Tomorrow In The Porch Of The House
when you arrive tomorrow
i will not be there
the key of the door is found
just beneath the earthen jar
at the porch
there is an orange cat with
one eye
it is not ours but
we have become friends
after i feed it
with a fish that we have not
eaten for 3 days
we have not seen each other
since then
after we made love in
the kitchen
i will not be home for a week
you know the reason
if you have some questions
talk to the orange cat
it will tell you some important matters
that i haven't told you
listen to every meow that he says
it is rich with metaphors
about lust and longing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Won't You Come Home
Well i was out a drinkin'
With a couple of friends of mine
When the bartender handed me the telephone
Says "there's a wife on the line."
I told her i was just a drinkin'
With a couple of buddies i knew
She told me in a few short words
Just a what she wanted me to do
She said "oh won't you come home and talk to a stranger.
Cause you might even make yourself a friend."
She said "won't you come home and talk to a stranger.
It's the only place in days you haven't been."
Well i sat there about an hour
Talkin' with the rest of the guys
When she walked through that front door
She had "get home" in her eyes
She said "you've danced and talked
With every woman in town but me.
And if you'd just come around the house
You might like my company."
She said "oh won't you come home and talk to a stranger.
Cause you might even make yourself a friend."
She said "won't you come home and talk to a stranger.
It's the only place in days you haven't been."
She said "oh won't you come home and talk to a stranger.
Cause you might even make yourself a friend."
She said "won't you come home and talk to a stranger.
It's the only place in days you haven't been.
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Won't You Come Home (And Talk To A Stranger)
Well I was out a drinkin' with a couple of friends of mine
When the bartender handed me the telephone
Said there's a wife on the line
I told her I was just a drinkin' with a couple of buddies I knew
but she told me in a few short words
Just what she wanted me to do
She said won't you come home and talk to a stranger
You might even make yourself a friend
She said won't you come home and talk to a stranger
It's the only place in days you haven't been
Well I sat there about an hour talkin' with the rest of the guys
When she walked through that front door
She had get home in her eyes
She said you've danced and talked with every woman in town but me
And if you'd just come around the house you might like my company
She said won't you come home and talk to a stranger
You might even make yourself a friend
She said won't you come home and talk to a stranger
It's the only place in days you haven't been
She said won't you come home and talk to a stranger
You might even make yourself a friend
She said won't you come home and talk to a stranger
It's the only place in days you haven't been
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange Leaf
Orange leaf passing by
The air is stiff
And cold
Orange leaf passing by
Flying over the snow
Orange leaf passing by
Riding over the snow.
Past the oak tree
The old house is silent
Orange leaf
Fly with the wind
And snow
Fly past the frozen lake
Fish sleeping beneath
Its crystal surface
Orange leaf
fly to the sea
And wait
To be picked up
And carried off
Orange leaf passing by
The air is stiff
And cold
Orange leaf passing by
Flying over the snow
poem by Jesse love
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Red And Orange
Ther's a red house,
Inside there's an orange door.
Beside that there's a red carpet,
On top of an orange floor.
There's a red table,
Below an orange ceiling.
Upstairs there's a red bed,
Inside an orange room.
There's a couple of red people sleeping soundly,
Next door two orange ones too.
Outside there's a red truck,
No one knows what to do.
I don't see the proble,
Why don't you leave us all alone.
But now I see the red more clearly,
And I know what's done is done.
And I'll float away with the cloudy smoke,
Before the inevertable happens and I start to choke.
Good bye red house,
So long orange door.
I'm going for a long sleep noe,
Six feet under the floor.
The Earth For Free...
sensing that you do not wish to talk
or engage in
oral intercourse like those previous
free falling conversations
which we
conclude to be honest and candid and free
and agreeable
i stopped talking too
talking is not important anyway because
my fingers
have taken as many mouths as there are
without being loud
i respect your silence but somehow i detest your way of
surrendering to the helplessness of
silence
i remember when i was told that tomorrow will be my last day
and which happened to be false
i visited friends and knock from one door to another
telling them
that i love talking and that talking relieves me from the pain of
having been given only one day to live
when i have not gathered the sunflower which shall bloom in February
when my book shall arrive next week before
i shall close my eyes
and cease breathing
we were under a pyramidal roof
surrounded by coconut trees
beyond us the sea and some white painted boats
the seagulls are busy catching fish on their beaks
while fishermen arrive with salt on their bodies
and it was that time that i notice that this world is so beautiful
and the people too friendly
and yet
when we leave and be away for good and think that out there
there is more to all these
there is that sense of obligation to comply
this is not our home but just a hotel and we must not be too ungrateful to stay some more
because we did not pay anything at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fly home
Fly home there will be shine
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be sweet
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be caring
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be lovely
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be comfort
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be fortune
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be future
with bright orange light
Fly home Fly home to your nest
with bright orange light
poem by See Fee Lee
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With No One Around
just in case
you come home
and i am not around
sit on the
porch and call the
orange cat with one eye
and talk to it
it is not as insensitive
as you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode To Orange Chgicken
Orange chicken, oh orange chicken,
how much I love you.
