On A Sunny Day
the red truck still parks
on the side of the concrete fence
it is TED 413
and still insists that it is
NOT FOR HIRE.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Red Truck
there is this red
truck with muddy
wheels
beside an old
concrete fence
parked alone
it's been there
for the whole
day under
the sun
not for hire.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Views From Here....
the afternoon sun
leaves its last light cast upon the dusty leaves of the mango tree
the sea is calm and from a distance it hardly moves
as though it has given all its waves away to the passing winds
a red truck parks beside a cemented fence
below it so much of gravel and unwanted fragments of rocks
as i finish another work deciding upon the
liberty of this man wrongfully accused
of a crime which he denies as always
as not having committed it
i am pondering now how to see the truth beyond all these
views.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Angels
Three angels up above the street,
Each one playing a horn,
Dressed in green robes with wings that stick out,
Theyve been there since christmas morn.
The wildest cat from montana passes by in a flash,
Then a lady in a bright orange dress,
One u-haul trailer, a truck with no wheels,
The tenth avenue bus going west.
The dogs and pigeons fly up and they flutter around,
A man with a badge skips by,
Three fellas crawlin on their way back to work,
Nobody stops to ask why.
The bakery truck stops outside of that fence
Where the angels stand high on their poles,
The driver peeks out, trying to find one face
In this concrete world full of souls.
The angels play on their horns all day,
The whole earth in progression seems to pass by.
But does anyone hear the music they play,
Does anyone even try?
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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False Appearance
The grass is always greener on your side of the fence
although it doesn't appear that way.
When you cross to the other side of the fence
it becomes as clear as day.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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What Must You Do?
oh, those little things
like the brown grasses of summer,
a flower that blooms in the middle of those rocks
the worm that crawls its way slowly to the humid part
the black bird that stays alone on a branch
the tree that keeps on shedding off its leaves
the dry wind, the post in the middle of the rice field
a banana leaf torn on its sides
a concrete fence surrounding the university
these and those that people do not mind
are mine to write about
we make out our links to all these
we make our own definitions of the self
with what we also mean to them
the black bird staring, the concrete fence of indifference.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If he's got golf clubs in his truck or a camper in his driveway, I don't hire him.
140
jumping to the other side of the fence
i always love the thought of jumping
to the other side of the fence
where the grass is greener
and the air is fresher
my heart beats for all the excitement
when i will be there
on the other side with you
i ask if you will walk beside me
when i am there finally
but you did not say a word
i know i am not welcome
but i still dream of going there
for other possibilities of loving
and be loved without any condition
at all, not necessarily you,
i am a fast learner, you know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This concrete city
infects the sky...turning it
into concrete too.
Concrete sun and concrete rain.
Concrete humans... cry...real tears
tanka by Dónall Dempsey
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Over There
The fence is long and high where we love
You cant see the other side where they live
Ive spied with my little eye
And Ive sighed with my little sigh
But it seems Ive give all that I can give
Every hour I have to count to ten
And a thousand times Ive thought again
But it seems Ive given all that I can give
Is there anyone there
Here is the fence that they built
{over there}
This is the fence that hate built
Is anyone there
{over there}
This is the fence that turns one into two
I want to break through but Im though if I do
Ive tried with my little try
And Ive cried with my little cry
But it seems that the gate holds the only clue
Every hour I have to count to ten
And a thousand times Ive though again
But it seems Ive given all that I can give
Is there anyone there
Here is the fence that they built
{over there}
This is the fence that hate built
Is anyone there
{over there}
[brilliant solo from stan the man]
Every hour I have to count to ten
And a thousand times Ive thought again
Is there anyone there
Here is the fence that they built
{over there}
This is the fence that hate built
Is anyone there
{over there}
Is there anyone there
Here is the fence that they built
{over there}
This is the fence that hate built
Is anyone there
{over there}
But it seems Ive give all that I can give
Is there anyone there
Here is the fence that they built
{over there}
This is the fence that hate built
Is anyone there
{over there}
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psywar
let me see
what side of the fence
shall you
take?
let me tell them
what you are
and what they did to you
that you do not
like
let me see both of you
in a state of war
let me see if you come
back to me
and then i will also know
what side of the
fence shall i take.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Will Be Another Boring Day
you wake up
with no one on your side
it is still very dark
as you open the window
you see
a garden with plants
wilting not watered
you see stones
and a concrete fence
without vines
you wear your shorts
put on your socks
and shoes
your sweat shirt
your first decision
this early morning
is to walk
you need to think
things over
about what to do
best on this sort
of, kind of, boring day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After that initial success, every chance we got we'd hire that remote recording truck and just record stuff at the Whisky because it was so inexpensive.
quote by Johnny Rivers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Boundary
I Love the ancient boundary-fence,
That mouldering chock-and-log.
