The Lostness.
Mickey had locked himself
In the house and his mother
Was concerned he’d do something
To harm himself so you went
Around and knocked at the back
Door and called his name and
He said go away I don’t want to
Talk to anyone but you stayed
And persisted and he finally
Opened up and let you in and
You said why this? And he said
I’m so like my old man that I
Hate myself and he stared at
The Van Gogh print on the wall
Above the fireplace with a look
Of deep unhappiness and lostness
On his face. You are what you make
Yourself you said taking in Vincent’s
Sunflowers the way the vibrant
Picture hung there the smell of
Flowers in the late evening air.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Gazing At Sunflowers
Your first wife’s friend
came in with her
for a coffee and chat
and you were sitting
on the sofa
with the sleeping cat
and she looked
at the Van Gogh print
of sunflowers
over the mantelpiece
above the open fire
did you paint that?
the friend asked
staring at it
through John Lennon
type glasses
no you said
it’s a Van Gogh print
oh she said
peering closer
I do like flowers don’t you?
Yeah you replied
sunflowers have a way
when Van Gogh
pushes them through
and she stood in silence
taking in the print
and flowers
and colours
and you noticed
she had a run
in her stockings
from the back
of her knee
to where
her thigh disappeared
beneath her drab dress
and your first wife
came in and said
oh you’re not looking
at that painting are you?
He knows all about
those arty types
with their odd ways
and weird eyes
and her friend said
turning round
scratching her ass
I know nothing
of art and such
it’s way out
of my class.
poem by Terry Collett
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Upon Gazing At The Cut Sunflowers Of Vincent Van Gogh
upon seeing the cut sunflowers of vincent van gogh
i cannot but think about the tragic moment when
he cut his ear, when blood oozed
when at the end, finally he took his life away,
this thing happens when one knows much about
the life of another
this familiarity that breeds contempt,
and so gazing again at the painting of vincent,
i start with real sunflowers in my mind, the one that mother
planted in her garden when she was alive,
i think of the sun and the sunshine touching my face
i think about warmth and life and oozing verve
the vivacity of all things around my little world,
the field of sunflowers and the bees and the butterflies
and birds
i pretend i have not read about the life of vincent
i pretend i have not heard about the stories of mother
i just gaze again at the cut sunflowers. just that.
now there is joy in my heart. The suicide story does not exist
in the bold yellow petals, on those three huge sunflowers
look at them again, they are the symbols of our smiles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunflowers After Sex.
After the sex she stood
In front of the Van Gogh
Painting and gazed. Never
Saw that last night, she said.
It was dark, Max replied.
She touched the painting
With her fingers. Why have
A painting of flowers when
You can go out and buy some?
She asked. They last longer this
Way, he replied. So did you
Paint this? She asked in a state
Of semi undress, her eyes sleepy,
Her hair in a mess. No, Van Gogh
Did, he replied. Is he a friend of
Yours? She asked rubbing her breasts.
He sighed and shook his head. No,
Van Gogh painted that many years
Ago, now he’s dead. It’s a bit yellow,
She said, looking at the painting
Closer, what are those yellow flowers
Supposed to be? Sunflowers, he said,
They’re big flowers; people grow them
For real. She raised her eyebrows and
Pulled a face. What about that drink?
