Sometime After Midnight
Sometime after midnight,
The streets are dark and deserted,
Muted by the vagrant silence in the wind.
The clouds pout softly.
A steady stream of slightly chilled rain water
Washes over the slightly fogged windows.
Inside, a glowing television set
Whispers its story to sleeping ears
That wouldn't have been listening if awake.
An empty gas station across the street
Hums, dimly lit, and cars pass around it
With nowhere to go.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Related quotes
The Leaking Roof
it is raining and here i am stuck
under the roof of a deserted house
the windows are open
nobody has come to close four windows
looking to the street like an insomniac,
the door is creaky like a sore throat
sounding like an incurable allergic sneeze
the crazy wind bangs it from time to time
and i do not mind the routine of noise
for a while a walk to and fro
like i am making a picket
observing the details of how a deserted house
can look like
or feel like: there seems to be a growling silence
abbreviating itself like a scream
cut short by my hands kept inside my pocket
i look up and see the leaking roof
making a rhythm of the dripping beat
of this poem.
i have nothing in mind, i am empty
and emptying still. I take in so much quantity
of silence, the weight of thoughts,
the silly purposeless probe
of what i am suppose to be and where i must be going
after this temporariness of loafing.
The rain stops. I am leaving.
The rhythm ceases.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Empty Streets
The town is quiet, empty
Street lights cast shadows
In doorways and windows
Curtains drawn, people sleeping
A night rain is falling fast
Through the amber halos of street lights
Lighting the roads and pathways
There is not a soul to be seen or heard
The parked cars line up colourless
The dull reflection of a shop window
Offers little comfort in passing
A stray cat sits ahead in some shade
Staring intent before running away
Into the empty night gone
What little wind there is, cold
A car passes, unknown passengers
The temporary warming light
Soon gone disappeared
Hand fishing for keys in pockets
Through a door into shade
The empty streets replaced
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Im Going Slightly Mad
Words and music by queen
When the outside temperature rises
And the meaning is oh so clear
One thousand and one yellow daffodils
Begin to dance in front of you - oh dear
Are they trying to tell you something
Youre missing that one final screw
Youre simply not in the pink my dear
To be honest you havent got a clue
Im going slightly mad
Im going slightly mad
It finally happened - happened
It finally happened - ooh oh
It finally happened
Im slightly mad
Oh dear
Im one card short of a full deck
Im not quite the shilling
One wave short of a shipwreck
Im not my usual top billing
Im coming down with a fever
Im really out to sea
This kettle is boiling over
I think Im a banana tree
Oh dear
Im going slightly mad
Im going slightly mad
It finally happened - happened
It finally happened - uh huh
It finally happened
Im slightly mad
Oh dear
Ooh ooh ah ah
Ooh ooh ah ah
Im knitting with only one needle
Unravelling fast its true
Im driving only three wheels these days
But my dear how about you
Im going slightly mad
Im going slightly mad
It finally happened
It finally happened - oh yes
It finally happened
Im slightly mad
Just very slightly mad
And there you have it
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Left-To-Pout
I want to know what you want.
This beating around the bush skit,
Has played out.
From your lips to my ears...
I want to hear what this is about!
Come out with it!
You're gay?
Is that what you want to say?
Or is it,
You are cruiser friendly?
Don't claim you are a freak.
You'd be walking on the wrong turf,
In my territory.
On my streets.
What is it?
You're a lesbian in a borrowed body?
And you want to confess this to Oprah.
While the camera pans the audience...
To zoom and focus upon me,
Exposing my complete humiliation!
Has that been scheduled?
You know I need advance notification.
When is it?
Is that what this is?
And I am NOT delusional.
So don't look at me like that!
As if we are playing 'Jeopardy'...
And I haven't responded with the right question.
To deliver you from your game of 'Hide and Seek'.
Very soon you can STAY 'hidden'.
To play cat and mouse in an empty house.
I want to know what you want.
This beating around the bush skit,
Has played out.