When I go ride the boundary
I let the old horse jog
And take his pleasure in and out
Where the sandalwood grows dense,
And tender pines clasp hands across
The log that tops the fence.
’Tis pleasant on the boundary-fence,
These sultry summer days;
A mile away, outside the scrub,
The plain is all ablaze,
The sheep are panting on the camps,
The heat is so intense;
But here the shade is cool and sweet
Along the boundary-fence.
I love to loaf along the fence,
So does my collie dog,
He often finds a spotted cat
Hid in a hollow log;
He’s very near as old as I
And ought to have more sense,
I’ve hammered him so many times
Along the boundary-fence.
My mother says that boundary fence
Must surely be bewitched;
The old man says that through that fence
The neighbours are enriched;
It’s always down, and through the gaps
Our stock all get them hence,
I takes me half my time to watch
The doings of that fence.
But should you seek the reason
You won’t travel very far,
’Tis there a mile away among
The murmuring Belar:
The Jones’s block joins on to ours,
And so, in consequence,
It’s part of Polly’s work to ride
Their side the boundary-fence.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Concrete Jungle
The beast roams the concrete jungle and trails of tarmac laid,
To prey on helpless victims that a deprived society raised.
Not for food to feed it’s young, who’s bellies empty are,
But for video’s and tellys or someone else’s car.
He stalks the night like cowards do
and with it’s blanket evil he doth strew,
He shies away from any light and surveys the concrete jungle.
We must keep our children young and sweet,
from the animals that roam our streets.
No more to roam our country side or local parks where evil hides,
No more our doors to open wide the welcome mat’s all locked inside.
Locked and bolted turn that key.
“FREE” no isolations me.
When authority apprehend do gooders him on holiday send,
Problem solved a miracle cure, for the beast that we call
“MAN”
t f nabbs
poem by Terence Nabbs
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White Truck Speeds By
I’m driving down Federal on the way to my new home,
I sense that I am not alone.
I look up to see a truck following me,
Or so I thought-
Taking a right I turn down 6th Ave.
I stop in Wallgreens parking lot.
I go through all my stuff that I packed,
I get in my car and I get back on track.
Then as I was sitting at the light,
I notice Guy’s truck real shiny and bright.
His white truck passes and roars,
I see the name of his business on his side doors.
I thought do I text him or not?
Looks like he speed so he won’t get caught.
Caught by me seeing him drive by,
Oh, well I decide to call it a night.
(August 9, 2011)
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Plastic Concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
These are the facts of life
I m a nightmare child
Stuck on my own knife
I m glad my mother loved me
I m sick & paranoid
The hotel generater
Hums into the void
Of plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
I gotta learn to slow down
Somethin new from chemistry
Is jackin my brain around
I have got the plastic
And I have got the stone
Out there in the suburbs
I learned to be alone
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete sandwich
You d like to eat me, but
Later you ll reiect me
I m too much to bite off
The salad on my outside
Is made of suicide
The guy who squirts my mayonnaise
Is on a one-way ride
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plastic & Concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
These are the facts of life
I 'm a nightmare child
Stuck on my own knife
I' m glad my mother loved me
I' m sick & paranoid
The hotel generater
Hums into the void
Of plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete, baby
I gotta learn to slow down
Somethin new from chemistry
Is jackin my brain around
I have got the plastic
And i have got the stone
Out there in the suburbs
I learned to be alone
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete sandwich
You 'd like to eat me, but
Later you 'll reiect me
I' m too much to bite off
The salad on my outside
Is made of suicide
The guy who squirts my mayonnaise
Is on a one-way ride
In plastic & concrete
Plastic & concrete
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire and Hire
Got this nuggets
from an old sage of mine
in the then promising youthful times
(thinking I would be soon a fire-and-hire officer but not)
Be cautious of fabulous cv/resume
be aware of glittering diplomas
overload certificates
overqualified is also disqualified
and not all of these are
fitted for the hire
how would you hire
to avoid mis-hire? (a barrier for a long-term goal)
Weed not out
those who would adapt new tricks
in a fast changing work place
they are a handful if not few
How?
I believe in your instinct;
my intuition says
poem by Rommelmarkmarchan Best Poems
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White Truck Speeds By
I’m driving down Federal on the way to my new home,
I sense that I am not alone.
I look up to see a truck following me,
Or so I thought-
Taking a right I turn down 6th Ave.
I stop in Wallgreens parking lot.
I go through all my stuff that I packed,
I get in my car and I get back on track.
Then as I was sitting at the light,
I notice Guy’s truck real shiny and bright.
His white truck passes and roars,
I see the name of his business on his side doors.
I thought do I text him or not?
Looks like he speed so he won’t get caught.
Caught by me seeing him drive by,
Oh, well I decide to call it a night.
(Written by Christina Sunrise on August 9,2011)
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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