The Non Spaces
the
non spaces
a waif,
knows many
a waif,
knows many
who
will dress
his
wounds?
will you?
once,
the
sleeping
smile of
innocence,
melts away
in to the crowd,
vacant stares
only remain
the
non spaces
Careful
not to
hold on
too tightly
to life's
taut string
too
tightly?
who
will dress
his
wounds,
will you?
breaking,
it drifts
arrogant
strides,
crippled
a waif
knows
the
non spaces
a waif,
knows many
you are
that waif,
adrift.
by
Tim Labbe`
Related quotes
I've never been a waif; I have a womanly figure and always did.
quote by Joely Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder - waif, a nothing, a no man. Have a purpose in life, and, having it, throw such strength of mind and muscle into your work as God has given you.
quote by Thomas Carlyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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August 8th
Listen here. I've never played it safe
in spite of what the critics say.
Ask my imaginary brother, that waif,
that childhood best friend who comes to play
dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks,
bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics.
Or form a Piss Club where we all go
in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
Pop-gunning the street lights like crows.
Not knowing what to do with funny Kotex
so wearing it in our school shoes. Friend, friend,
spooking my lonely hours you were there, but pretend.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A man with a half volition goes backwards and forwards, and makes no way on the smoothest road a man with a whole volition advances on the roughest, and will reach his purpose, if there be even a little worthiness in it. The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder - a waif, a nothing, a no man. Have a purpose in life and having it, throw such strength of mind and muscle into your work as God has given you.
quote by Thomas Carlyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love You
I love your eyes,
I love your smile,
I love your laugh,
Im glad we waited awhile.
You are the love of my life,
the straw to my berry,
the day to my dreams,
It is better then it seems.
We are the perfect couple,
we will fight,
we will laugh,
but you are my other half.
When I look into your eyes,
I see your in love,
When we cuddle I feel safe,
And I dont feel like a waif.
I love your personality,
I love your looks,
I love how you make me feel,
It is just so real!
poem by Angelina Sabia
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Hell Hath No Fury (#2)
With scalded words so slowly seeking sentences
The anger’s acrid smoke stank out that up-turned room
Those words, those words like devil darts
Took aim and slid sharp inside the heart of things not now unsaid
As the swirl of mess and circumstance took on a life full of its own
And the crash and shocks and shudders of nerves and feelings jangled
With shrill metallic chimes as if the world had opened up its wounds
It’s testament of death - and then with quickened breath
Those things that had lay hidden rose up and took control
Like strong steel to shard shattered and all that stood around
Hell hath no fury said the waif – as Lucifer reclaimed their wonder
And each fell back into their place still whole but wrought asunder.
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mother In Son’s Base.
Hail Mother Kali,
Which of your image,
Your son may guess,
To feel your incarnation.
Which of your form,
In meditation norm,
Conquer the carnal.
Mine is a vacant lot,
A waif with no mother’s care, -
The bounty graces, -
The cheek –lapping faces,
And tender affections layers,
Lacking, lacking, wanting I,
Too poor, to see thy, worth,
Thus your Divine,
No reacts on mine.
Hey my mother,
Show me further,
That in all woman you are,
Show me your that image, ,
My feeling may have coverage,
The mother in your son’s base.
poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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A Widow
A lonely pebble on a distant beach,
A castaway, tossed out of reach.
A solitary burden on this earth left,
A wanderer now, and so bereft.
A double act, once upon a time,
A feeling I'm not worth a dime.
A widow, struggling all alone,
A life instantly turned to stone.
A waif, a stray, lost and forlorn,
A heart so hurt, fragile and torn.
A someone once, a no one now,
A resolve to make it through somehow.
A faith, that life won't be in vain,
A trust, that in heaven we'll meet again.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Clare Market
In the market of Clare, so cheery the glare
Of the shops and the booths of the tradespeople there;
That I take a delight on a Saturday night
In walking that way and in viewing the sight.