From your lips to my ears...
I want to hear what this is about!
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
You're gay?
Is that what you want to say?
Or is it,
You are cruiser friendly?
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Don't claim you are a freak.
You'd be walking on the wrong turf,
In my territory.
And on my streets.
And that kind of competition,
Is beyond my seeking.
Come out with it!
Or-be-left-to-pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
Or-be-left-to-pout.
Come out with it!
Or be left to pout.
Come out with it!
OR-BE-LEFT-TO-POUT! .
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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We've Been This Distant
Did we not say goodnight
When the clock tick tocked
And you could not stop
Watching it pass us in silence?
And you torcher me
With whispers licked upon
My listening ears...
When I'm not near you!
Did we not say goodnight
When the clock tick tocked
And you could not stop
Watching it pass us in silence?
And you torcher me
With whispers licked upon
My listening ears...
When I'm not near you!
You squeeze my hand.
I see the tears begin to roll.
You've been touched by another man?
I see that!
That does not have to be told!
'Yes...
I confess!
And I want you to do the best
To understand,
When I needed love from you...
There was nothing else to do
And no one else to give it to,
Since yours was not available...
And,
That part of my love for you was! '
Excuse me?
You want WHAT from me?
I can't believe we've been this distant!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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For A Friend Who Is Also Struggling Out There
it is still 3 o'clock in the afternoon. iT is raining heavily
outside as we still keep busy with our own business
inside this courtroom.
two lawyers arguing on a point. I am listening.
the accused sits there, his life is at stake.
the mother is tense. two mothers.
THE mother of the complainant
who cries that her daughter is a victim
of rape.The mother of the accused who rebuts
that his son is just framed-up by the real
culprits who are still-at-large.
the glass windows of the court
muted the sound of the heavy rain.
but the way the trees are swaying to and fro
like a pendulum of a grandfather's clock
very well tells that there is a bad weather
outside this courtroom.
a river of faces faces me. i look at the eyes
of the room, the windows cased in glass
as the rain is maimed wanting to get in
as though trying to say that it has also
something to say about the matters
discussed inside this closed room.
the world is always asking, what is the truth?
it reminds us, there is only one truth and the
rest are lies. I keep on trying to learn from it.
the argument has always been:
everyone is a victim, and no one wins this game
of a legal play. sometimes the guilty is set free
and the innocent is put to prison.
there will be cries of the wind. In a closed court
like this, one cannot really hear the sound of its cries.
I am trying to figure out. Each word. The words of the
wind and the muted sounds of the rain.
THE hammer shall fall and it shall fall heavily.
Can this poem help me? Are emotions aids?
Many mouths shall shape the words. Each lip makes
a reading of itself. There will be whispers and murmurs.
There will be calls and cries and hounding sounds.
I sleep at night soundly. My conscience shall be my pillow.
There will be dreams handed to me by the gods.
As i write this, think also of my own journey, my own sorrows.
In the battles outside and inside us, a closed room vis-a-vis
the outside cries of the wind and the rain, i want to simply tell you, , ,
keep moving on. We move on too, with our own busy lives.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Lillian Way
night
cold gray against greenish black
street lamp globes against
rectangle buildings
sitting in a parked car
along the deserted alleyways
off santa monica boulevard
car windows fogged
the cold green street lights
filtered through the prism
of a broken windshield
delicate spiderwebs of
white light diffusion
only in L.A.
a prostitute stands
against the bare wall
under a street light
with traffic going by
on the sidewalk
across the street
cocaine sellers asking
“what do you want? ”
“what do you need? ”
beside the building
a bottle and can collector
inspects a long low
excuse for a trash barrel
the prostitute
draws a lot of attention
cars pull to the curb
windows unwind
in the car adjacent
derelicts are fixing dope
shooting up in the
luminous twilight
now the whore has a trick
a car door slams
and tires spin away
much like a river
the wind has stirred up the palm leaves
and palmetto shadows
extra currents for a
3 a.m. late night traffic flow
much like my soft core
more than usually hard core
translucent shadows
on the concave street
vertical street signs
body schisms
poem by Theresa Haffner
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Solitude
WHEN you have tidied all things for the night,
And while your thoughts are fading to their sleep,
You'll pause a moment in the late firelight,
Too sorrowful to weep.
