Japanese-American Farmhouse, California, 1942
Everything has been taken that anyone
thought worth taking. The stairs are tilted,
scattered with sycamore leaves curled
like ammonites in inland rock.
Wood shows through the paint on the frame
and the door is open--an empty room,
sunlight on the floor. All that is left
on the porch is the hollow cylinder
of an Albert's Quick Oats cardboard box
and a sewing machine. Its extraterrestrial
head is bowed, its scrolled neck
glistens. I was born, that day, near there,
in wartime, of ignorant people.
poem by Sharon Olds
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Related quotes
So Long Jackson
scattered words on a canvass
Dripping paint
a bit of myth
Chance
Color
Curled up on in your head
a fire without coals
The bottle just about empty
Dead painter
Steel car with blood
Alcoholism is a decadent religion
Fame an empty seat
Fall leaves without a plan
So long Jackson
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Sound Of My Footsteps
i open the door
i enter this house
its windows closed
its chairs set aside
along the corners
of the corridors
the sound of my
shoes making
footsteps
reverberates
in the living room
it is like the lonely
poem you wrote
for me
footsteps taking
the stairs up the
second floor leading
to an empty room
nobody lives here
anymore
you explained
one day
this was a happy home
until all of them
were shot
dead, by the lone
gunner,
what was his name again?
you told me once
his name is loneliness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Room In My Heart
My heart was once just like a home
With many rooms and open doors
And I always let love in
It would change the rooms around and then
Leave them empty
'Til one by one I locked each door
And soon forgot what love was for
But I never gave up hopin'
So I left just one door open
In case you found me
So there's a room in my heart for you
If your trust has been stolen too
If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor
And leave behind you the hurt you've had before
There's a room in my heart for you
We'll paint the walls from blue to white
And set the mood by candlelight
Together we'll keep out the cold
And I'll still be there when we're old
If you'll let me
So there's a room in my heart for you
If your trust has been stolen too
If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor
And leave behind you the hurt you've had before
There's a room in my heart for you
song performed by by Faith Hill from It Matters To Me
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just A Machine
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Four wheels that travel from A to B.
Why worship this idol that you see,
That’s pretty silly, don’t you agree.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Costing a fortune, must keep its shine.
Had to have it, this knockout design.
Thought it simply something so divine.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Depreciates in so quick a time.
Won’t last long, rusty, bang goes its prime.
It certainly won’t be worth a dime.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
A car that travels from A to B.
Not an icon, no god this taxi,
Merely moulded plastic, with a key.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Nowhere Lane
we are...
the ink barely dried
on the page,
the cup chipped
on the windowsill.
wood stacked against
the porch,
the shadows on the
empty swing.
the kiss lost,
and the ring.
red dirt dried
on the shovel,
the old boots left
by the door.
the creaking of the
screen door opening,
the box tied and
packed away.
hunger sap dried
on novel sheets,
the half smoked cigarette
lying in the ashtray.
the sound of the empty room,
in that old house on nowhere lane!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Cupboard
Behind the Welsh Dresser,
fine china,
dinner plates
and an old vase
is a cupboard.
It is a place I store
dark secrets,
shame,
hidden love
and
old memories.
Its walls are shelved
where books
turn towards me
so as to hide their titles.
My jewels
are housed in
cardboard boxes
so as to hide
their worth.
and old photo's,
in black and white
hold my
memories
The cupboard door
is white
and the door
has panels.
You can see the
grain of the wood
through the paint
and even though
I paint it
every year,
the grain
shows through.
I've tried to reveal,
to show
and tell
my secrets,
those unmasked
truths
but somehow
I never can.
I will have to
keep the key
and even when I die
my secrets,
they will die with me.
Here is my cupboard,
my life,
my memories.
Only go there
if you dare
for the truth
will pierce your heart,
challenge your beliefs
change you
rearrange you
and
your ideas
of me.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Through the Shutter
The dull transfiguration's of this hapless old room.
The rusted edges,
orange-brown autumn leaves
on Yosemite's endless trees.
And I'm sure,
you can feel my sigh
With my head tilted upwards,
As I watch, the green paint peeling
and small flakes falling,
it's color becomes less overwhelming.