For it's here that one sees all the objects that please--
New patterns in silk and old patterns in cheese,
For the girls pretty toys, rude alarums for boys,
And baubles galore while discretion enjoys--
But here I forbear, for I really despair
Of naming the wealth of the market of Clare.
A rich man comes down from the elegant town
And looks at it all with an ominous frown;
He seems to despise the grandiloquent cries
Of the vender proclaiming his puddings and pies;
And sniffing he goes through the lanes that disclose
Much cause for disgust to his sensitive nose;
And free of the crowd, he admits he is proud
That elsewhere in London this thing's not allowed;
He has seen nothing there but filth everywhere,
And he's glad to get out of the market of Clare.
But the child that has come from the gloom of the slum
Is charmed by the magic of dazzle and hum;
He feasts his big eyes on the cakes and the pies,
And they seem to grow green and protrude with surprise
At the goodies they vend and the toys without end--
And it's oh! if he had but a penny to spend!
But alas, he must gaze in a hopeless amaze
At treasures that glitter and torches that blaze--
What sense of despair in this world can compare
With that of the waif in the market of Clare?
So, on Saturday night, when my custom invites
A stroll in old London for curious sights,
I am likely to stray by a devious way
Where goodies are spread in a motley array,
The things which some eyes would appear to despise
Impress me as pathos in homely disguise,
And my battered waif-friend shall have pennies to spend,
So long as I've got 'em (or chums that will lend);
And the urchin shall share in my joy and declare
That there's beauty and good in the market of Clare.
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hell Hath No Fury
Those scalded words
A slow slithered scathing sentence
As anger’s acrid smoke
Be-tombed that ruptured room
Those words, those words like devil darts
Took aim and slid sharp
Inside the heart of things not now unsaid
As the swirl of mess and circumstance
Took on lives full of their own
And the crash and shocks and shudders
Of nerves and feelings jangle-d with shrill metallic chimes
As if the world had opened up its wounds
Its testament of death
And then with quickened breath
Those things that had lay hidden
Rose for now and took control
Like strong steel to shard shattering
And then there was soft sound
'Hell hath no fury' said the waif
Once more Lucifer sang his wonder
Each falling back into their place
Still whole but wrought asunder.
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Empty Spaces
She knew
the rain well.
It,
filled her
empty spaces.
So did I.
She had a
bland,
albeit,
deliciousness
about her
Her thickened
sweetness
was ladled
upon my
tongue,
time and time
again.
a beautiful
woman,
who,
painted
beautifully.
delicate
br ush
strokes,
caressed
her
coarse
canvas
fi ner details;
that of
love,
she ignored.
Yes,
she was
a beautiful
woman,
who,
painted
beautifully.
And the rain...,
It filled her
empty spaces.
So did I.
T. Labbe`
Leave Him Now Quiet by the Way
Leave him now quiet by the way
To rest apart.
I know what draws him to the dust alway
And churns him in the builder's lime:
He has the fright of time.
I heard it knocking in his breast
A minute since;
His human eyes did wince,
He stubborned like the massive slaughter beast
And as a thing o'erwhelmed with sound
Stood bolted to the ground.
Leave him, for rest alone can cure—
If cure there be—
This waif upon the sea.
He is of those who slanted the great door
And listened—wretched little lad—
To what they said.
poem by Trumbull Stickney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goddess and Waif
Where is she now
In the dark night of dejection
As I wander beneath
Either the flickering
Or busted streetlights of the city?
Does anyone recognize
The beauty of her face
In the tender way I did?
Both strong and soft features,
Goddess and waif.
Still I remember
Her fragile eyes in the candlelight,
Her brown hair in the sunlight,
The sound of her voice mingled with dreams
Walking a boulevard of moonlight.
I grow older in the lingering days of sadness
But songbirds will put my heart into a melody
And serenade her from outside her window
And this connection will have to suffice.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hoarder Or Collector (Fun Poem 101)
Some of us are hoarders
and we don’t know where to stop.