The large and gentle furniture has stood
In sympathetic silence all the day
With that old kindness of domestic wood;
Nevertheless the haunted room will say:
'Someone must be away.'
The little dog rolls over half awake,
Stretches his paws, yawns, looking up at you,
Wags his tail very slightly for your sake,
That you may feel he is unhappy too.
A distant engine whistles, or the floor
Creaks, or the wandering night-wind bangs a door
Silence is scattered like a broken glass.
The minutes prick their ears and run about,
Then one by one subside again and pass
Sedately in, monotonously out.
You bend your head and wipe away a tear.
Solitude walks one heavy step more near.
poem by Harold Monro
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 07: Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers
Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers
The golden lights go out . . .
The yellow windows darken, the shades are drawn,
In thousands of rooms we sleep, we await the dawn,
We lie face down, we dream,
We cry aloud with terror, half rise, or seem
To stare at the ceiling or walls . . .
Midnight . . . the last of shattering bell-notes falls.
A rush of silence whirls over the cloud-high towers,
A vortex of soundless hours.
'The bells have just struck twelve: I should be sleeping.
But I cannot delay any longer to write and tell you.
The woman is dead.
She died—you know the way. Just as we planned.
Smiling, with open sunlit eyes.
Smiling upon the outstretched fatal hand . . .'
He folds his letter, steps softly down the stairs.
The doors are closed and silent. A gas-jet flares.
His shadow disturbs a shadow of balustrades.
The door swings shut behind. Night roars above him.
Into the night he fades.
Wind; wind; wind; carving the walls;
Blowing the water that gleams in the street;
Blowing the rain, the sleet.
In the dark alley, an old tree cracks and falls,
Oak-boughs moan in the haunted air;
Lamps blow down with a crash and tinkle of glass . . .
Darkness whistles . . . Wild hours pass . . .
And those whom sleep eludes lie wide-eyed, hearing
Above their heads a goblin night go by;
Children are waked, and cry,
The young girl hears the roar in her sleep, and dreams
That her lover is caught in a burning tower,
She clutches the pillow, she gasps for breath, she screams . . .
And then by degrees her breath grows quiet and slow,
She dreams of an evening, long ago:
Of colored lanterns balancing under trees,
Some of them softly catching afire;
And beneath the lanterns a motionless face she sees,
Golden with lamplight, smiling, serene . . .
The leaves are a pale and glittering green,
The sound of horns blows over the trampled grass,
Shadows of dancers pass . . .
The face smiles closer to hers, she tries to lean
Backward, away, the eyes burn close and strange,
The face is beginning to change,—
It is her lover, she no longer desires to resist,
She is held and kissed.
She closes her eyes, and melts in a seethe of flame . . .
With a smoking ghost of shame . . .
Wind, wind, wind . . . Wind in an enormous brain
Blowing dark thoughts like fallen leaves . . .
The wind shrieks, the wind grieves;
It dashes the leaves on walls, it whirls then again;
And the enormous sleeper vaguely and stupidly dreams
And desires to stir, to resist a ghost of pain.
One, whom the city imprisoned because of his cunning,
Who dreamed for years in a tower,
Seizes this hour
Of tumult and wind. He files through the rusted bar,
Leans his face to the rain, laughs up at the night,
Slides down the knotted sheet, swings over the wall,
To fall to the street with a cat-like fall,
Slinks round a quavering rim of windy light,
And at last is gone,
Leaving his empty cell for the pallor of dawn . . .
The mother whose child was buried to-day
Turns her face to the window; her face is grey;
And all her body is cold with the coldness of rain.
