The New Routine
dinner at six pm
blackout comes at 7
so we sleep as early as that time
and with nothing to do
we make love in the dark
and too tired
we oversleep till 5 the next morning
when electricity resumes
we sleep without air-conditioning
pre-conditioned now
to this long lasting emergency situation
i content myself to the sound of silence
some chirping birds sometimes
and crowing cocks at dawn
and screaming chickens landing
on the ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sketches Of Life
early morning
it will be the same sound
of cocks
crowing,
harbingers of
a new day
up on the tree
their only guide whether to
take the jump
to the ground is the
sun,
she is safe in sleep
as i take the usual journey
again
with all the cocks
crowing
the trees have black leaves
roads and fences are bold strokes
of the Chinese brush
from a painter in Vietnam
i remember
his feet are cut
one wonders if we can be whole
again
when the fragile glasses of our arms
are all broken
early mornings when
the hens are silent
when the ref murmur
a nameless song
when i sound like an empty
gong
love emaciated
like a malnourished
African child
one exhibits the boredom
of his words like
one malling without anything
in mind to buy
nothing specific except
the will to kill time
that does not serve
any use
at the pasta room
where the tea people are not around
on one table the two lesbians are drinking beer
while the two queers on the
other table near the rest room
are exchanging some pleasantries
of notes
they are not singing
but giggling
a man that they call as dark and handsome
passes by
it is strange because he is not wearing anything
his face is covered with black cloth
as though he is bound
for the gallows
there is yet no food on my table
the waitress is busy biting her nails
the mother beside a kid is slapping herself
it is strange here and i put some money on the table
and leave
i need some air to breathe
this world is suffocating.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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untitled ONE
early morning
it will be the same sound
of cocks
crowing,
harbingers of
a new day
up on the tree
their only guide whether to
take the jump
to the ground is the
sun,
she is safe in sleep
as i take the usual journey
again
with all the cocks
crowing
the trees have black leaves
roads and fences are bold strokes
of the Chinese brush
from a painter in Vietnam
i remember
his feet are cut
one wonders if we can be whole
again
when the fragile glasses of our arms
are all broken
early mornings when
the hens are silent
when the ref murmur
a nameless song
when i sound like an empty
gong
love emaciated
like a malnourished
African child
one exhibits the boredom
of his words like
one malling without anything
in mind to buy
nothing specific except
the will to kill time
that does not serve
any use
at the pasta room
where the tea people are not around
on one table the two lesbians are drinking beer
while the two queers on the
other table near the rest room
are exchanging some pleasantries
of notes
they are not singing
but giggling
a man that they call as dark and handsome
passes by
it is strange because he is not wearing anything
his face is covered with black cloth
as though he is bound
for the gallows
there is yet no food on my table
the waitress is busy biting her nails
the mother beside a kid is slapping herself
it is strange here and i put some money on the table
and leave
i need some air to breathe
this world is suffocating.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Nickname....
on early dawn
while you are writing those letters
(still on the grip of tradition
emails are impersonal and lack
the sentimentality of distance
and the grace of the
strokes and
tendrils)
you hear those chirping birds
cocks crowing
sounds of the streets being swept
and occasional hushes of the wind
from the sea
your letters sound as though
they are anticipating the birth of the world
on the seventh day
when the Lord said he finally rested
at the end you say what they always write
Sincerely yours,
your nickname.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aubade And I Am Not Like Other Birds Of Prey
Morning at last!
Every night is a fight till you're waking
Dreams dancing past
Through the silence of sleep
Dawn is breaking
I wake and watch them till then
And I am not like other birds of prey
And I am not like other birds of prey
Oh, night is long, you won't needing me
For a dressed up time I am there to see
That fear holds no sway
Soft is my plan
And my eyes kill the lies that felt happy
Life is my right
And in sleep's little bed
I'll protect you
So, hear, let my presence dismay
That I am not like other birds of prey
That I am not like other birds of prey
When hopes are young and your cares are few
Then I'm sure above keeping truth in you
And my name is love
Submitted by Michael Hack
song performed by by Supertramp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lullaby
SLEEP, sleep, my treasure,
The long day's pleasure
Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;
The garden still is
Alight with lilies,
But all the daisies are fast asleep.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Dawn wakes the starling,
The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;
But all the meadow
Is wrapped in shadow,
And you must sleep till the daisies wake!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Child's Even-Song
The sun is weary, for he ran
So far and fast to-day;
The birds are weary, for who sang
So many songs as they?