You're sweet, sticky, and tangy, all at the same time,
you go great wi th soy sauce, but never with lime.
ode to orange chicken, which I love to devour,
it's been in my mouth so often, it knows that i have power.
It knows the names of my taste buds, Jill, Lil, and Bill,
sometimes the orange chicken is happy, but sometimes it's held against it's will.
Whenever I eat orange chicken, it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH,
and I have to have chow mein, and that goes MUCH, MUNCH!
Ode to orange chicken, it is always in a bowl,
but did I mention, i also love eggrolls.
poem by Aubrey Harmel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Do It For Your Love
Words & music by paul simon
We were married on a rainy day
The sky was yellow
And the grass was gray
We signed the papers
And we drove away
I do it for your love
The rooms were musty
And the pipes were old
All that winter we shared a cold
Drank all the orange juice
That we could hold
I do it for your love
Found a rug
In an old junk shop
And I brought it home to you
Along the way the colors ran
The orange bled the blue
The sting of reason
The splash of tears
The northern and the southern
Hemisphere
Love emerges and it disappears
I do it for your love
I do it for your love
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cracker Hacker
When is a joke not really a joke?
When it is said by a Heating and AC man--
Named as a Pastor in California---
Out in Orange County land;
He's been known to help the Guru---
In some of his most rage -filled plans---
Heating and AC pollution...
Can give you: 'Heavy Metal Hands';
Now we already know about Bot.net...
And have found out about a few other things...
We know that he is still an uninvited guest...!
Yes, through my back door he swings! ;
He's a cracker thats for absolute sure...! ! !
A most devious computer hound...
With eyes on my: 'home kitchen'
With enough rope...he's prison bound! ;
So, when is a joke not really a joke?
When it is supposedly told by a Heating and AC man--
He was named as the Guru's Pastor---
Out in Orange County land;
Signed: One of His victims (Theo Onken)
And dedicated to all things:
'Past and Fluffy'
July 21,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Prince Of Orange
Look at these hands
Spokes of the sun God delay you, spray you
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Brass robinettes
Trumpet and drums for the taking, baking
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
All the food he steals is all right
Far the tall and gentle poplar
Causing fanfare to those listening
Now
Drape round your head
Mischief and secrets in green kelt, all hell
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Look at these lands (--- --- ---)
Youll get no books for your dinner
Sinner
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why I Am Not A Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
poem by Frank O'Hara
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Witch
Eyes, rivulets of red that run beneath a canopy
Of green-tinged lashes –
Tear blood playing on the grey-white skin,
Stretched across the twin peaks of cheekbone.
That slender pillar of a neck –
Magnet of eroticism, blinds to
Veins gorging on the flesh,
Dancing under pulse of blood –
Or whatever pumps inside.
Coal-black lips word intentions –
Castigations – variations of the horror
She was born to be.
O the hair! – a flame-orange avalanche
Thundering down to Hell
Where seething mounds of torn bodies lost their souls
To viler wants and fouler holes of
Scatological minds.
And the plunge of lavish breast –
E’er the siren’s weapon! –
Baits the mortal man –
Were he to chance his hand across
The certainty of doom.
But still we go, our weakness on display –
Hers will not a challenge be to see to our decay.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Under lust rain
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
lust lust lust lust lust lust lust
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Kitchen Bitches
Round table they all meet, set up in the kitchen.
They had a book highlighted with their so call friends name,
They all did their homework report and came to tell about the information that they've gather.
Pour their tea ready to talk about anecdotes,
the conversation is backbiting about their friends life
The kitchens bitches spread intimating rumors about they friends who live way better than the kitchen bitches
They begin with 'word of the mouth is! '
They love to gossip, it is like a rush they need every week,
this meeting make them feel good about themselves and also put them in the right mood
'Gossip conference is over, so next week lets meet at a new location! '
Their small minds discuss people, but they're blind to see that they own life is more mess up than anyone on the block.
Kitchen bitches only dislike gossip is when you gossip about them.
Ever member of the kitchen bitches even talk about the misssing member when they move to a different kitchen.
poem by Brittany Wongus
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An Orange Cat
an orange cat
with one eye
(a cruel man
bit its eye with a stick
and the cat
became blind)
it always waits
by the door looking for
me on early mornings
i feed it fish and rice
and a can of water
i look at it
and somehow i remember
what i was
on my past lives
what i lacked once
now i must fill
lest i be the rat
forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Orange Tree
The young girl stood beside me.
