The Arrow The Chair And The Falling Star
the chair is silent
it has feet but it does not leave
it screeches sometimes
because you are heavy
with your load (this burden
this baggage of the
soul)
the chair faces the sea
because your finger points to
a falling star
and the chair like you
makes a wish
like you
it wishes that the moon
may soon have lips
that you can
kiss throughout the night
unlike you
the chair never dreams of arms.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cogitation
if this chair does not exist
will i, this, chair, me, who asks,
if this chair, exists at all,
can i, exist, too? will i be dependent
on the thought of a chair
a thought of me that i think i
can touch, that i think thoughts
touching this thought of a chair
does the chair think about me,
i ask, looking for that therefore
beside the chair that i thought
is a chair, that i thought is I,
am, therefore, a chair, thinking
chair, on four feet?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Chair Is No Longer Just A Chair
it is your experience that
gives you more meaning to all those which
you think
have been too common and
insignificant,
perhaps
now you must have realized as you sit upon a chair
that someone used to sit there
and that someone waited for another to be with her
that on the same chair
there were some fears
and pains and even longings
and hopes
unrealized and by then
you see that chair not just a chair
you sit there
and you ask it
for this chair though muted by wood
will always have
a story to tell....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Chair Don't make the Man
People see me in this chair and whisper look at that poor man over there. They believe my life is wasted all because I’m in this chair. Well I got some to say that I want you all to hear. Just like clothes don’t really make a man neither does a chair. The chair is just what I use to get me for here to there. Just like people who walk use their legs to get them everywhere. Because besides the chair I’m just like you; I laugh, I cry and yes I have sex too. Now that you all know the next time you see me don’t whisper look at that poor man over there. In fact don’t say anything just remember the chair don’t make the man.
You know the first time I sat in the chair I felt anything but up, it was very emotional for me. I had a chair in my hotel room, a chair at rehearsal, and I was trying to spend as much time as I could in the chair.
quote by Gregory Hines
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Big Green Chair
Look over there. See the big green chair. Its my favorite place, the chair over there.
I sit there quite often thinking of this and sometimes that. Sometimes when I sit there I wear a hat. Pink of course, nothing else would do. I even have pink shoe, the other one blue.
When I'm sleeply sometimes I crawl up in the big green chair. It smells of dad, his name is brad. But only mom call him brad, to me he's dad.
But my favorite thing about the big green chair is when dad calls my name,
Lainey, my dear, come and sit with me here in my chair, my big green chair.
poem by Brad Milner
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Blue Chair
Now its just you and me, my blue friend
And you say that its you that shes thinking of
And our affair must end
But if its you that shes thinking of
I think my broken heart might mend
Chorus: now its my turn to talk and your turn to think
Your turn to buy and my turn to drink
Your turn to cry and my turn to sink down in the blue chair
Down in the blue chair
Now Ive made up my mind Ive made my mistake
And I know that she cries for you
When shes barely awake
Well shes going to bend your mind
Well I hope it dont break
Chorus
Down in the blue chair
We can watch our troubles rise
Like smoke into the air
And drift up to the ceiling
Down in the blue chair
You can feel just like a boy or a man
And next minute you can find yourself kneeling
Down in the blue chair
Theyre boasting of loving the daylights right out of her in the small hours
Down in the blue chair
You say that your love lasts forever when you know the night just hours
And still I want her right now
Not any minute, hour or day
And wherever she is tonight
I want her anyway
I suppose she never said to you,
You were just in the way
Chorus
Down in the blue chair
Down in the blue
Blue becomes you
Down in the blue chair
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red Chair Fade Away
Red chair fade away
bring back memories
Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Grandpa's fairy tale
Red chair round the fire
Rainbows all the time
We're all going higher
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Bring back memories
Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away....
Red chair fade away....
song performed by by Bee Gees from Bee Gees 1st
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon a Chair Not Reserved for Me
to sit in a chair
not reserved for me
is disgrace
at the utmost
to poetry,
in truth
the house on the clouds
and winds
and seas
a life dedicated to the
flitting moon
does not have
a chair
neither a feet
nor root
of hair...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Solemn
sit on a chair
beside a bush
put my feet
on another
chair and then
i lay my head
on a pillow
facing the
moon and
the stars
i close my eyes
and feel
the lightness
of the world
around me
tonight
is the solemnity
of solitude
i am but
a witness
of its
events
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Boiling Point
Boiling Point
What no shame
Broken Dreams
What no shame
I have come for you
Since I was to die
Boil to unknown sights
Make believe broken dreams
Broken dreams
Boiling point
Point of no return
Fears and dreams disguise
Lifes noose
Can I
Face the chair (electric chair I assume)
Face the chair
Face the chair
Boiling point
Falling to darkness
Where the sky turns red
Turns into stark features
Letting you wish you would live
You wish you would live
What no shame
Boiling point
Broken dreams
What no shame
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marital Agonies
she sits on a rocking chair
but she is not rocking it
her eyes stare at the sea without
a horizon
she spreads her legs looking
for a spot to
rest her toes,
he is out there looking at the sunset
his shadow is consumed
by darkness
he comes home
opens the PC and begins to write some poems
mostly about
funerals
unlike before
there were lots of sunrises everywhere as though
mornings are the only
seasons
he pauses, he hears the rocking of the chair.
the TV is off
he cannot find the letters to form the words.
he stares at the monitor
he is silent.
there is no break in this monotonous sound of silence.
he wishes he were a stone.
she wishes she is a bird.
one refuses to grow further.
the other wants to fly away, no matter where.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Comfort Of A Drunken Mind
Lipstick on an empty glass
A Memory of a smile
In my time, don’t you know?
