
Lyrics : j kerr music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission

song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More Time Baby

As I put you in ur cot
please go to sleep if you are not
to hours sleep is all I need
to do some housework & have a feed.
Washing on & dishes done,
Enjoy your sleep little one
I’ll vacuum now & do some dusting
This house is really quite disgusting
If you’ll sleep a little more I should be able to mop the floor.
Now the house is clean & tidy It’s... time to get some food inside me
It is now that you awake I guess that sandwich can stay on the plate

poem by Karen Heeney
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Tickity Tick Tock

can't sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
tick tock
tick tock
tickity tick
tock
tock
tock
the little hand drills a hole into my tired mind.
can't
tick
don't
tock
won't
tick
shan't
tock
never
tick
nev er
tock
never sleep
the clock keeps ticking
as my mind struggles to keep up
too many ticks.
too many tocks.
the clock's too loud
it echos through the silent night
too many thoughts
all at once
i need them on paper
scribble
tick
scribble
tock
that fucking clock
it never fucking stops
i cant fucking sleep.
a dog barks
tick
a car screeches
tock
a horse neighs...what?
i can't be that tired
i can't be hallucinating
i
can't
sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.

i need a digital clock

poem by Elsa Bear
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How Long Is Short Time

How long or short is Time?

Got up early sat on a chair not reading or watching TV,
time has been running too fast lately into the sand
of a desert that doesn’t bloom; must slow time down
to a trickle. After breakfast I went for a walk and took
no interest in what I saw, back in my chair looking at
the clock, yes the forenoon was endless and I was
hungry, and finally lunch. In the afternoon I went for
another walk, didn’t buy a paper I only get engrossed
in what I read and time flies. Back home I sat in my chair
watched a dipteral circle around, fell asleep and when
I awoke it was seven in the evening, time I had saved
that day had been wasted by me snoozing in a chair.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The soldiers' last meal is generally served out about five o'clock in the afternoon, sometimes earlier; and a stretch of fourteen hours intervenes between then and breakfast.

quote by Patrick MacGill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miss Piggy regrets..

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
That tastelessly named flu’s got her
(She forgot to wash her front trotter…) so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
It’s a swine of a stroke of bad luck:
Her eyelashes, she sneezed them unstuck… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today…

Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
She’s all pink from her snout to her face;
Her mascara’s all over the place… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..

Why not try the lamb today, madam…?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Only In Sleep (An Attempt To Be Relevant)

only in sleep
shall i make love with you
only in sleep
shall you caress my body
only in sleep
shall this love have
mutuality
only in sleep
shall we two become one
only in sleep
shall passion be
only in sleep
can i be true

after this sleep
one takes the mask again
dresses up for the
coming hours
well poised and respected
one meets lies with lies
quick as a sparrow
meek as a dove
but foxy still
with all your wiles

only in sleep
shall we all be weak
only in sleep
shall love
be love

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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