She asked. Sure, Max replied pouring
Her gin in a tall glass. She took, sipped
And winked an eye. What about more
Sex? She sighed. Sure, Max, looking at
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, boringly replied.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Face To Face
We never talk to one another
We just disagree
Im the one who runs for cover
And you turn your back on me
They say nothings gonna last forever
But some things are worth fighting for
Yeah, well love could bring us back together
But love dont come round here no more
The words unspoken in the night
Locked away in my heart
And Im feeling out of place
But if love is the key
Let it open the door
So well be standing -- face to face
You never want to see me face to face
Think it over
Face to face
If only it could be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
I may be better off without it
I cant go on this way
Time has come to talk about it
This is our judgement day
You know we swore it would last forever
Always felt so sure it would
But its looking like now or never
Time to turn a bad thing into good
The words that echo in the night
Theyre fading away
And theyre gone without a trace
Now its up to you and me
Lets open the door
And meet each other -- face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
You know its gotta be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
We gotta see each other -- face to face
And talk about it
Face to face
Hope it aint too late to meet face to face
Just you and me
(solo)
Face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
You know its gotta be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
We gotta see each other
Face to face
And talk about it
Face to face
I hope it aint too late to meet
Face to face
Dont turn your back on me
Face to face
Its time we saw each other
Face to face
To talk it over
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sebokarang Villages
Every evening
I always go to the Sebokarang villages
bike to break through the twilight
In the Bamboo threes
and the field of sugar plantantion
its flower blossom, yellow and
to bend in the street
to be fenced in kembang sepatu
and than turn to her hause
the wall of her house made from teakwood
and around her house planted
The Ceplok Piring flowers
in front of the door of her houses
I knocked its with my thremble fingers,
With my thremble heart
Where my blood flow fastly
The evening wind
Blowing softly
And start to be darkness
Its covering the leaf
Eat the tree near the street
Where the people pass and through
So cat run to catch the mouse
the mouse jump
To the path of the villages
I fell loneness
in front of the door
waiting for you
open the door
when the door opened
the light of petromax lamp is lighting
to my eyes wonder
of your smile
from the red lips
open, just open the door
the door of your heart
again and again
till I could stay
in the wide room of your heart
forever
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Of my own work I think that the picture of peasants eating potatoes I did in Nuenen is after all the best I've done.
Vincent van Gogh in letter to Wilhelmina van Gogh (1887)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Locked
Children tattooed, pierced and studded, dreadlocked;
parents panicked, indecisive, deadlocked.
Mother to daughter: live as you must, if you must;
for just a bit longer, keep the door to your bed locked.
Son to father: teach me what you know,
but I won't agree to keep the door to my head locked.
Mother to father: where have you been, and where
have you kept your thoughts and all you might have said locked?
They'd come so far, and then she saw, in him,
the door to their life, their home, their daily bread locked.
One night in a fiery panic dream he ran
and found the door toward which he'd wildly fled locked.
Aging, but at long last ripe and ready,
she found the on-ramp to the road ahead locked.
They learned too late the cost of keeping that cellar
full of truths that could not be gainsaid locked.
The young return. Too many find the way back
to lives in the country for which they fought and bled locked.
Eric, old friend, as you try each door in the mind,
will you wake one day to find the heart instead locked?
poem by Eric Torgersen
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A Metaphor For My Face....
i pass by the wall
where a picture of
a face is hung,
something that i
cannot just pass
through towards
the door and not
look back at it
again
just a few seconds
i tell myself
i touch the face again
and sigh
it is mine
it was a face then
when i was at your
young age
i was reckless
in that one
it was a set of
wasted eyes
of luscious lips
that took so many
kisses
and let go
all not keeping
one
i leave the picture now
another time wasted
on such a beautiful face
as mine
i must go
to places then
where all mirrors
are broken
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Memory Of Love
I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.
The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.
Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.
Curiosity got the best of me
so I turned it over and I did see
her name scribbled hastily.
'Janette, my love I give to you
this picture I love to sit and view.'
and then I placed it back.
The house was no longer cold to me
for it housed a loving memory.
I left it right beside the chair
as if the lover still was there.
Upon leaving the bedroom I closed the door
so it would stay as it was before.
My intrusion on this private place
as I exited left a smile on my face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Walking Forever
it seemed to him
that he'd been walking forever...
the night was brisk and cool....
a half moon, and a few stars.
every step he took he let go
of something else....
all the things he'd thought he needed....
all the things that got in the way!
pride, hurt, anger, need, and
all the images he had of what should be.....
he walked up to the door, and knocked....
she opened the door just a crack...
'what do you want? '
'i just want to hold you,
to feel you close...
to smell your smell,
to taste your taste....
to listen to you breathe
in the darkness...
to hold you while you sleep....
that's all i want,
and the world can go to hell! '
she opened the door,
...and let him in!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Up From The Skies
I just want to talk to you
I wont uh, do you no harm
I just want to know about your different lives
On this is here people farm
I heard some of you got your families
Living in cages tall and cold
And some just stay there and dust away
Past the age of old.