The rooms passage,
less open than before
still open,
none the less
leads to nowhere
for ages hence
and I sit here waiting,
patiently staying
watching the beautiful scene outside of the window before me.
and my eyes do seem
to be wondering what lies beyond this stale green.
but they know,
they have to surpass,
the endless darkness beside this room
for nothing here has changed,
and they know nothing would.
poem by Joseph Ostapiuk
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For The Moment
Life is simple and gay
The bright sun rings with a quiet sound
The sound of the bells has quieted
down
This morning the light hits it all
The footlights of my head are lit again
And the room I live in is finally bright
Just one beam is enough
Just one burst of laughter
My joy that shakes the house
Restrains those wanting to die
By the notes of its song
I sing off-key
Ah it's funny
My mouth open to every breeze
Spews mad notes everywhere
That emerge I don't know how
To fly toward other ears
Listen I'm not crazy
I laugh at the bottom of the stairs
Before the wide-open door
In the sunlight scattered
On the wall among green vines
And my arms are held out toward you
It's today I love you
Anonymous submission.
poem by Pierre Reverdy
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Born with a Silver Spoon
What a clever fellow you are,
Smart and debonair,
Quite a hit with the ladies
With your smile and slicked-back hair!
Did you go to a Public School?
I thought so, the old school tie
Hangs round your neck and is evident everywhere.
I expect you've got a good job too?
People like you always succeed,
But I don't care
Although I know it isn't fair,
'Cos your head's as empty as a hollow drum
And when I came knocking on the door of your heart
There was no-one there.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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My Own Emptiness
morning
is an empty slate.
i go outside
this room into an open garden
rays of sun arrive
upon leaves soundlessly
mushrooms grow on the sides
of the old narra tree
i imagine i see some
elves
big biga leaves capture
water and on its edges are dews
i am empty like an empty slate of
morning
sunlight cannot
neither dew
nor nymphs of myth
fill it up.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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People Who are Ignorant
People who are ignorant,
Have invested valuable time...
And money spent.
To prove their foolishness and ways,
Makes a difference.
Although these folks within their minds,
Have an absence of common sense.
And, are noticeably self destructive and crazed.
People who are ignorant,
Spend every dime spent...
Revealing their incompetence.
And taking direction from those who are right,
Is something they've never done.
Since deceit and decadence has been their main appetite.
People who are ignorant,
Believe an ability to thieve makes them great.
They believe their disasters started,
Shows their expertise and them being able to create.
But people who are ignorant,
Like these folks show they are and can be?
May seek an empathy from others for their stupidity.
But sincerity shown these empty headed 'entities'...
Is a waste of time.
Unless one wishes a suffering done endlessly.
However...
People who are ignorant,
Have been convinced their way of life...
Is one pursued by those who are jealous.
And are threaten because they are envied!
And standards they value,
Reflects upon them in a 'special' light.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Man And Bottle
Just an empty brandy bottle by the door
An empty bottle standing on the floor
Last week 'twas worth a carpenter's day's pay
But now it isn't worth taking away.
Last week 'twas full of brandy to the top
But in it now there's not a single drop
Just like a candy box without the candy
What value a brandy bottle without brandy?
The man who drank the brandy he is dead
Like all dead men a pine box is his bed
He rests in peace where all dead people lay
Six foot under graveyard earth and clay.
He drank the brandy and then drove his car
But alas the poor man did not travel far
His car left the road and crashed against a tree
And with his life he paid for gluttony.
Next time you're in a bar and have to drive a car, do think
Hard liquor is a thing you ought not drink
Spare a thought for the poor man who drank the brandy
And ask the publican for a beer shandy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You Bowed Down
I expect youre entitled to know why Im making contact
With acquaintances scattered all over the land
Id promise you now and again that Id honour the contract
If it hadnt crumbled away in my hand
So we broke that vow independently now
But I dont know why you absolutely deny
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
When you first looked away I might say it was really a kindness
It must have hurt you to see how dreams sour
Now they say that justice and love are the next things to blindness
Well youre getting plenty of both of them now
And so you parade where appointments are made
And never meant to be kept
Unless you accept
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You value the burnt amber of falling leaves
And you long to delay
As you feel their breath as they whisper
It wont hurt you now to betray
If you just bow down
And now every time that we meet on the edge of hysteria
Youre helping them sell off some new party line
I remember a time when you would have seemed so superior
Now you say will you please meet this good friend of mine?