The bees and butterflies at last
Are tired out, for just think too
How many gardens through the day
Their little wings have fluttered through.
And so, as all tired people do,
They've gone to lay their sleepy heads
Deep deep in warm and happy beds.
The sun has shut his golden eye
And gone to sleep beneath the sky,
The birds and butterflies and bees
Have all crept into flowers and trees,
And all lie quiet, still as mice,
Till morning comes-like father's voice.
So Geoffrey, Owen, Phyllis, you
Must sleep away till morning too.
Close little eyes, down little heads,
And sleep-sleep-sleep in happy beds.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Industrialization
an early morning treat
to the chirping sounds of the birds
the engines arrive in the form of the bus
the tractors and the caterpillars
the birds fly away carrying their songs
the chirping sounds fade
the buzz of the day is in the machine
paving, drilling, cementing, screaming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Set them free..They will multiply..
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time,
colorful birds to colored birds,
chirping birds to singing birds,
flying birds to walking birds,
cunning birds to love birds,
Watching birds is just a lesson,
making mind to have a vision.
collect the twigs to make the nest,
one by one, they think the best,
choose the right tree,
just high and free,
Making the nest perfect,
without any single defect,
The birds toil together or alone,
all day long until it is done.
I bought two love birds,
that were kept in a cage.
Hung the cage under the balcony,
above the reach of dogs not felony.
chirping disturbed their sleep,
Nikko, the dog set them free.
Only two flew away,
but I have a few dozens now,
making their nests,
right in front of me, on the trees.
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Abstraction Fo The Word Chirp....
i hear birds chirping
early morning
on those trees
clouds arrive, light
spreads,
green becomes too green
in the fields of
life,
i hear birds chirping
sweet to my ear
i give it priority
abstract. delet morning
move out clouds from the picture
double click green fields
focus on life
delet birds
add volume to chirping
it is all chirping now
just chirping
chirping chirping
the essence of chirp.
i have abstracted it from
everything else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early In November
Beneath the starry morning still and steady
Frost laid on the leaves
Frost laid on the dreams
And stayed till the sun beams
Its early in November
And there's no rain
Oh this terrible silence and frozen pain
Sleep clinging in the closets
Sleep creeping on the floors
Sleep climbing up the walls
And stays till the reality falls
It's early in November
And I can't remember
How long will i wait and slumber?
The sky begins to pale
The black reveals is blues so dull and stale
As the footsteps begun to jolt this abandoned trail
The heart bursts out into this silent wail
It's early in November
And there's no rain
Oh this terrible silence and frozen pain
poem by Falky Flakes
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Early Mornin'
Early mornin'
All right, I was out real late last night
Got a little messy
Early morning
Can't be like that anymore, oh
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Wanna talk to
When he walked up someone grabbed him
But I liked him to come here
Kinda cool
Baby, we can make plans
Where ya live
Does your mama live there
We can hook up at the hotel
Hands down so
I told him, let's go
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Oh, in love
So I approached him
We gotta give him his friends
There's something bout him that show
So I said, what the hell
Let's go
Got up, got on the dance floor
Hooked up with a guy named Joe
When the music was fast and slow
But waht happened next, guess?
But you don't wanna know
I was shaking my ass in the streets this morning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, bump till the break of dawn and
It don't stop till the early morning
Passed out on the couch I'm yawning
Just walked in and it's early morning
Bump, b
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blackout
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine, herman rarebell, sonja kittelsen
I realize I missed a day
But Im too wrecked to care anyway
I look around and see this face
What the hell have I lost my taste
Dont want to find out
Just want to cut out
My head explodes, my ears ring
I cant remember just where Ive been
The last thing that I recall
I got lost in a deep black hole
Dont want to find out
Just want to cut out
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Blackout
I really had a blackout
I grab my things and make my run
On the way out, another one
Would like to know before I stop
Did I make it or did I flop
Dont want to find out
Just want to get out
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Blackout
I really had a blackout
Dont want to find out
Just want to get out
Blackout
I really had a blackout!
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work Overtime Turbo Drive
long overdue
a well earned rest
about to sleep,
sweet sweet well earned sleep,
my eyes can hardly peep
about to hit my pillow,
think instant sleep sublime,
will caress my soul be bedtime mine
I will heartily wallow,
in gentle sleeps slumber pastime,
this rest of tired mind be chime downtime fine
long long past,
sleep sleep past early dawn time,
long overdue this hard nightime earned recline
peacetime nest so welcomed
this rest among clime blessed
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Insomnia
Laying quietly in the dark
Alone in bed on my right side
Listening to the tinnitus
In my ear, praying sleep will come;
Not that I have obligations
To meet in the early morning;
I am an old retired dude
With a lot of time on my hands
But damn it to hell, I need sleep.