Young girls vied for my attention
Always posing, Heartbreaker to women was I.
God, I will never see her smile again
Her voice silent to me
Inside I am a flower without rain
A musician without music
My love waits in a queue,
Full of fools, and whiskey bottles
Ahhh another drink
Yes tomorrow, will be better
I remember her stare,
Sitting on that chair,
That damn chair.
Drink Darling?
My Blossom of the night,
A smooth talker me.
I broke her dreams
Now Petals on a stormy sea
I remember her scent
Now washed away on the hurricanes breath
Called Whisky
Ahh another drink, she won’t leave me?
Damn that empty chair
To bed, the morning will bring her back
The bottle sleeps
And the sandman paints his illusions
Dreams invulnerable to reality
The glow of dawn, incinerates these imposters
Fabricated in the monsoon of a drowning brain
Cornflakes and Barley wine, a man’s breakfast
What now, a snifter I think and another thought?
Love has left this empty chair
Where dreams and happiness dwelt
Where futures were planned
And where love flowed, intoxicating our lives.
Still, the empty glass remains.
Ahh, another drink, and another illusion to comfort my soul
The bottle is my love now,
And the empty chair, my sentence.
That damned empty chair
Ahh did I tell you, once I was a heartbreaker?
Come Share a drink with me friend?
poem by Steven Cooke
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You give me electric chair. I no afraid of that chair! You're one of capitalists. You is crook man too. Put me in electric chair. I no care!
quote by Giuseppe Zangara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Musical chair
Musical chair is not mine
I can not share the musical chair with others.
I never play with musical chair
I do not believe musical chair can be played.
I believe mine is mine
And yours is yours.
I can not take away your right
You can not take away mine.
The world is here, look
With a musical chair.
I am here and also you are.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Want to Meet the Person who Made the Chair
I want to meet
The person who made
The chair
Kings and Politicians
Fight for the chair
Fight may be fair unfair
One goes other comes
The chair remains
Always Waiting
For the old to go
New to occupy
I keep thinking
If only benches were there
Hundreds
Could have sat on them
Fights and killings
Would have been less
Less enmity
Less blood shed
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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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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The Management of Grief
pick up a book,
put it down.
pick up a book,
put it down.
go outside.
sit in the red chair.
get up from the red chair.
sit in the grass.
pick the grass.
eat the grass.
throw the grass away,
sit on the steps.
pick up a rock.
scratch a circle
on a step
with the rock.
put the rock down.
sit in the red chair.
kick the red chair.
eat the red chair, eat the book.
poem by Mary Frances Farrow
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The Problem With You
is that
you are too normal for a man,
what normal is, i define it
you are too formal
like a chair
there are other chair possibilities you have not tried
for instance
having only one foot
and still be proud to stand as a chair
on a chain of possibilities
the problem with you is you rhyme like their poem
and you become just like them
a factory made word
another boring mechanism
like a wooden panel without beauty
without the
aha! or
what is this? is this man? is this a chair?
is this a poem?
try something else
wobbling, whirling
a tornado, you haven't been one yet
a storm, an eye
a vacuum, an eclipse
a waste basket, a moon let
a planet, a sunrise without light?
do not just be stanza
be a word misspelled
be an error uncorrected
be a dog with feathers
a pink niche, a broken pen
an expelled meteor
a fallen angel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Chair
We sat at the table talking
when we noticed from the corner of our eyes
the door seemed to open and close again.
No one took much notice of it;
each thinking it was a draft that had caught it.
Then we watched amazed
as the chair at the far end of the room
began to move on its own.
Each time it caught our attention the chair stopped.
Turning back to our conversation
from the corner of our eyes,
we watched the chair move again.
Each time it inched closer
towards the table where we sat.
Our guests and we were hypnotised
by the spectacular of the moving chair.
We had lived here for many years
and nothing like this had ever happened before.
We all watched intently the chair
with not a word being spoken.
Whatever was moving it
could clearly not be seen.
Someone smiled and said,
“That is a neat trick you must tell us all
just how you’ve done it.”
I shook my head and replied,
“It is not us doing this.”
Faces paled at the thought
of the chair moving on its own.
The chair then stopped
and the outline of a figure appeared,
its eyes were flaming red
and it stared intently at us all.
“Who are you? ” Someone asked.
“Who do you wish I be? ” The reply came
from a voice that seemed to surround us.
You could see the fear begin to inherit everyone’s eyes
as the eyes of whatever looked around at everyone.
A crackling laughter then arose.
“Who are you? ” I asked,
“You are frightening everyone.
I tell you now you were not invited;
your presence is not welcome here.
Be gone I say, be gone and leave us in peace.”
The flaming eyes stared at me
as if to devour my soul.
Outside a lightning bolt struck,
its explosion made us jump.
When we looked back,
the chair was where it should be
and the flaming red eyes were gone.
Was this an hallucination
or did we really see a ghost.
Whatever, when we returned to talking,
we abandoned the conversation
of strange phenomena we were discussing
before our encounter.
15 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Rickety Chair
On a chair ricketier than himself
He is awake in his slumber
Slumber that comes when days are long
Yet numbered…..
In the relished stupor
The lost years show up as dreams
The remnants announcing
That he’s still alive!
He’s though never sure
He was ever part of them
They must be his imagination,
A myth or a tale he loves to believe.
The wrinkles mock the idea
That there was once a smoothness
The dimming world around his chair
Taunts to say the sparkle was a deceit
Did youth really ever embrace him?
It came to fleet away in a moment
Leaving him on the rickety chair to lament!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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