Is this true ?
Please let me talk to you.
I just wanna know about
The rooms behind your minds
Uh do I see a vacuum there
Or am I going blind ?
Or is it just uh, remains of vibrations
And echoes long ago ?
Uh things like love the world and uh
Uh let your fancy flow
Is this true ?
Please let me talk to you
Let me talk to you.
I have lived here before
The days of ice
And of course this is why
Im so concerned
And I come back to find
The stars misplaced
And the smell of a world
That is burned
A smell of a world
That is burned.
Yeah well, maybe, hmm...
Maybe its just a... change of climate
Hmm, hmm...
Well I can dig it
I can dig it baby
I just want to see.
So where do I purchase my ticket ?
Id just like to have a ringside seat
I want to know about the new mother earth
I want to hear and see everything
I want to hear and see everything
I want to hear and see everything
Yeah...
Aww, shucks
If my daddy could see me now
Everything, everything, everything, oh everything.
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Booze and Mahler and Sex.
If you want to come around
she said
bring a bottle of booze
and ring the bell twice
so you brought
a bottle of scotch
and rang twice
and she opened the door
and said
come in
and so you closed the door
and followed her
along the passageway
to the main room
and you heard the Mahler playing
and she took the scotch
and poured two large glasses
and said
sit down on the sofa Honey
and she gave you the glass
and you sipped
and she sat down next to you
and put her hand
on your thigh and squeezed
and she always managed
to get you stirred
and you smiled at her
and the Mahler symphony
was playing in the background
and you associated
that symphony
with sex
and sex with her
and each movement
of the symphony
suggested a given act
and as she moved
in on you
you almost drowned
in her scent
and the scotch
was on her breath
and her blue eyes
stared into yours
and her fingers moved
into your pants
for the prize
and you wondered
who the conductor was
on the Mahler record
and the same Monet print
hung on the wall
the one of some garden
and flowers
and she said
are you ready Honey?
And you said sure
and she took you
along the passage
to her room and bed
and the room smelt
of sweet perfume
and the Mahler faded
as she closed the door
as you both dropped clothes
on the carpeted floor.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Up From The Skies
I just want to talk to you
I won't uh, do you no harm
I just want to know about your diff'rent lives
On this is here people farm
I heard some of you got your families
Living in cages tall and cold
And some just stay there and dust away
Past the age of old
Is this true?
Please let me talk to you.
I just wanna know about
The rooms behind your minds
Uh do I see a vacuum there
Or am I going blind?
Or is it just uh, remains of vibrations
And echoes long ago?
Uh things like "Love the world" and uh
Uh "Let your fancy flow"
Is this true?
Please let me talk to you
Let me talk to you.
I have lived here before
The days of ice
And of course this is why
I'm so concerned
And I come back to find
The stars misplaced
And the smell of a world
That is burned
A smell of a world
That is burned.
Yeah well, maybe, hmm...
Maybe it's just a... change of climate
Hmm, hmm...
Well I can dig it
I can dig it baby
I just want to see.
So where do I purchase my ticket?
I'd just like to have a ringside seat
I want to know about the new Mother Earth
I want to hear and see everything
I want to hear and see everything
I want to hear and see everything
Yeah...
Aww, shucks
If my daddy could see me now
Everything, everything, everything, oh everything
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poetry Of Smell
a smell, your smell,
that perfume that sticks
to my skin,
your sweat, that wetness
between us,
dry before us, desert sand,
nothing to talk about oasis,
camels in a caravan
under the stars one evening,
you are my tent,
i live there, but you are not
there, there is this blankness
that i face within me,
there is this trail that smells
like you, i follow,
and then i stop, it is not us
there, there is no us,
there is the star that shines
one evening
it does not last,
but every evening it comes
back to me,
too near, in my mind,
too far, in reality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Hate You.
I hate the way you dress
I hate that you are a mess
I hate your eyes
I hate your lies.
I hate it when you talk
I hate the way you walk
I hate your smile
I hate your style.
I hate your arms
I hate your charms
I hate your face
I hate your place.
