03-25=2010*** How In The Hell Are They Still Standing?
I keep seeing people who should be dead
They're not be in the morgue yet
I don't see why
What is keeping them moving breathing
My most recent sighting was
Just to the right of the front door
Of The San Francisco
Main Library
The Swig family and other old and new
Monied San Franciscans
Campaigned and fundraised
To pay for large rooms with their names
The library's many floors have decor
It even has a small deli
If you can pay for self-service coffee
Or the sandwich of the day
As you walk in off the street
You are greeted by
Large open space
Friends' of the Library Book Sales
Back outside in the cold
Just to the right of the front door
Stood a breathing
Dead person
There is no reason
I can see why
This person is still alive
What's keeping him upright
He's wearing grey sweatpants
Recently pissed in
Mismatched sneakers no socks
Ankles with blue black and red running sores
He's wearing a light long-sleeved shirt
I'm cold in my heavy sweater over my shirt
He put down his two plastice bags
Pulled out a bottle of vodka
Two big gulps saved some for later
I don't expect him to have a later
But off he walks steady on his feet
The seat of his wet pants facing me
The seat of his wet pants
Baffling me why is he still alive
Where does he sleep eat get warm
When and when in the hell will he die
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Related quotes
Open Book's Monologue Part 5: Welcome To The Library!
Welcome to the library! come one come all
Welcome to the library! come with your brethren on this wall
Welcome to the library! come all you books tattered or new
Welcome to the library! come tired and overdue
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're most mundane
Yes welcome to the library the place where you're to endure most pain
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit unwanted
Yes welcome to the library where you'll sit haunted
Yes welcome to the library where everyone's just like you
Yes welcome to the library where we're all books too!
Yes welcome to the library where you can take comfort
Yes welcome to the library where In the fact you're no longer unique
Yes welcome to the library You're just pen marks ink
Departing the library? I think not, even if you get out we'll bring you back
Departing the library? Here you rot, but we'll dust you to ease your passing
Departing the library? Don't make me laugh, here you're black and white
Departing the library? Nobody argues on your behalf, look more amassing
Welcome to the library! A place of keeping and safety
Welcome to the library! Take your place you'll like it, just wait and see
Welcome to the library! New books don't mind the old they're disillusioned
Welcome to the library! You've sold your soul... but it's too late for you
so WELCOME
poem by David Knox
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Hes All Over Me
Chorus:
Hes all over me
And hes keeping me alive
Hes all over me
And hes keeping me alive
Hes all over me
And hes keeping me alive
I know he is keeping me alive
Hes keeping me aliveverse 1
Hes in my hands, hes in my feet
I can hardly keep my seat
Hes in my sprit, in my soul
I will never grow old
Hes in my heart, hes in my mind
Im glad that hes mine
Hes all over me, and hes keeping me alive
I know he is keeping me alive
Hes keeping me alive
Verse 2
Like the hebrew boys, thrown in the fiery furnace
Everybody thought it was over for them
But the lord brought them out on time
Hes the firm foundation
The God of all creation
Theres nothing that he wont do for you
If you trust him hell see you through
Chorus
Repeat verse 2
Chorus
Repeat verse 1
Hes on my right, hes on my left
Hes in my front and back
Hes over me and hes even by my side
Chorus
song performed by by Whitney Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Papa You Have Long Been Dead
you come back
as a very young man
wearing levi's pants
and adidas fitting shirt
you are smiling
as you open the knob
of our door
i do not like this lie
papa you have been dead
in 1987 and there is no more
reason for you to be back
goodbye had been so
well said
you close the door again
goes outside us
less the smile
the truth must seal
the distance between us
papa
the past has no more use
the future too fruitless
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Books in a large university library system: 2,000,000. Books in an average large city library: 10,000. Average number of books in a chain bookstore: 30,000. Books in an average neighborhood branch library: 20,000.