So youre in demand as long as you kiss their hand
But all the applause is for their name not yours
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down
You bowed down
You bowed down
You bowed down
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Elevator
1st floor decide what you'll be one day
With a head full of comment and nothing to say
2nd floor mixed up it happens that way
Soon you realize that listening don't pay
3rd floor in limbo, no easy moves
Up or down it's time to choose
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut
Too late we're full just hang around
It won't be long - it won't be long before it's down
4th floor the job hunt and all that you ask
Is an honest day's pay for an honest day's graft
5th floor you may make a little more money
Now it's apparent downstairs ain't so fuuny
6th floor a mortgage, a collar and tie
2 weeks vacation in june or july
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut ....
7th floor expenses and private schools
Pushing a pen you're not turning the tools
8th floor position, respect and acclaim
Move up the 9th for fortune or fame
10th floor for investment and real estate
Recouping the redies before it's tool late
11th floor the penthouse the final cut
With a head full of comment and a mouth that stays shut
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut ....
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Even from my front porch
the rusted sewing machine
yearns for golden thread.
haiku by Warren Falcon
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Inland
People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound
Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore,—
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?
People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the harbour's head,
What do they long for, as I long for,—
Starting up in my inland bed,
Beating the narrow walls, and finding
Neither a window nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning,—
One salt taste of the sea once more?
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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A Thrush In A Rush
Our house, once had a visit from a baby thrush,
Who took a wrong turning, during a mad rush.
Our back door was open: the weather was hot;
Then suddenly, over the threshold, he did pop.
The next thing, of which, I was then aware,
Was the young thrush flying up our stairs.
On reaching the top, he turned left, and he zoomed,
Through an open door, in to one of our bedrooms.
In his blind panic, he flapped and flew about;
That he was full of fear, there was no doubt.
Exhausted, he settled down on the floor to rest,
And it was then, that I spotted his speckled chest.
The poor little thing – he really was very scared,
And he knew in his heart, he shouldn’t be there.
I offered words of comfort, but he didn’t understand;
All he knew was that he was in a strange looking land.
Back out on to the darkened landing, he soon took flight,
And headed back down the stairs, out towards the daylight.
Through the open door, a familiar land, he now could see:
A land where, once again, he could fly about, wild and free.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Love Itself
The light came through the window,
Straight from the sun above,
And so inside my little room
There plunged the rays of love.
In streams of light I clearly saw
The dust you seldom see,
Out of which the nameless makes
A name for one like me.
Ill try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door c
Then love itself
Love itself was gone.
All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.
Ill try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door c
Then love itself
Love itself was gone.
Then I came back from where Id been.
My room, it looked the same c
But there was nothing left between
The nameless and the name.
All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.
Ill try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door c
Then love itself,
Love itself was gone.
Love itself was gone.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Playmates
It's sixty years ago, the people say:
Two village children, neighbours born and bred,
One morning played beneath a rotten tree
That came down crash and caught them as they fled;
And one was killed and one was left unhurt
Except for certain fancies in his head.
And though it's all so very long ago
He's never left the wood a single day;
I've often met him peeping through the leaves
And chuckling to himself, an old man grey;
And once he started in his cracked old voice:
'We're playing I'm a merchant lost his way,
She's robbers in the wood behind yon tree,
The minute we grow up too big to play' -
poem by Ralph Hodgson
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Birthright
Winds blow
off the delta,
stir to breathy song
flashing trees.
In soft sunlight
jeweled birds
hover low,
sip red nectar
from the slim cylinder
by my empty chair.
Beneath the breeze
leaves along the fence-line are still,
and on the glowing ground
potted geraniums wait
in blazing stasis.
I know sea-borne storms
soon will come,
and leaves will fall,
to die on the sodden
winter ground;
for this
is my birthright,
my father's
good gift.
poem by Steven Federle
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