I try composing poetry
But my wandering tired mind
Can not remain focused for long
So I turnover my left side
And begin all over again.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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When Dawn Comes to the City
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The moaning, groaning cars,
And the old milk carts go rumbling by
Under the same dull stars.
Out of the tenements, cold as stone,
Dark figures start for work;
I watch them sadly shuffle on,
'Tis dawn, dawn in New York.
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing,
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There would I be at dawn.
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The crazy, lazy cars,
And the same milk carts go rumbling by
Under the dying stars.
A lonely newsboy hurries by,
Humming a recent ditty;
Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,
The dawn comes to the city.
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling,
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There I would be at dawn.
poem by Claude McKay
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Up All Night
Up all night
With thoughts I cant escape from
All the things you said
Its a one way street this dead ended situation
Keep running through my head
Now the thrills gone
Youre moving on
You say you really love me
But you must be going
Its too bad its too damn sad
But not enough to make me want to cry
Somewhere theres a man who neds me
Not someone who runs and leaves me
Up all night
All those nasty games youre playin
Make me sick and tired of stayin
Up all night
Now I cant calm down
You got my senses reelin
How could you say good bye
Its 4 am
Im starin at the ceiling
Cant seem to close my eyes
But Ill be fine in time
Ill find another love boy
And youll be sorry
Ill be alright Ill sleep tight
Till the break of dawn
Chorus
I can think of better things
Counting stars
Instead of counting on you
Therell be somone in my life
To hold me close
When were up all night
But Ill be fine in time
Ill find another lover boy
And youll be sorry
Ill be alright
Ill sleep tight
Till the break of dawn
Chorus
song performed by by Taylor Dayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning, Noon And Nightime....
it was early morning
when what i am is merely hearing voices
and all i can do is look at those faces
and sometimes make a stare
at noon, i have learned many things
and i begin to speak their language
adopt their way at looking at this world
and attempt many times to understand each part
i've read on the papers that evening
about a woman who jumped to the sea and was never found
there is the shiver that goes to the bottom of my marrow
i check my bones
some people have become periods of the long paragraph
i judge them sometimes and put those flowers of sympathy
i do not sleep till dawn
my hands are resting on my forehead
my eyes are painting the ceiling
and my feet are buried on the ground
such is the case of some complaisance
as morning arrives again singing its blue marks
upon its cheeks are tattoos
which i have mistaken as scars
there are always other matters
i sleep with them now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Gloucester Mother
When autumn winds are high,
They wake and trouble me
With thoughts of people lost
A-coming on the coast,
And all the ships at sea.
How dark, how dark and cold
And fearful in the waves,
Are tired folk who lie not still
And quiet in their graves
In moving waters deep
That will not let men sleep
As they may sleep on any hills,
May sleep ashore till time is old
And all the earth is frosty cold.
Under the flowers a thousand springs
They sleep and dream of many things.
God bless them all who die at sea!
If they must sleep in restless waves,
God make them dream they are ashore
With grass above their graves!
poem by Sarah Orne Jewett
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Early Morning Silence
Sitting in the early morning silence
that hasn’t filled with
the approaching days gloom.
That time when the mind
has a chance to run free.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
The intrusive world has not
invaded our space with idle chatter
from sources that surround us
making up our daily lives.
The early morning silence
we need to activate our mind.
You sit in the darkness
just before the dawn appears
enjoying the solitary that is temporary stillness
brings to your ears.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
16 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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The Little London Girl
IN my little Green House, quite content am I,
When the hot sun pours down from the sky;
For oh, I love the country–the beautiful country.
Who'd live in a London street when there's the country?
I live in a London street, then I long and long
To be the whole day the sweet Flowers among
Instead of tall chimney-pots up in the sky,
The joy of seeing Birds and Dragon Flies go by.
At home I lie in bed, and cannot go to sleep,
For the sound of cart-wheels upon the hard street.
But here my eyes close up to no sound of anything
Except it is to hear the nightingales sing.
And then I see the Chickens and the Geese go walking,
I hear the Pigs and the Ducks all talking.
And the Red and the Spotted Cows they stare at me,
As if they wondered whoever I could be.
I see the little Lambs out with their mothers–
Such pretty little white young sisters and brothers.
Oh, I'll stay in the country, and make a daisy chain,
And never go back to London again.
poem by Kate Greenaway
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