NEGRENSE HOUSE, Silay
it is retold that in this house
live the ghosts
whose bodies of women and
children
of a religious family
were huddled
sometime in the
1800 mercilessly killed
by cruel monsters
inside the basement
the white bearded man
who sits on one of those antique
chairs
says that cries can still be heard
from those
12 empty rooms
the place is
a historic landmark now
where this old house stands still
unwavering to the
passage of time
unlike those which were
buried a long time ago
by limbo
and cannot be remembered
you cannot feel dust here
as one looks at the world from this window
one can feel
eternity at the fingertip
the words pass by
as i stand still trying to listen to the faint
cry of the
wind from the sugar fields
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
See The Children
(la la la la la la la...)
I stopped the car
The other day
I had to ask a little
Girl the way
I thought she'd show me
Better if she got inside
And once inside
I thought i'd taker her
For a little ride...
So i see the children
Feel the children
See the children
Feel the children
All the time...
See the children
Feel the children
See the children
Feel the children
All the time...
I'm a supermarket santa
Underneath the christmas tree
The little one all like to
Come and sit upon my knee
I have to hold them tightly
'cause they fall to the floor
A little concern ain't
Against the law...
So i see the children
Feel the children
See the children
Feel the children
All the time
See the children
(something something something??) all the time
I pass by the infant school
Every single day
I push sweeties through the fence
But the kids just run way
I only want to talk with them
And join in their fun
But all the little children do
Is run run run run run run run run...
(la la la la la la, la la la la la la..etc..)
See the children
Feel the children all the time..
See the children
Feel the children
See the children
Feel the children
All the time........
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its About Time
This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the its about time album, and has also been released on the country classics album.
Theres a full moon over india and gandhi lives again
Whos to say you have to lose for someone else to win
In the eyes of all the people the look is much the same
For the first is just the last one when you play a deadly game
Its about time we realize it were all in this together
Its about time we find out its all of us or none
Its about time we recognize it these changes in the weather
Its about time, its about changes and its about time
Theres a light in the vatican window for all the world to see
And a voice cries in the wilderness and sometimes he speaks for me
I suppose I love him most of all when he kneels to kiss the land
With his lips upon our mothers breast he makes his strongest stand
Its about time we start to see it the earth is our only home
Its about time we start to face it we cant make it here all alone
Its about time we start to listen to the voices in the wind
Its about time, its about changes and its about time
Theres a man who is my brother, I just dont know his name
But I know his home and family because I know we feel the same
And it hurts me when hes hungry and when his children cry
I too am a father and that little one is mine
Its about time we begin to turn the world around
Its about time we start to make it the dream weve always known
Its about time we start to live the family of man
Its about time, its about changes and its about time
Its about peace and its about plenty and its about time
Its about you and me together and its about time
Words by john denver, music by john denver and glen d hardin
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Set The Table!
i follow the path
of brown bare feet,
listening to the prayers
of the dust on the window.
the house empty of all that breathes,
and ghosts just dont eat much.
while missiles born of hate,
throb, seeking direction.
and religious poverty moans
in the gutters of man's denial.
hands balled in fists
cannot open doors.
and nuclear light
is just a damned lie!
rivers vomit, great trees are cut,
empty plates rattle pointing fingers.
and turtles weep in forgotten ditches
for the time before man became god.
women dressed in ashes in slow procession
mourn the loss of womb and nipple.
and the bruises on the begger's face
testify to degradation.
yet brown bare feet still beckon,
the dust reaches out in condolence...
the door on the house flung open,
and ghosts have set the table!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hi There, Outside World
Hi there, Outside world,
It's been a while, you see.
I've missed you lots, and tons, and much,
And we all know you've missed me.
Hi there, Outside world,
Come inside and stay a while,
No one will know where you've gone,
In here, from the world, so vile.
Hi there, Outside world,
Aren't you curious where I've been?
Don't you want to know everything,
Like why, and how, and when?
Hi there, Outside world,
It's much better inside of doors,
No noises, or sickness, or hate, or death,
Here there's only peace, no wars.
Hi there, Outside world,
Wouldn't you love to get away?
Just leave them there, Forget they care,
Just come inside and stay.
Hi there, Outside world,
We can be friends, just you and me,
We can sing, and dance, and talk,
And for once, we'll both be free.
Hi there, Outside world,
That world is a scary place,
Wouldn't you rather a nice warm house,
Where evil leaves no trace?
