Solo
he takes his stand
and claims the right
to be where
he is
he holds the phone
and sings
his song composed
in front of the
wall
his chairs and table
his beam
his audience
attentive
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Thread of Pain
Let the blue bird sings a song
A song that turns right from wrong
Song that commands the wind to blow
In order to fade away the sorrow.
The song that makes the rain falls
And let the trees stand tall
Takes and fades away the pain
When it is being washed out by the rain.
The birds that sings through out the years
Wipes away all the tears
And cuts away the thread of pain
In every countless dropp of the rain.
poem by Dustin Catingub
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Hate My Phone
Have you ever had a phone?
That you couldn’t stand?
If you have, you are not alone.
My phone doesn’t like to follow my command!
My phone hates me!
I hate it!
I would love to throw it in the sea,
But, my life would be gone I have to admit!
I hate my phone!
What can I do?
If only another one I could own.
Another phone I need, but it should be new.
If I get a new phone it will need,
A camera that pictures and video it takes,
Unlimited texting is what we agreed.
I have no time for mistakes!
Also, I would need free long distance,
In case there is someone I want to call that is not where I am,
No, I don’t need any assistance.
For my new phone, all I have to say is DANG!
My new phone will be the envy of everyone,
Everyone will want mine,
To bad that they don’t get it, I’m the only one,
There is no need to whine!
Go Ocean, Go Ocean, Go Ocean!
That’s what they’ll be saying!
I and my phone will be all the rage and commotion!
Everyone will be around me and no, nobody will be playing!
I hate my phone,
I need a new one,
I know I’m not alone,
To have the greatest and newest phone would be fun!
Go Ocean, Go Ocean, Go Ocean! ! ! !
I still hate my phone!
Ha, this poem is long because of a motion!
Ha, I got many problems, luckily I’m not alone!
I Hate My Phone! ! !
poem by Ocean Myranda
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Evensong
It is late, on a cold, dark, wintry afternoon;
Up high in a tree, a small bird merrily croons.
Trade in the town, has now begun to wind down,
And taking centre stage, is the bird’s sweet sound.
Like an operatic singer, his voice soars high,
And his song delights many, as they pass by.
Your ears can not help, but hear his loud call,
As the sun, once again, sets and darkness falls.
He sings for joy, at the very top of his voice;
To listen to his song, you have little choice.
He sits at the very top of the tallest tree,
Singing so loudly; his heart full of glee.
His plaintive call pierces the cool air,
As he sings his song, without a care.
A pure quality, his sweet song holds,
And he sings it out, so bright and bold.
His singsong attracts many a nice comment;
His performance appears to be Heaven sent.
Of his captivated audience, he is unaware;
His song boasts beauty, beyond compare.
Like a church choir, as they sing evensong,
This small bird sings so very keen and strong.
Through the dark streets, home, I wearily wind;
Sad to be leaving the bird’s sweet song behind.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Song
Can you hear how she sings her song
and how it contents her so?
Can you tell when she sings it
where it has her go?
No, I think only she can say
as it takes her to a place
beyond this world, beyond this time
to somewhere out in space.
There she finds the comfort
that her soul is searching for.
There she finds the enchantment
that her fingers are aching for.
That's why each day she sings her song.
It's a transport for her mind.
For without her song she would always be
in a place her heart can't find.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The beast [2]
You smashed the small granite table down
like a mighty war hammer
cleaving the coffee table in two
which I had made for you,
the cellular phone that I had bought
went flying, tossed like a discuss
with might and mean
against the wall
where it shattered to pieces
and being demented arose
from a superfluous thing,
from another motorist
driving into the back of my car
and barely hitting it
and the beast was upon me
the moment that I came
through the front door
with looks it tried to kill,
looks that could chill to the bone
the labyrinth ran through the house
with your children
watching as spectators.
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Oarsman
Where is the coast?
Just in the boat
With no one around
He sings even a song!
In western horizon
The king 'Sun' sleeps alone
Merry clouds go brown
(So far) He sings the song!
A shower of rain
Can't let him pain
Miss.Windy starts to frown
(So far) He sings the song!
With force of angry waves
Even rocks can be damaged
How about his wooden bound?
(So far) He sings the song!
His old rudder shapes him solo
How to manage to and fro
Further rowing, no allowed
(So far) He sings the song!
Oh, my dear oarsman!
I wanna know your song
Give people to be strong
Like you, never down! !
poem by Eindaray Kyaw
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The Song of an Angel
Be still, and listen to the wind,
As it whispers through the leaves,
For the gentle song of angels,
Is blowing in the breeze.
A song that sings of little hands,
That did so many jobs,
Hands that now are gently clasped,
Within the grasp of God.
A song that sings of a little heart,
That always poured out love,
A heart that now is full of joy,
As God holds him up above.
A song that sings of little smiles,
That brightened many days,
Smiles that now warm the hearts,
Of angels on their way.
A song that sings of a little boy,
That always was a friend,
A little boy who's shown us all,
That God's love never ends.
Be still, and listen to the wind,
As it whispers through these leaves,
For the gentle song of an angel,
Is blowing in its breeze.
-In loving memory of Charles McMichael
poem by Jean Penner
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Upon A Day Of Reckoning
it is always i
who cleans the table from
morsels
who throws away the trash
of what is unconsumed from
the kettle
it is always i
who wipes the spilled milk
on the floor
who takes all the shit
on the sink
who kills all the bedbugs
on the pillow
it is always i
and on the day of reckoning
the table and chairs will be smooth
and glossy
the windows look to the other side without blinking
the door shall be mute forever
the hinges and frames all numb
on the last slamming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Love...
................................................I LOVE.............................................