He would have grown as easily as a tree,
He would have spread a pleasure of shade above her,
He would have been his father again . . .
His growth was ended by a freezing invisible shadow.
She lies, and does not move, and is stabbed by the rain.
Wind, wind, wind; we toss and dream;
We dream we are clouds and stars, blown in a stream:
Windows rattle above our beds;
We reach vague-gesturing hands, we lift our heads,
Hear sounds far off,—and dream, with quivering breath,
Our curious separate ways through life and death.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Lightning Strike
The lighting brings back memories.
The thunder shows my anger.
As the rain washes it away.
the birds fly by, I see my dreams.
As they go home. they're stolen from me.
As the rain washes it away.
The pedal filled with rain drops, I know I'm hurt.
As the rain drops roll off, they're like my tears.
As the rain washes it away.
The clouds are like my soul.
They hide the sun, like I hide my feelings.
As the rain washes it away.
As I sit on my porch,
Watching the rain wash things away.
I see that the storms a lot like me.
poem by Fugly Fool
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Rainy Skies
Listen to the soothing rain
Touch against the window pane
Steady drops are what I see
As if falling down on me
Torrent of rain so steady
Looking at clouds hang heavy
This rain to us is a pleasant sound
Cool water music splashing down
This rain looks like teardrops
We're wondering when it will stop
Safe, secure in my lover's arms am I
Cocooned in love like the dark sky
Watching the fire slowly burn
Enchanted lovers not wanting to turn
It's not just another rainy night
Cares and worries all take flight
No words need be spoken
For our love is not an empty token
poem by Lorie Robertson
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I am singing in the rain......
I am singing in the rain......
When the clouds above me so dark
When the stars are not be seen in the sky
When the moon is gone away from the site
When the cool breeze being to touch me softly
When the thunder and lightening make me afraid
Then the rain begin to shower upon me
Chorus....
I am singing and dancing in the rain
I am playing and falling in the rain
What a glorious feelings that I have when its rain
When I hold you hands and walk in the rain
When you arm around my waist hold like a chain
When my umbrella being to dance in the air
When the rain water rush down to the canal
When the street lights blink on the streets
Then my love on you is singing in the rain
Chorus....
I am singing and dancing in the rain
I am playing and falling in the rain
What a glorious feelings that I have when its rain
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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If You Need Oil
There aint no moon
There aint no stars
Have to close up soon
cause there aint no cars
Got no radio
Got no telephone
Im just awful bored
And Im so alone
Baby, please come to the station
And Ill wipe your windshield clean
If you need oil, Ill give you oil
And Ill fill your tank with gasoline
Baby, please come to the station
You know I get so lonely there
Bring some wine for inspiration
And wear a ribbon in your hair
Hear those dogs bark
Man, they can feel this cold
And its so dark I need your hand to hold
Baby, please come to the station
You know I need you so tonight
Come and put your arms around me
Baby, come and hold me tight
Please, baby, come to the station
Ive taken all that I can take
Baby, how can you be sleeping
When you know that Im awake?
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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28 Wind Poems
Wind chimes play not on time... but when the Spirit moves.
The South Wind has for the evening donned jasmine scent*
*
The wind weaves many white caps so quickly for the blue sea
*
Mother Wind moves the water rocker
to and fro on the stormy sound's deeps. On the boatcradle by lapping
waves she is softly lulled to sleep.
*
Will, your winded wings will win.
*
Clouds' whitewaterweave covered the sky.. and yet
everywhere there was a patch of blue.. it was a different
hue... here aqua.. there cerulean... or teal or indigo
*
The east wind blowing westward marries the falling rain
turning her attention elsewhere
*
Crosswinds quilt the Connecticut River ever so slightly
but stil the waters flow to the sea.
*
As gauzy veils lie on the shoulders of the slender, as avalanche
clouds pour through tall firs, as morning mist
rolls through ship masts, do monsoon clouds flow
over the peaks of the Himalayas
*
Froggie croaks on his rock dais encircled by dizzy daisies
throughout summer days. The wind makes them wave in applause.