quote by Anthony Burgess
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True 007 Style
Joyously discovered my thick blue pen
writing in many colours can be my new
talisman, a necklace accompanying me
to the library as a blue aura around my
black-clad person, marched back to the
office in the same grim determination
not to eat anything that will aggravate
my too high cholesterol levels
The only food left so bland I prefer not
to eat at all, tried to take the blue pen
off for writing but the grey of my T-
shirt threatened to swallow all light
and delight; necklace-pen has to stay
repelling all black and grey - it also is
a secret weapon à la Q
The James Bond inventor, I can blow up
my boss so only her smoking shoes
are left - in true 007 style -
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Traveling Through The Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
poem by William Stafford
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Wanted Dead Or Alive
Its all the same, only the names will change
Everyday it seems were wasting away
Another place where the faces are so cold
Id drive all night just to get back home
Chorus:
Im a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride
Im wanted dead or alive
Wanted dead or alive
Sometimes I sleep, sometimes its not for days
And the people I meet always go their separate ways
Sometimes you tell the day
By the bottle that you drink
And times when youre all alone all you do is think
Chorus
I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, still Im standing tall
Ive seen a million faces an Ive rocked them all
Im a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride
Im wanted dead or alive
Im a cowboy, I got the night on my side
Im wanted dead or alive
Wanted dead or alive
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The High Life
She pinned her shapeless hat in place.
Then stood before the fireplace
and gazed into the mirror bright.
To make quite sure that she looked right.
Before she ventured down the street
to purchase what she needs to eat.
A weekly trip she undertook
and perhaps change her library book.
The library first and then she’ll go
around the village to and fro.
The simple things she wants to buy
the village shops can well supply.
She’s shy and seldom stops to speak
This is the highlight of her week
She nods to neighbours on the street.
She will stop soon to rest her feet
She will outside the baker’s store,
she’ll do as she has done before
Beneath an awning find a seat.
Have tea and cakes her weekly treat.
She’ll sit and watch the world go by
surprised at how the hours fly.
Then quite content she’ll make her way
back home. She has enjoyed her day
Once back at home she’ll feed the cat
and carefully hang up her hat
Then put her groceries away
thus ends another shopping day.
18-Aug-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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July 1 2009***Giving His Boots a Rest
He is resting
In a comfortable Library chair
With his boots and jacket on
His backpack is nearby
He's reading today's paper
And has three plastic covered
Magazines stacked on the floor
To read next
He's in from the cold and rain
He's in where it's warm and dry
He's been to the men's room to
Wash himself and his socks and shorts
Wrapped in a plastic bag
He'll dry them later
Now he's trying to get his boots to dry
They're damp and well worn
They are not worn out
Just like him
They are well worn
They've covered many miles
He's worked in them
He's slept in them
To keep warm and to see
That they are not stolen
Where do you put your shoes at night?
Under you bed? In your closet?
It's been a long time
Since he's had either
How do you
Keep your feet from freezing
In the long hard-frost winter nights?
How do you keep warm?
If you'd never had to worry
You wouldn't appreciate
The warm dry Library chair
That gives his boots a rest
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Vegetable Man
In yellow shoes I get the blues
Though I walk the streets with my plastic feet
With my blue velvet trousers, make me feel pink
Theres a kind of stink about blue velvet trousers
In my paisley shirt I look a jerk
And my turquoise waistcoat is quite out of sight
But oh oh my haircut looks so bad
Vegetable man how are you?
So Ive changed my dear, and I find my knees,
And I covered them up with the latest cut,
And my pants and socks all point in a box,
They dont make long of my nylon socks,
The watch, black watch
My watch with a black face
And a big pin, a little hole,
And all the lot is what I got,
Its what I wear, its what you see,
It must be me, its what I am,
Vegetable man.
Ive been looking all over the place for a place for me,
But it aint anywhere, it just aint anywhere.