We say we are collectors,
of rubbish maybe.
For a long time I have loved books
and collected every waif and stray.
People gave them to me by the dozen
and I never turned them away.
My collecting went so mad
I have now ten thousand or more
within my library.
Enough is enough I would say,
but still more arrived.
Now I don’t live in a house anymore,
as it has become a library.
There are books in every room
and not just one or two,
but dozens and dozens of them.
Everywhere you go;
there are books here and there.
Now I must down size
and my problem is
which ones do I let go,
and then I think
I might want to read a couple of them.
I am confused at what to do.
I know if I don’t do it soon
we won’t be able to
even get into the loo!
19 April 2009
Author’s note:
Loo is a word we use instead of saying Toilet. And, yes, I have that many books and I do have to get rid of some.
DVH
poem by David Harris
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A Fact Of My Life
I am always rewinding things
To hear what was missed between
The spaces between the spaces...
Words that were not spoken
Wonderful things never said
But were going through my mind
Like a hard rubber ball
Bouncing between the walls
Of the spaces between the walls....
Echoes reverberate
With incessant sound
Of inarticulate voices...
Incomprehensible
Maddening hollow sounds
Crash against walls of hollow sounds...
Which drive me to madness
Trying to coexist
In a world outside me...
In which hollow sounds
Resound against crashed walls
Of rewinding empty spaces....
That is my life
What else can I say....
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spaces in spaces,
A ball with compartments,
Disappeared worlds.
haiku by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Apollo Laughs
'APOLLO laughs,' the proverb tells,
Far echo of old oracles,
A Delphic waif, —'Once in the year,
Apollo laughs.' O laughter clear
As sunshine, blithe as golden bells!
What mortal folly parallels
Olympian jest and so impels
To mirth till Heaven's bright charioteer,
Apollo, laughs?
'Tis when the annual critic knells
The death of poetry, while swells
Some faint, fresh wood-note, pioneer
Of music earth shall thrill to hear.
Then at Apollo's infidels
Apollo laughs.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Tears for April
Tears for April
A child full of hope
Made some bad choices
All leading to dope
She got hooked on drugs
In the Downtown Eastside
Fighting a battle
Living the lie
Drugs took her down
A Skid Road of pain
Ran hard from her life
With nothing to gain
A needle is filled
The crack pipe’s aglow
Lift her to Heaven,
Her son sobs below
Tears for April
She’s Destiny’s waif
She can’t find her home
She’s now somewhere safe
Refrain:
Tears for this girl
She lost her way in this world
Tears for this girl
Tears for April
(In memory of April Reoch for the documentary 'Tears for April',2007/07/02)
poem by Alan Strand
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Riverboat Gambler
(carly simon/jacob brackman)
Riverboat gambler
Drinking alone on the prow
Chasing your bourbon with tennessee gin
The big games about to begin
Riverboat gambler
Hiding that ave up your sleeve
I can see through all that debonaire style
The irony bending your smile
And I wont tip your hand
I wont do you in
I want to stay near you
I want you to win
Riverboat gambler
You can defy all the odds
You can draw diamonds to fill out your flush
You can find someone to trust
And I wont steal your chips
I wont steal your pride
Wont you take me on faith
Wont you let me inside
Riverboat gambler
Under our velvet and lace
Youre an old vagabond, Im a poor waif
Lets make a place thats safe
Riverboat gambler
Come on and let me inside
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Even
Alone--with one fair star for company,
The loveliest star among the hosts of night,
While the grey tide ebbs with the ebbing light--
I pace along the darkening wintry sea.
Now round the yule-log and the glittering tree
Twinkling with festive tapers, eyes as bright
Sparkle with Christmas joys and young delight,
As each one gathers to his family.
But I--a waif on earth where'er I roam--
Uprooted with life's bleeding hopes and fears
From that one heart that was my heart's sole home,
Feel the old pang pierce through the severing years,
And as I think upon the years to come
That fair star trembles through my falling tears.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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