Never Empty
Do you ever muse what houses do
while you're at work, the kids at school,
how the traffic roars as it rolls on by
and the telephone rings with no reply.
The refrigerator sings its refrigerator tune
and the gas man calls in the afternoon.
How rain pours through that hole in the roof
and the ants infest all the children's shoes.
Have you ever thought on that dear folk,
when you're out all day and the front door's locked.
When the spiders dance and crickets chirp
with their clod hopper feet on the skirting boards,
making merriment while you're away,
assuming the house is empty all day.
Have you ever looked under old floor boards
where the mice all run when the cat's at play
and the spiders return at the break of day.
Only the house knows what goes on,
only its walls see the spiders run
and the crickets dance and the mice at play,
only the house when you're all away
except for the clock on the kitchen wall
with its heart ever beating the time of day.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Flyswatter
Little field mice
Living under the house
Never eating much
Tough life for a mouse
And if you think youre gonna be spared youre wrong
Field mice, head lice
Spiders in the kitchen
Dont think twice bout
Whatever keeps you itchin
Ice water, flyswatter
Gonna get you trough
The day
Heat is rolling in like
Hells red rug
Stinking like the breath of beelzebub
And if you think you wont walk on coals you will
Field mice, head lice
Spiders in the kitchen
Dont think twice bout
Whatever keeps you itchin
Ice water, flyswatter
Gonna get you trough
The day
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spiders In The Night
Spiders in the night
Creeping round the walls
Now you'll feel him
Crawling over you
Creepy crawly things
Filling up your bed
Soon you'll feel him
Crawling through your brains
You think he's there
Beware his bite
But when you look
The spider's not in sight
Spiders reappear
Taking peoples names
Everything is taken down insane
There's no way out
And there's no key
But here's a clue
The spider's really me
You're written in his book
The spider won't forget
You won't forget
The spiders in the night
The end is going night
Itsy witsy friends
The spiders disappearing from the night
You think he's gone
You think he's dead
There's no escape
The spiders in your head
All the spiders in the night
All the spiders in the night
All the spiders in the night
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne from Bark At The Moon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nicklin’s Torment
I woke up in a cold sweat
and turned on the light.
A shadow was moving over me,
cast by a spider of the night.
By the time I’d blinked
it’d vanished from view,
but then I saw a larger one,
followed by another two.
I closed my eyes for a moment
hoping they would disappear.
When I slowly reopened them
the bedroom was spider clear.
With my hand I mopped my brow
and then saw several more,
they were crawling on the ceiling
and marching across the floor.
I told myself that I was dreaming
or suffering from withdrawal,
but that didn’t stop the spiders
from crawling up the wall.
Sweat dripping from my brow
was stinging in my eyes.
Spiders were now on my bed
at my feet and on my thighs.
The whole room was full of spiders,
on the ceiling, walls, and floor.
My bed was covered and so was I.
I screamed stop! But out came even more.
Spiders crawling on top of spiders,
in my mouth, nose and ears,
their scary eyes staring into mine,
I was choking with utter fear.
I tried in vain to fight them off,
but my hand didn’t move a one.
I must have blacked out just then,
when I awoke they had all gone.
Things are becoming better now
and the spiders are getting less.
I’m told they’ll eventually go for good,
along with my shakes, thirst, and mess.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House
For many years, the house
stood empty and forlorn.
The windows had been boarded
preventing the sunlight coming in.
No welcoming mat lay by the door;
laughter was a thing of the past
as spiders spun their webs
within the gloomy silence.
The house stood empty
abandoned by most living things
and there were those who said
spooky goings on went on
after night fell in there.
No one could prove it
because no one would stay there.
Only the fool hardy
would ever enter after dark.
The paintwork pealed
and the front door creaked
if someone dared to open it.
They say the house is haunted,
but no one knew
by what or who.
The house began to crumble
as each season came to pass.
The glory of its birth
lay somewhere in the past
and now the crumbling walls
would never reveal
any of the secrets that it knew.
Then a fire started
by a hand unseen
and the house finally died
within its own funeral pyre
15 March 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solitude [Singurătate]
With the curtains pulled together
At my table made of wood
Near the fire burning slowly
I am in a thinking mood.
Through my mind are swiftly passing
Many thoughts that it recalls,
Chirping like a group of crickets
Among black and ancient walls.
In the soul then they are falling,
Breaking less and sometimes more,
As the burning wax is dripping
On the church's marble floor.
In the chamber, at the corners
Spider webs hang all around,
While the mice are slowly sneaking
On the shelves and on the ground.
In this peace reigning all over
I am casting bitter looks
When I hear the mice are crunching
The hard covers of my books.
Oh, how many times I wanted
To reject the lyre's call,
To forget my desolation
And my rhymes once and for all.
But then come the mice and crickets,
Walking slowly all the time,
Bringing back my gloomy feeling,
Which becomes again a rhyme.