Hi there, Outside world,
Come live with me, my dear,
You'll never go another day,
While cowering in fear.
Hi there, Outside world,
Please don't ask to leave,
I need someone to stay with me,
It's lonely, you'll believe.
Wait, Outside world,
I can convince you, you'll see,
Just stay here for evermore,
Leave those people be.
Outside world, I need your help,
Don't leave me here to die,
It's sad, and I feel alone,
In my spare time, I cry.
What's that you say, Outside world?
Leave my house of sadness?
Go with you to your outside place?
My word, now that's just madness!
Listen here, Outside world,
I'm never welcome back,
I've left there once, and can't return,
Of that, I'm sure as fact.
Silly little Outside world,
You say I'm missed a lot,
How could that be, Outside world,
If I've never been sought.
I see all, Outside world,
And I know they do not want me,
I'd rather stay here, in my mind,
Than live amongst the happy.
I fear I can't, Outside world,
This house is all I need,
I know it's meager, and so dark,
But, I must live my creed.
I swore an oath, Outside world,
That I should live in here for ever,
Never leave, Never be,
With or without endeavor.
I keep my word, Outside world,
This place is where I stay,
I never can go back, you see,
I've gone too far away.
Goodbye, Outside world,
I really enjoyed our chat,
I'm sorry to hear you have to go,
Devastated, at that.
So long, Outside world,
If I never see you again,
Tell the world what happened here,
Don't let it happen to them.
poem by K.N. Sheldon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
poem by Billy Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Don't Live Here Anymore
This is the house that love built
Memories of you are built in each wall
Wanting the seeds still haunt my dreams
Though Ive just heard your voice in the hall
The mirrors reflect all the heartache I feel
Smiling photographs dont seem real.
Nothings been moved, but everythings changed
Each chair isnt placed, just my lifes rearranged
The wind cries your name through each window and door
Love dont live here, love dont live here anymore.
The fire alight still glows a pale blue
The mantle is cruel holding pictures of you
Your scent lingers there, in the bed that we shared
The last plant I sent isnt bloomed
These rooms are unkind to play tricks on my mind
I can see how youve lived without me.
Nothings been moved, but everythings changed
Each chair isnt placed, just my lifes rearranged
The wind cries your name through each window and door
Love dont live here, love dont live here anymore...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghostly House
You need language of ghosts
To communicate with spirits that impose on us.
You crave for the very food our ghosts need.
Come with the religion of yours to distract them.
For it pray and they will go away, for all eternity!
Your House is Haunted. Be so wary!
Even call the police, and they will never enter your home.
Your House is Haunted. It needs some policy to rid it of evil and despair.
You House needs some care. It requires the life to adjust. You must.
If ghosts are about then leave the house and complain.
Nobody listens except the Priest, and he is not around.
Go to the doctor, and feel doom in abundance. The ghosts do not win.
Good Luck!
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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House for Sale
I stood in the midst of the empty house,
It was silent, empty, and bare,
gone was the laughter the tears and the life,
and the family that once lived there.
I stood there observing, to try to revive
the memories this house had to share,
the secrets, excitement, unhappiness too,
these feelings so willing to bear.
I heard children playing and lapping up life,
I heard adults talking and scolding,
This house bore it all with its solid repose,
and accepted with wisdom beholding.
I stood in the midst of the empty house,
with a feeling of sadness around,
abandoned and empty, a lonely shell,
for the place never uttered a sound,
it was silent and bare, where the rooms had been stripped
and the furniture taken away,
the paint had been scratched and the floor left unwashed
when the house was abandoned that day.