*
The wind has blown away the cloud cover..
and he pond's reflection from grey to blue clover
*
Spirit Wind when talking with wind chimes
strikes not on the hour nor at the 'right' time
================================= ===
poem by Saiom Shriver
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In The Far Away Town
The cold northern winds blowing and the rain bucketing down
And the storm-water drains overflowing in the far away town
On the dimly lit main street on a wet Autumn night
Few cars or trucks pass up and down and not a person in sight
But in the local pub there is music, dance and song
And with the ballad singer the patrons happily sing along
In the rural town on a wet saturday night far inland from the sea
The local pub where the locals are does seem the place to be
For any form of socializing for those who enjoy such a thing
Some men when drunk they like to fight some like to dance and sing
The chilly wind of late Autumn has Winter in it's cry
And the thundery rain is pouring down from the moonless night sky
But in the local pub 'tis standing room only and not a vacant seat
And the music and pub din from there echoes down the quiet street.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Linda Let Me Be The One
Midnight boys are outside
Scrapin tears up off the street
Standing guard over the window
Where the lonely linda sleeps
Theres a kid named eddie
Walks like an angel in defeat
The ashes of a romance come
Traces lindas name in a seat
Calls
Linda will you let me be the one
Linda will you, hey let me be the one
Linda will you let me be the one
Linda will you let me be the one
In a room full of contenders
Shadow boxin, eddies strong
Till he drops through a feigned surrender
To the canvas draped in scarves
Stole from lindas bedroom
The night he laid at her feet
And the midnight boys were wasted
Down on king street
He calls out
Linda will you let me be the one
Linda will you, hey let me be the one
Linda will you let me be the one
Linda will you let me be the one
Midnights base is st marys
Midnight boys hide from the rain
Stay with the stolen sisters
Till the streets are dry again
Talking fast cars and chrome parts
Different worlds and strange girls
Empty homes, busted hearts
And kneeling with linda in the dark
Linda will you let me be the one
Linda will you, hey let me be the one
Linda will you let me be the one
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town
Oh! You better watch out,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why: (why)
Santa Claus is coming to town!
He's making a list,
He's checking it twice,
Gonna find out who's naughty or nice.
Santa Claus is coming to town!
He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows if you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake!
You better watch out, You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm Telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
Little tin horns, little toy drums.
Rudy-toot-toot and rummy tum tums.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
Little curly head dolls that cuddle and coo,
Elephants, boats and Kiddie cars too.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
All the kids in Girl and boy land
Will have a jubilee.
They're gonna build a toy land town
Around that Christmas tree.
So....You better watch out, you better not cry.
You better not pout, I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town
--- Instrumental ---
He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows if you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake!
You better watch out, You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm Telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
Oh, You better watch out, You better not cry
You better not pout, I'm Telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
He's coming to town...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Listen To The Wind and The Rain...
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Playing Symphonies Again
With Muted-Base of Thunder
Raise The Window; Watch and Wonder
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Crescendo – Clean and Rise – Refrain
A Rush of Lightning Rhapsody
Love-Struck A Chord… Deep in Me…
(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)
Open Up The Door!
I Want to Feel the Choir’s Full – Score
Wind and Rain – By Maestro’s Hand
Make Melody to Woman and Man
(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
In This Lullaby, We have Lain
In Such Peaceful Harmony
Singing in Love’s Key…
Listening to The Wind and The Rain…
poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Dark One Is Krishna
Thick overhead
clouds of the monsoon,
a delight to this feverish heart.
Season of rain,
season of uncontrolled whispers---the Dark One's returning!
O swollen heart,
O sky brimming with moisture---
tongued lightning first
and then thunder,
convulsive spatters of rain
and then wind, chasing the summertime heat.
Mira says: Dark One,
I've waited---
it's time to take my songs
into the street.