Sometimes... but not very often...
When the lamp burns and I rest,
Suddenly, I hear the door knob
And my heart leaps from my chest.
It is her and in a moment
All my desert house looks right
And my dusky life is lighted
By her icon in the night.
I'm upset that time still passes
And at such a hurried pace,
When I'm talking to my darling
Hand in hand and face to face.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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We Have Mice
We have mice in the bedroom,
the living room, kitchen and the loo.
I have even found one in the bathroom sink.
They come in all sorts of colours
red, green, purple, blue and pink.
They all belong to our cat family,
Arthur, Barney, Charlie and Daisy.
They leave them all over the house,
even hide them in our shoes and under the mats.
Sometimes they take them to bed
when they are lying on ours.
We have mice, mice and more mice,
ain’t life grand when your kitty winks have fun
and you suffer at their paws.
However, we would not be without them,
as all cat lovers know.
11 January 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maria's Lullaby
An extract from a poem written for my grandchildren to Brahms Lullaby
Sleep; little mice sleep
Mother will watch over you
Shut your eyes and don't peek
Tomorrow the skies will be blue
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
No harm will come whilst I am here
The sun has gone down by the peak
When the day dawns it will appear
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Your father is watching the house
That no owl or cat dares to seek
Harm to creatures or mouse
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Tomorrow you run and play
Now is not time to speak
When you awake a new day
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Rest now for your own sake
Shut your eyes now be asleep
I will be here when you awake
Sleep; little mice sleep.
poem by Thomas Golding
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old House in the Glen
Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.
The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.
If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.
The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.
The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.
poem by Kate Wiley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A House Without Stairs
do not say
that without the stairs
the house is not a house anymore
without the ceiling
the more the house becomes to me
take the roof
if you want
or the beams
or even the floor and window frames
my house will still be a house
the sky its roof
the stretching grassy plain its floor
all the stars become
my magnificent ceiling
whatever is taken
we must imagine that all things are still there
lest we only have a house
that crashes on the floor
with all of us
dead
crushed to the death of
our imaginations
a door without an exit
because you have not seen hope coming
the lock and key
are all in the mind and heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ziggy Stardust (acoustic Live)
Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly
And The spiders from Mars, he played it left hand
But made it too far
Became the special man, then we were Ziggy's band
Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo
Like some cat from Japan, he could lick 'em by smiling
He could leave 'em to hang
Came on so loaded man, well hung and snow white tan
So where were the spiders
While the rats tried to break our balls
Just the beer light to guide us
So we bitched about his fans
And should we crush his sweet hands, oh
Ziggy played for time, jiving us that we were voodoo
The kids were just crass, he was the nazz
With God given ass
He took it all too far but boy could he play guitar
Making love with his ego
Ziggy sucked up into his mind
Like a leper messiah
When the kids had killed the man
I had to break up the band, oh
Oh yeah, ooooooh
Now, Ziggy played guitar
song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem Cat
Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.
Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.
Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.
The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.
If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.
Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.
Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.
When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.
As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sad House
the children are locked inside the house
if they go out once again
they shall be chained like dogs
once the hyperactive one
fell from the window
but its bones are strong and it knew how to land
like a cat
on the hard floor
spoiled kids says the mother
who is out of the house most of the time
they deserve punishment
says the father who is sick with lung cancer
stuffed toys
these kids without necks
they were never allowed to play
they have to go direct
to become
cruel men later
and no one is to blame
no one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Times
Little kids play in the rain and do the darnest of things
They might get cold or catch a flue but still they'll play non-rest
They care not if the world might end or famine strikes the fields
As long as they are with a friend, worries cannot exist
'Happy! Happy! ' They will sing and then go dance in the rain
They paint a picture of you and me. I wish we were happy again
We could dance in the rain and sing with the birds and never care of this world
But now we're chained and frowning in pain but apparently this we deserve
Kids should never play in the rain it's a dangerous place to be
So the elders lock them in the house and safely hide the key
But as soon as the rain subsides and it's finally safe to play
They'll open the doors and let us play to our very hearts content
Yet every night I say a prayer that we'll be happy again
I miss my friend, I miss the rain, and I wanna go out and play
But the elders have locked us in for the safety of our souls
The rain is a dangerous place to play and we have to wait some more
The elders will keep me happy till the sun will shine again
But it doesn't mean that I don't miss you and how we played in the rain
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stranger In My Own House
(a capella: she said: boy, your luck is running out...she make me feel like a stranger...in my own house)
I come stumbling in at a quarter to three
To the sound of my own dog growlin at me
Im scared to move or turn on a light
Youve got me creepin around in the dark
Like a thief in the night
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got no place to live
I never feel at home
I walk into the kitchen to see whats there
Im tired and Im hungry but the cupboards bare
Ive been working all day and all night too
I cant believe this is all I have to come back to
I guess Ill take a look upstairs, in the danger zone
I wonder what Im doing here
When I never feel at home
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im a stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
I see the do not disturb sign on my bedroom door
What is this sheet and pillow laying on the floor
I wore out my welcome
I hear you loud and clear
Its time to get a few things straight around here
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got a place to live but I never feel at home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
With a woman like you Im better off alone
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im just a stranger in my own house
Oh, honey Im home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
You got a lion on your hands girl, not a mouse!