I Saw not what her young eyes could see:
- A light, she said, not of the sky
Lives somewhere in the Orange Tree.
- Is it, I said, of east or west?
The heartbeat of a luminous boy
Who with his faltering flute confessed
Only the edges of his joy?
Was he, I said, borne to the blue
In a mad escapade of Spring
Ere he could make a fond adieu
To his love in the blossoming?
- Listen! the young girl said. There calls
No voice, no music beats on me;
But it is almost sound: it falls
This evening on the Orange Tree.
- Does he, I said, so fear the Spring
Ere the white sap too far can climb?
See in the full gold evening
All happenings of the olden time?
Is he so goaded by the green?
Does the compulsion of the dew
Make him unknowable but keen
Asking with beauty of the blue?
- Listen! the young girl said. For all
Your hapless talk you fail to see
There is a light, a step, a call
This evening on the Orange Tree.
- Is it, 1 said, a waste of love
Imperishably old in pain,
Moving as an affrighted dove
Under the sunlight or the rain?
Is it a fluttering heart that gave
Too willingly and was reviled?
Is it the stammering at a grave,
The last word of a little child?
- Silence! the young girl said. Oh, why,
Why will you talk to weary me?
Plague me no longer now, for I
Am listening like the Orange Tree.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Done With You
You think you going keep breaking my heart
In your dreams
I'm
Done with you
I'm closing door on you
I'm happy and doing fine
There is other fish in the sea
I don't need a jerk like you
I will found someone better than you
I can't believe I fall in love with a jerk
I'm
Done with you
And your games
I been such fool and got lost in your eyes
I thought you were sweet person
You lead me on
Then at end you just make me crush
I'm
Done with you
So bye bye bye to you
I waste my percious time on you
I wish listen to my friends sooner
So next time I see you I will look away mad and annoy you
I don't care any more
I'm
Done with you
I'm moving on
Don't try to talk to me or call me
Can't you see what you done to me
I'm all screw up because of you
I keep saying things I wish I haven't
I'm
Done with you
poem by Christina Phan
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The military police
One afternoon
just after returning from work
there was a knock on the front door
and three military policemen
with flat orange hats,
and orange arm flashes
demanded to come in
and wanted to search my place
as somebody had told them
that I was a friend of someone
for whom they had an arrest warrant
for not turning up to camp
and the simpletons thought
that I was hiding him.
Being in the citizens force,
I intensely disliked the military police
and knew that he was quite safe from them
and showed them the gate
which made them really angry,
but they were furious
when I told them that I knew
where to find him
and that they could go
to the local police station
where he was on duty.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tomorrow Night
Tomorrow night Im goin home
Tomorrow night Im goin home
Goin to see my friends and my family
My dog my old brown ? ? ?
Thats an ice ? ? ? cool for
Good stuff down on the south side
They keep me flowin
Good times is goin smiling and rolling
I gots to run into my old time used to be
Used to be with me
Gonna catch my love on this weekend
If shes still speakin to me
Comeon jenny lee
Gotta get you into my ride
Gonna drive all over the city tonight
Checkin down by the river
Two tired to go ? ? ?
Yeah, tomorrow night Im goin home
Well tomorrow night Im goin home
Welcome home boy
Well how you been
Its good to see you
Hello friend
Youve got a fine car
And some cool threads
Its good to see you
Well hello friend
I had to leave my home and get out
Ive been all around town to town
Room to room
Moon to moon
Found my groove ? ? ?
Smooth as I should be but theres time changing
Then I ? ? ? myself
Watch out every door is on my trail ? ? ?
Comin down like hail
I lose em now
Im homeward bound
Ive seen the past flash in my eye
Days like clouds in the sky
Talk about the days
Will listen but I cant hear
Yesterday yesterday
Ready for some cookin
Moms fixin chicken
Strawberry rhubarb crisp
Its good like this
Later on I gots ta go see the catman
My boy ? ? ?
I dont know got some new girl
Every time we speak
Freaks glazed in the heat
Coolin on second with the wet green sneaks
And this course ? ? ?
Feelin nice
Im goin home
Im goin home
Yeah, tomorrow night, Im goin home
Oh, tomorrow night, Im goin home
Yeah, Im goin home
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Porch
It's a beautiful evening to sit outside
On the porch my husband built me
And watch the quiet, and just listen
to the birds sing.
It's so peaceful, no kids around
Just the neighbor mowing his lawn
But tomorrow's Monday and the
kids will be up at the crack of dawn.
Another week will begin
There will be school buses up and down the street
The kid's will come home hungry, as always
Looking for something to eat.
People will be coming home from work
Tired and drug out
They'll have dinner, watch the news
And go to bed early, no doubt.
Everyday will begin the same
Until the week-end's here
Then I will sit out on my porch again
With my husband near.
Dianna Nally
9/11/05
poem by Dianna Nally
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