*How he held me
*His beautiful eyes
*His half laugh half chuckle
*The music he listens to
*How he sung to me on the phone
*How he made my stomach do flips just by a look
*How he always said he wanted me to be with him forever
*His cute little nose
*How he said our kids would be the prettiest
*How hed kiss my forehead before my lips
*That he likes me best with no makeup and my hair curly
*How his hands were dark and strong
* How he kisses the hair away from my face
*How he always says my freckles make me noticable
*How he says I have the prettiest eyes ever
*How he says he loves me right when he picks up the phone
*How he claims me in front of his friends
*How his style is what he wants
*How his eyes sparkle everytime he laughs
*How he is quick to defend me-No matter what the costs
*How he stares at me then says I'm beautiful
*How he holds my waist when we kiss
*How he danced in front of people with me bc I asked
*How when we hold hands he says he has his whole future in his hands
*How he caught me on are first date when I tripped and said'I'll always be there to catch you when you fall'
*How he held my hand when we were in public
*How he would buy a milkshake and give it to me
*How he came to my first game and cheered me on
*How he never doubted me in any situation
*How he jokes about how whipped he is
*When he says he will wait for me till I'm ready-No matter how long
*How he said when I graduate we were getting married
*How he knows all my favorite things
*How he knows my pet peeves too
*When he gave me his favorite shirt just bc he knew I loved it
*How his smell was my favorite smell in the whole world
*How he will stay on the phone if I fall asleep, waiting till I wake back up to tell me goodnight that he loves me
*How no matter where he was when are song came on he would call me just to sing it to me
*How he loves me best no matter what
*How this list could go on forever
poem by Hannah Bradford
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Religious Table
A table wooden to the bone cushions my side of the bone,
Tables and chairs, chairs and tables work hands and feet.
My real furnished appearance stages a welcome,
By talismans so religious and bold, and also stronger than the furniture.
The bones of a skeleton are brittle when time takes time,
Bone is sacred, bone is like a table of splendid nature.
My body is furnished with eyes and ears, faces so dear,
Letting light be knightly on the skin, with skin and skin.
The bones of religion collect by night and day,
Relics of the past demand recollection, everyday.
poem by Naveed Akram
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All of the material for The Fine Line was created via improvisation with my partner, but not in front of an audience. We'd continue to refine it in front of an audience based on their responses until it was set and scripted.
quote by Douglas Wood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I can go in front of an orchestra. I can go in front of an audience. But if you see me walking through an audience in the reception or through a lot of people, I'm still shy.
quote by Kurt Masur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Love Still, There Is No Other...
i accompany you to a wall
i know this wall fully well
it walled me since i was small,
and then i fall in love with you
and you feel the same wall despite the openness of the port of
the city where our love boat is docked
despite the songs of seagulls
despite the softness of my hands cupping your breasts
you ask me to explain about this wall
and so i am taking you there
for you to see
the wall has become thicker and higher
walling me since ages then
and it stares at me
asking, if i have learned about love at all?
if i have really love you? if i really love myself
despite the blindness that the wall is giving me
all my life
the wall is teasing me in front of you
i am ashamed
but i do not give up and hand all my life
without a fight to this wall
and i look at you
and i tell the wall your name
'here is my savior
have pity, she does not know a wall
she has not lived there once
she does not know your name
she cannot feel your
loneliness
she will die
she does not know a fight
against the wall'
and then there is silence
like an ocean's trench
the wall opens a door
some tears are left on the stairs
'it is love still, there is no other' the wind
sings to the highest cliff
on that mountain of
death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Song To You
what would you do
if i wrote you a song
if the song became famous
a song that we all sing
as the days go on
what would you say
if i composed you a symphony
one that everyone loved
and knew who you were
everyday we would sing
the song of you
deep down inside
the melody of you stirs
awakening passion
the fire of love
what would you do
if i wrote you a song
if everyone loved it
and fell in love with you
and everyday my heart sings
this song of you
to you
(by daniel tilton 3/2007)
poem by Daniel Tilton
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My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
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The King Of The Chairs
no matter how qualified
and competent is the king of the chairs
to the mind of the table
the king of the chairs
will always remain as only one
of its serving knights.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The City Sings the Song of Death
The City sings the song of Death
Death that roams in the streets
Fearless and merciless, its hands smeared with blood
Its clothes drenched, its desire insatiable
It yearns for more bodies, for more and more
And yet more
The City sings the song of Death
A song whose tragic pitch would scare of birds
Were they to listen to its harrowing cadence
A song that makes babies cry and disturbs the old
A song that is sung by every one who lives in the city of Death
In fear, in pain, in terror
For Death itself has come to life
For Death itself, unchained and unchecked, roams around freely
Who shall now question Death?
The City sings the song of Death
My City sings the song of Death
I too sing the song of Death
And so do the millions that live with me
In the City of Death
poem by Abdul Samad
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A Song Without End
Love sings a song,
a song without end.
It can be heard
singing out from everything.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Young and old hearts flutter
whenever they hear its call.
The sad and the lonely
under its spell fall.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Whose chorus can be heard
as the breeze whispers
among the trees
and all hearts fall
under loves rhapsody.
25 August 2008
poem by David Harris
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My Happy Heart
i
there are table
specially made for our kind
and some chairs too
they are made for
solo settings
ii
i sit on one of those
chairs
most often
and i eat on such
tables
more than what is
necessary
iii
sometimes people
stare at me
i eat alone, i sip my own cup of tea
alone
and it does not
really bother me
i am familiar with such
feeling
i am at home
and my heart is still a happy
place
for my dwelling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't care how good a song is - if it holds back the storyline, stalls the plot, your audience will reject it.
quote by Dorothy Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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