The ghosts from its past walk through each lonely room,
and I sigh as I button my coat,
I slam the front door with an echoing bang
and a lump seems to lodge in my throat-
for there on the green lawn for all eyes to see
with dark letters outstanding on pale
is a board standing taut in the cold winter sun
with the large, lonely wording- "For Sale"
poem by Margaret Hanning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This House Is Empty Now
(costello/bacharach)
These rooms play tricks upon you
Remember when they were always filled with laughter
But now theyre quite deserted
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger
Maybe you will see my face
Reflected there on the pane
In the window up above for long
In broken home
Yet this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
These walls were lined with pictures
Remember the glass we charged in celebration
But now I fill my life up
With all that I can to deaden this sensation
Do you recognize the face
Fixed in that fine silver frame
Were you really so unhappy there
You never said
So this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do to make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
Oh, if I could just become forgetful
When night seems endless
Does the extinguished candle care
About the darkness
Its funny how the memory
Will bring you so close then make you disappear
Meanwhile all our friends must choose
Who they will favour, who they will lose
Hang the garland high, or close the door
Or throw away the key
This house is empty now
Theres no one living here
You have to care about
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early Morning Poetry
a gray cat so gentle
sleeping beside my easy chair
soft wind enters the window
from the far mountain
the white silky curtains
by the window
sway to the direction of the wind
a red rose blooms on the side
of the limestone wall
horse grazing on the grassy plain
a white dog runs toward a wooden gate
a car stops on the yard near the veranda of this old house
a brother from far announces his arrival
hot coffee and pancakes on the table
fumes of white rice and smoke from the grilled fish
faint classical Mozart music plays on the cassette
light from the sun penetrating the screen of the dining window
a black and white family picture on top of the family piano
grandpa on his military uniform as mother carries father on her arms
memories flood the room and words keep creeping like worms
i want to say that there are no termites on this house but that would be a lie.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People's Indifference
people who pass
by the house
always stop a while
taking time
to look at the window
which is closed
the whole day
the stairs still have
dry leaves
at the back of the house
a boy is screaming
the fence is closed
and a white dog is yelping
wanting to go inside
as people pass by the house
stop a while take time to
have a glimpse
and then leave
doing nothing about it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moonlake Ghosts
There’s a lake off of Moon Lake Road,
where stories are woven and retold.
about longtime gangster Al Capone.
Now I stayed in a house
right across the street,
and believe me I did not see,
but I heard a ghost talk to me.
See now legend has it,
that Al put people in this lake,
Now ghosts are around make no mistake.
I was in this house with Uncle Lenny,
he wasn’t scared for he couldn’t
hear a dropp of a penny.
He told me the ghosts leave him alone,
for they know he's handicapped
unlike his nephew Tone.
Yes, Tony said he heard them too,
I don’t know if he’s lying
or what he says is true.
All I know I don’t want to go back,
you can laugh at me and call me a quack.
I’ld rather see a ghost
then have one move my stuff,
that is scary and this I can't rebuff,
It’s not like eating at Denny’s
and having a lunch,
I believe in ghosts with an
absolute hunch.
Written by Christina Sunrise Feb.21,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonely And Burning
Confused I awake on a sinking ship
Theres no easy way, Im learning it the hard way
Like some ridiculous child on an empty cruise
Only horizon ready to be swallowed
Loneliness eats me away
Digested to the bone I feel empty inside
The odds are against me, its not ok, i'm not alright
Confused I awake in a burning house
Its no accident, theyve put me here on purpose
The smoke is ready to put, put his hands on my throat
No need for help, Im already burning
Loneliness eats me away
Digested to the bone I feel empty inside
The odds are against me, its not ok, i'm not alright
Truth, I live in an empty world
With me to rely on, with me I can turn to
Dare you to accompany me to the fields of heavens eternity?
Loneliness eats me away
Digested to the bone I feel empty inside
The odds are against me, its not ok, im not alright
Im already burning
song performed by by Undeclinable Ambuscade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghosts By Moon Lake
There's a lake off of Moon Lake Road,
where stories are woven and retold.
about longtime gangster Al Capone.
Now I stayed in a house
right across the street,
and believe me I did not see,
but I heard a ghost talk to me.
See now legend has it,
that Al put people in this lake,
Now ghosts are around make no mistake.
I was in this house with Uncle Lenny,
he wasn't scared for he couldn't
hear a dropp of a penny.
He told me the ghosts leave him alone,
for they know he's handicapped
unlike his nephew Tone.
Yes, Tony said he heard them too,
I don't know if he's lying
or what he says is true.
All I know I don't want to go back,
you can laugh at me and call me a quack.
I'ld rather see a ghost
then have one move my stuff,
that is scary and this I can't rebuff,
It's not like eating at Denny's
and having a lunch,
I believe in ghosts with an
absolute hunch.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on Feb.21,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosts By Moon Lake
There’s a lake off of Moon Lake Road,
where stories are woven and retold.
about longtime gangster Al Capone.
Now I stayed in a house
right across the street,
and believe me I did not see,
but I heard a ghost talk to me.
See now legend has it,
that Al put people in this lake,
Now ghosts are around make no mistake.
I was in this house with Uncle Lenny,
he wasn’t scared for he couldn’t
hear a dropp of a penny.