I hate your hands
I hate your plans
I hate the way you think
I hate it when you drink.
I hate when you call
I hate it all
I hate it that you are true
I hate you when I’m blue.
I hate you when you sleep
I hate you very deep
I hate the way you kiss
I hate to be like this.
I hate your touch
I hate you much
I hate myself more
I hate that’s you I adore.
I hate, I don’t hate you a bit
I hate, I will have to admit
I don’t hate you, Not even small
I don’t hate you at all.
poem by Patricia Perez
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The author O. Henry taught me about the value of the unexpected. He once wrote about the noise of flowers and the smell of birds - the birds were chickens and the flowers dried sunflowers rattling against a wall.
quote by Chuck Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talking To Animals (Fun Poem 97)
For those who don’t have pets
won’t know what I mean,
but for those who do
will know just what I mean.
I am not Doctor Dolittle,
but I talk to animals all the time
and they talk back to me.
That to some may sound crazy
while others will know
what I am talking about.
I had a friend once
and he never had a pet of any sort.
He did a small collection round
and one evening while out
he knocked on this particular door.
The owner’s cat lay on the doorstep
having comfortable forty winks.
My friend knelt down and stroked him
then he asked the cat.
Meow once if they are in
and twice if they are not.
The cat meowed twice.
My friend thanked the cat
and then went next door.
They answered after his first knock
and the first words they said were
next door are not in.
My friend replied I know,
their cat told me.
At which they looked at him strangely
as if he were a bit crazy.
However, I believed him
having cats of my own.
I talk to them all the time
and they talk right back to me.
20 March 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Friend Of Mine
Friends of mine
They said they were friends of mine
Said they were passing time
More like a waste of time
Close the door
I said close the door
I've told you twice before
What are you waiting for?
Georgie Davies is coming out
No more heroew, we twist and shout
Oh no, not me, I'm not too late,
And I know that I'm not taking any more
Rocky Picture has lost his gun
Leave him out now, he's having fun
Oh no, not me, I'm not too late
And I know that I'm not waiting any more
Hey hey
Through the eyes
Don't have to advertise
When will you realize
I'm sick of your alibis?
Running cold
The water's running cold
It's time that you were told
I think you're growing old
Georgie Davies is coming out
No more heroes, we twist and shout
Oh no, not me, I'm not too late,
And I know that I'm not waiting any more
Rocky Picture has lost his gun
Leave him out now, he's having fun
Oh no, not me, I'm not too late,
And I know that I'm not taking any more
Hey hey
(pictures on the wall
they're all friends of yours
see them sell your alibi
it runs you by
think yourself lucky!)
Friends of mine
They said they were friends of mine
They were just wasting time
Out on the dotted line
The money's gone
I've known it all along
Why don't you say I'm wrong?
Why don't they drop the bomb?
'Cause Georgie Davies is coming out
No more heroes, we twist and shout,
Oh no, not me, I'm not too late,
and I know that I'm not waiting any more
Rocky Picture's thrown away his gun
Leave him out now, he's having fun
Oh no, not me, I'm not too late,
And I know that I'm not taking any more
What you doing, friends of mine
Holding back now, friends of mine
I've always heard you calling..
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Lay Asleep...
Summer lay asleep
curled up in itself
dreaming that it
actually was
although it was only
another door
I opened
into my self
in search of a self
door after door
(this was the summer of 1964)
but when memory
had finally
tracked me down
it found
I had become
someone else
who no longer existed
under stars that persisted
like questions
in this summer sky
and how I...
and even God
thought I was dead
or at least
doubted my existence.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Judy and You and Chagall
What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat
outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time
I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you
her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters
she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you
you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you
in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass
I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said
you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how
her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said
I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?
you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?
both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time
you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around
you mustn't be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?
Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik
making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you
every moment
you said
that's sad
she said
why?
you said
because no one
should think of another
that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky
how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you
you said
I am like Shakespeare's' lily
she said
as it withers
she added
I see
you said
and you studied
her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin
the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?
you asked
yes
she said
every single one
my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought
of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent
and remembered
your mother's words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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