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
Well, somebodys got to go...
Stranger
Stranger
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ziggy stardust and the spiders from mars (Lyrics)
Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly,
and the spiders from Mars. He played it left hand
But made it too far
Became the special man, then we were Ziggy's band
now Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo
Like some cat from Japan, aww he could lick 'em by smiling
He could leave 'em to hang
'came on so loaded man, well hung and snow white tan.
So where were the spiders, while the fly tried to break our balls
With just the beer light to guide us,
So we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?
Ziggy played for time, jiving us that we were voodoo
The kid was just crass, he was the nazz
With God given ass
aww He took it all too far but boy could he play guitar
Making love with his ego Ziggy sucked up into his mind
Like a leper messiah
When the kids had killed the man I had to break up the band.
Ziggy played Guitar.
poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do It All Again!
empty water buckets
on a porch long deserted,
the old house falling down
like a tree sheds its leaves.
the chimney stands cold,
almost roaring with silence...
and there's still a marker
in the back yard where we buried the dog.
love yellowed sheets,
and maggots in the flour.
spiders march on the outhouse walls.
empty mason jars that remember green beans,
a hoe, and a shovel with a broken handle.
ghosts walk cobwebbed halls,
the old floor sags.
and the sounds of two young lovers
haunt the ticking of an unseen clock.
damn! to go back...
and do it all again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Past a house
We yesterday
drove past a house
near a shopping centre
and at the front wall
the plaster was broken,
the garden that was something
at a time
was treaded to pieces
and left uncared.
The front door hanged decaying
and when my eyes
walked down the corridor
some of the ceiling was missing,
and the wooden floor
was being used for firewood
It seemed as if the house
was now really becoming a ruin
and a naked black toddler
were crawling outside
and a very thin dog
looked as if it never got food
and my darling said:
“We stayed here at a time
and once this house
belonged to us
and it was a beautiful place
and just see how it looks now.”
poem by Gert Strydom
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We Wont Dance
We wont dance no more
We wont shine out on the floor
We wont sway the band wont play
We wont dance
I kid you not we were hot
When the weekend came wed dance non-stop
No jitterbug no substitute
No twist and turn no crasha nd burn
Could top us two
We wont dance no more
We wont shine out on the floor
We wont sway the band wont play
We wont dance
As I dipped you down in your yellow dress
Wed brush the floor in a slow caress
As minutes turned to a rising sun
Wed leave the day to rest
Our dancing done
We wont dance no more
We wont shine out on the floor
We wont sway the band wont play
We wont dance
If I were God and controlled what is
Id steal your shoes so you couldnt dance with his
Well Im not all that I could be
But youll never dance with him
The way you danced with me
We wont dance no more
We wont dance no more
Well Im not all that I could be
But youll never dance with him
The way you danced with me
We wont dance no more
We wont shine out on the floor
We wont sway the band wont play
We wont dance
We wont dance no more
We wont shine out on the floor
We wont sway the band wont play
We wont dance
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fiddle-Dee-Dee
Gather ‘round kids, I’ll tell you a riddle
About a lazy grasshopper ‘n diligent ants
They worked hard while hopper fiddled
Like some fool-hardy bug in a trance
Ants scurried about there was no time to play
Toiling all summer, storing food underground
They knew wintertime was not far away
While the vagabond fiddler couldn’t be found
First winter snowstorm came early that year
The ants tended the needs of their queen
Having plenty to eat they'd nothing to fear
For the colonies well being she’d foreseen
‘Around came the hopper hungry ‘n cold
“Can you spare a morsel or two” he cried
“I’ll play you a fine tune” he cajoled
“I’ve been so busy all summer” he lied
A soldier ant stepped up, his voice did ring
“Be off, you scandalous hopper
Or you’ll feel the pain of my poisonous sting”
“Hit the road…you worthless fopper”
Hearing the ruckus the queen summoned a drone
“Let the grasshopper in, give him something to eat
We can’t leave him outside all alone”
So in trudged poor hopper on cold frozen feet
With best manners the hopper ate his fill
Grateful to be well fed and alive
He now knew he’d survive winter’s chill
He vowed to no longer lie ‘n connive
Hopper picked up his fiddle, began to play
The most beautiful tune the ants ever did hear
From then on he played for them every day
Filling the the night air with good cheer
The story now ends with a moral you see
We must treat each other with kindness
For when we treat each other affably
We heal our judgment and blindness
(For Children/ROTMS)
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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