He told me the ghosts leave him alone,
for they know he's handicapped
unlike his nephew Tone.
Yes, Tony said he heard them too,
I don’t know if he’s lying
or what he says is true.
All I know I don’t want to go back,
you can laugh at me and call me a quack.
I’ld rather see a ghost
then have one move my stuff,
that is scary and this I can't rebuff,
It’s not like eating at Denny’s
and having a lunch,
I believe in ghosts with an
absolute hunch.
Written by Christina Sunrise Feb.21,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Hate Relationship
i see you, seated on the staircase, the old one
left by your parents long dead, and
you are crying there, some tears falling on the
carpeted floors, so your sorrow is invisible
to his eyes, when he comes home, you put on a smile,
like a light that you switch on when it is dark,
it has always been that everyday with you,
and him, and he tells you every instruction to keep that love
burning, you listen, but as soon as he goes
to another place, far, and you sit again on that old staircase
counting the rails and the chairs of the house
you begin to think honestly, that this affair is nothing but a
fraud. It is only him. But to him that should not be, as you he goes
away for days, and you keep on staying put
with all his instructions. You worry about the electricity of the house.
and the gas that keeps the oven hot for the bread
and the muffins
but for how long. The tank of gas will be empty soon.
and what he will find in this house, when you decide to end it all
is just the muffin that the ants of the house
are still eating. There is always a season to end what was started.
soon. It will be. You sit on the stair, looking out the door.
You will know how to make the dust. Soon, It will be.
He will never know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Homeless in a House
I ask you simply, what is home?
A place where kindred people come?
A space where residents reside?
What makes a home a home inside?
I ask you now, is home a house?
Can people buy homes with their spouse?
In houses can a family be
together for eternity?
I say to you, it is not so!
A home is where a man will go
to seek his flames of strife to douse.
A home he seeks, and not a house.
Inside a home a man has love:
From here below, and from above.
At home, he'll be with family
for time and all eternity.
poem by Chris Schleier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sitting In An Empty House
Sitting in an emtpy house
Waiting for the phone to ring
Sitting in an empty house
Wanting someone to call about anything
Sitting in an house
Just a cat for company
Sitting in an empty house
Will someone please take time for me?
Sitting in an empty house
No one knows I'm so alone
Sitting in an empty house
The pain I feel remains unknown
04/29/06
White Dove
Music :presser, adamis, rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine
A place without a name
Under a burning sky
Theres no milk and honey here
In the land of god
Someone holds a sign
It says we are human, too
And while the sun goes down
The world goes by
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
Waves, big like a house
Theyre stranded on a piece of wood
To leave it all behind
To start again
But instead of a new life
All they find is a door thats closed
And they keep looking for
A place called hope
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na na na na
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na
Can anyone tell me why (can anyone tell me why)
The children of the world (the children of the world)
Have to pay the price (pay another price)
And now your telling me
Youve seen it all before
I know thats right but still
It breaks my heart
Well, the golden lamb we sent
Makes us feel better now
But you know its just a drop
In a sea of tears
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
White dove
Fly with the wind
Take our hope under your wings
For the world to know
That hope will not die
Where the children cry
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na na na na
Na na
Na na na na
Na na na na na
...
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0012 The House of Metaphor
After you’ve negotiated that artfully-conceived
sharp elbow bend in the long, grand drive
through the fields of its estate,
and it hoves into view,
you always gasp – this palace
- no, more like a temple with living quarters –
set deep in the countryside, yet as sure
as one in Athens or in Rome;
yet that too is artfully contrived -
the slight mound it’s built on,
the cunning proportion that magnifies,
disguises, with its public face
the aptness of a family home;
its public rooms so grand, just echoing enough
to magnify a public speech; its family rooms
smallish, cosy; love and friendliness
live here. It says to the world,
stability; tradition re-affirmed; yet
this is our familiar family home.
It has its rooms, as rooms should be,
devoted to each family pursuit:
here’s the grand library
but here, with books so evidently, lovingly well read;
you almost missed the little girl, her hair and knees
curled round a book, deep in that leather green armchair;
the study, where your breathing seems to change,
there’s such a still and living silence here;
the nursery that emanates a lifetime’s care;
the children’s bedrooms set around it,
through which you ran and laughed and ran again; the window seats
from which you looked so wistfully
as childhood’s assurance faded into teenage questioning;
a house to leave,
a house to come back to;
a metaphor
as living, haunting, as the poetry it is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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