Visitor Clever Theme Words
my visitors are voices clever words
my visitors arrive anywhere anytime
my visitors script film opera words
my visitors mirror parody depths mime
my visitors initiate connect life dots
my visitors represent patterns to define
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you are poor, you will have no visitors even if you live in a crowded city; once you become rich, you'll be surprised by visitors from alleged relatives even if you live in a remote location.
In display, not for sale
Flowers, in different coloured petals, are in display,
In a vase, upon a podium, in a banquet hall
For the visitors to see, breathe and vanish.
Likewise are brought ladies in extravaganza
By their men to the visitors’ wistful eyes
And taken back with envies gathered.
22.09.2000, Vijayavad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Visitors
I hear the doorbell ring and suddenly the panic takes me
The sound so ominously tearing through the silence
I cannot move, Im standing
Numb and frozen
Among the things I love so dearly
The books, the paintings and the furniture
Help me...
The signals sounding once again and someone tries the doorknob
None of my friends would be so stupidly impatient
And they dont dare to come here
Anymore now
But how I loved our secret meetings
We talked and talked in quiet voices
Smiling...
Now I hear them moving muffled noises coming through the door I feel Im crackin up
Voices growing louder, irritation building and Im close to fainting crackin up
They must know by now Im in here trembling in a terror evergrowing crackin up
My whole world is falling, going crazy there is no escaping now, Im crackin up
These walls have witnessed all the anguish of humiliation
And seen the hope of freedom glow in shining faces
And now theyve come to take me
Come to break me
And yet it isnt unexpected
I have been waiting for these visitors
Help me...
Now I hear them moving muffled noises coming through the door I feel Im crackin up
Voices growing louder, irritation building and Im close to fainting crackin up
They must know by now Im in here trembling in a terror evergrowing crackin up
My whole world is falling, going crazy there is no escaping now, Im crackin up
Now I hear them moving muffled noises coming through the door I feel Im crackin up voices growing louder, irritation building and Im close to fainting crackin up
(I have been waiting for these visitors)
They must know by now Im in here trembling in a terror evergrowing crackin up
(I have been waiting for these visitors)
My whole world is falling, going crazy there is no escaping now, Im crackin up
(I have been waiting for these visitors)
Now I hear them moving muffled noises coming through the door I feel Im crackin up
(I have been waiting for these visitors)
Voices growing louder, irritation building and Im close to fainting crackin up
(I have been waiting for these visitors)
They must know by now Im in here trembling in a terror evergrowing crackin up
(I have been waiting for these visitors)
My whole world is falling, going crazy there is no escaping now, Im crackin up
(fade)
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zoo Gorilla
Zoo Gorilla
There was a big, bright ape at a zoo in Sweden who
disliked being looked at when walking about in his
enclosure minding his own business. To get visitors
to move on he threw stones at them. Bad ape, bad
for business the wise zoo administration concluded.
A tranquilizer dart flew through the air and the ape
was rendered emasculated; one cannot have hostile
apes at a zoo, they should behave like cuddly giants.
Visitors who go to the big ape's enclosure, a at zoo
in an arctic town not too far from of Stockholm, do
not stay long; nothing much to see other than a fat
primate that only sits there and eats bananas.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I am alive—I guess
470
I am alive—I guess—
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory—
And at my finger's end—
The Carmine—tingles warm—
And if I hold a Glass
Across my Mouth—it blurs it—
Physician's—proof of Breath—
I am alive—because
I am not in a Room—
The Parlor—Commonly—it is—
So Visitors may come—
And lean—and view it sidewise—
And add "How cold—it grew"—
And "Was it conscious—when it stepped
In Immortality?"
I am alive—because
I do not own a House—
Entitled to myself—precise—
And fitting no one else—
And marked my Girlhood's name—
So Visitors may know
Which Door is mine—and not
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Best If Gravelled
Under the bushes,
Is where they swept and kept their dirt.
It was under the bushes...
Priorities fed to ignore any weeding grew.
It was under the bushes everyone knew,
From where the soiling of the lawn began.
And there under the bushes,
They can be seen digging deep...
Burning the midnight oil,
And not getting a bit of sleep...
To bury any traces of denial.
But the maintaining of the lawn,
Manicured as visitors expect...
Would be best if gravelled,
As many disgusted visitors suggest!
And quickly under the bushes,
A working continues...
To smooth over the dirt,
With a time released scenting...
Hopefully used for all to forget,
The influence of the bushes...
And the planting of them all regret.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Let us hurry and finish up the food; when visitors arrive, the meal will be over.
New Zealander proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a rural district God has created the most lovely rose
In a rural district God has created the loveliest rose
where the hillocks in the distance touches the sky,
she sprouts out in the veldt
and skip springbok agile as if no man can master her.
In her kitchen there are batches of rusks
and the outer door is locked
until the last baking pan comes out of the oven,
where visitors then rush to get some as booty
and when you visit her you have to be watch your wits
or she will twist you around her little finger
as she’s a vixen, who confuses every suitor
and her beauty leaves everyone dumbstruck
and her teasing overlooks nobody
as form far she has many visitors
bringing gifts and every kind of flower
that she takes at times or do not accept at all
and like a agile lizard
she’s prepared for any eventuality
and knows her hiding places
but to beauty she brings new meaning.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Findings and Losings (Song from the Madman)
One day I opened a book and it happened that it showed me strange things,
said it there stays some love for me in you, , , ,
, , , , , Moments passed of mistaken amazement
for a little while later i realised that i the book was upside down when I opened it that day,
and that I opened it from the end.
Somethings how strange they are, best found only when lost,
sometimes even forever.
Some clouds have appeared as visitors over the sky of life.
And I watch a few drops of rain wander this way and that between them, ,
this way and that...
Those few drops I wonder must have lost their way
among the clouds which have appeared over the sky of life as visitors...
Lost is not always the destination which is reached through lost roads.
It does not fit the seasons to end the way they do...
Some letters of spring always remain incomplete,
and sometimes though complete without the address...
Some songs of autumn go unheard, , ,
some moments of winter remain unheld.
It does not fit the seasons to end the way they do.....
Someday if the road shows signs of no more, ,
the traveller often wonders what shall be the words of his last song, , ,
shall they mean that he carried a pair of eyes always in his heart
and that they never let him to be lone, , ,
Or they will be jus a mad man's song...
meaning nothing and yet about so many
findings and losings of life......
Monastery, Montserrat
Christians’ belief will outlive
these particular monastic bricks,
which will, in their present
configuration, outlast us—visitors
today in bright sun. A child
accidentally kicks a soccer-ball
over the parapet. We all move
to the wall, peer over. Rocks above
the monastery will outlast
Christians’ belief in its present
configuration, will persist past
words like rock and kick that
visitors today, tomorrow, speak.
Can belief make the face of
a simple wooden statue last
forever? The face of the Black
Madonna shines, seems
to gaze past the parapet
of Time. Geology promises
that wind will outlive rocks
above. Wind roaming past
bluffs above Montserrat is
holier than now, is eternal
liturgy of displacement, is
inspired.
poem by Hans Ostrom
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Fish and visitors smell in three days.
quote by Benjamin Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visitors
Jeff Pope, Rob Tunstall
by Godfrey Reggio from Visitors (2013)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When visitors come a wi fireside, wi mek wi pot smell nice.
We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through.
The busy man has few idle visitors: to the boiling pot the flies come not.
If you want visitors then you leave your front door open.
If at home you receive no visitors, then abroad you will have no host.
The tea seller boy
The tea seller boy
Roams in the park to sell tea
To the visitors
poem by Asif Andalib
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