Vegetable man, vegetable man,
Hes the kind of person, you just gonna see him if you can,
Vegetable man.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Sunday
Tomorrow is the one day I would change for a monday
With freezing rains melting and no trains running
And sad eyes passing in windows flimsy
And my seat rocking from legs not quite matching
Got passport, credit cards, a plane that Im catching
Black sunday falls one day too soon
The taxi that takes me will be moving too quickly
My suitcases simply too full for the closing
Of pants, shirts and kisses all packed in a hurry
Two best-selling paper backs chosen at random ---
No sign of sales-persons to whom I might hand them
Black sunday falls one day too soon
And down at the airport are probably waiting
A few thousand passengers, overbooked seating
Time long suspended in transit-lounge traumas ---
Connections broken and special branch waiting
Conspicuously standing in holiday clothing
Black sunday falls one day too soon
Pick up my feet and kick off my lethargy
Down to the gate with the old mood upon me
Get out and chase the small immortality
Born in the minute of my next returning
Impatient feet tapping and cigarette burning
Homecoming one day too soon
And back at the house theres a grey sky a-tumbling
Milk bottles piling on door steps a-crumbling
Curtains all drawn and cold water plumbing
Notepaper scribbles I read unbelieving
Saying how sorry, how sad was the leaving
...one day too soon
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love In The Library
Love in the library
By: jimmy buffett, mac mcanally
1994
On the corner of government and bay avenue
The old doomsday fanatic wore a crown of kudzu
Sirens were wailing in the gulf coastal heat
And it seemed like the whole world was in forced retreat
Paid no attention, revolved through the door
Past the newspaper racks on the worn marble floor
Near civil war history my heart skipped a beat
She was standing in fiction stretched high on bare feet
Chorus:
Love in the library
Quiet and cool
Love in the library
There are no rules
Surrounded by stories
Surreal and sublime
I fell in love in the library
Once upon a time
I was the pirate, she was the queen
Sir francis and elizabeth, the best theres ever been
Then she strolled past my table and stopped at the stairs
Then sent me a smile as she reached for flaubert
Chorus:
Love in the library
Quiet and cool
Love in the library
There are no rules
Surrounded by stories
Surreal and sublime
I fell in love in the library
Once upon a time
She gathered her books, walked while she read
Words never spoken, but so much was said
You can read all you want into this rendezvous
But its safer than most things that lovers can do
Well stories have endings, fantasies fade
And the guard by the door starts drawing the shade
So write your own ending and hope it comes true
For the lovers and strangers on bay avenue
Chorus:
Love in the library
Quiet and cool
Love in the library
There are no rules
Surrounded by stories
Surreal and sublime
I fell in love in the library
Once upon a time
Surrounded by stories
Surreal and sublime
I fell in love in the library
Once upon a time
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is icy cold
It is icy cold and a man
with a short sleeved shirt passes
and it doesn’t look
as if the young girl
with a blouse
are getting cold.
There’s taxi’s
and picking people up
and a few vagrants
sleep in front
of the doors of buildings
to hide against the wind.
People stand with their hands
in their pockets
to fight the cold
and some are lighting
their first cigarettes.
The talking of the schoolgirls
has disappeared
and they are looking at papers
and I wonder if
they are writing a test,
or is it the head girl
that stands near to them
that causes them this morning
to behave.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Man Of Snow
I created a large snowman
On our snowy laden front lawn
Facing the street on which we live.
It was not an ordinary
Snowman; you know, the ones you see
With large packed snowballs stacked on top
Of each other with chunks of coal
Representing facial features;
Not mine! He was a translucent,
Naked man of wintery snow;
A frigid albino nudist
Whose large, blue-shooter marble eyes
Stare back at you from its cold soul
Beckoning every passerby.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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History Lessons
Notoriously, history books are warm
and bland.
This one is smaller, neatly compacting
years into large print pages.
Somehow, the near coverless book
reappeared from the long, dim
Nun's library, dug up, specifically for
a reprisal of the 1918 Influenza Revisited.
It was a custom to pass out last editions.
A clear out of the aging history Teacher's
Library section.
An acknowledgement of the past
pressed onto a pupil for a masked honor.
Smells of old lockers, chesty
coughs, and fatigue. So many class
smiles and collective ease.
The book holds the marks of many
boys' notes, hen-pecked bits of scratch paper.
History written within history.
poem by Mary Anderson
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Lady at the Desk Wouldn't Understand
And it comes to this
Him putting back in his teeth
with one hand
Standing back to me
stall door open in the men's
bathroom at the Central Library
This rainy cold morning
he's just bathed
washed his clothes
repacked all he has
This rainy cold morning
I've been trying my hand
updating my resume
preparing for a job interview
I was able to
sleep in a little
shower shave at home
breakfast with my wife
He 's been tring to
keep warm
stay awake and
not get thrown out
Right now he
in the stall
me at a urinal
we're just two guys
taking a piss
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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A Front Row Seat To Hear Ole Johnny Sing
Now you know some fellahs, they want fame and fortune
Yeah, and other fellahs they just wanna swing
But all I wanted all my life
Was a TV set and a truck and a wife
And a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.
Yeah the TV and the truck I got on credit.
And I got that girl with a little old Woolworth ring
And life was warm and life was sweet
But still, it was kinda incomplete
Without a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.
chorus:
Hey, John you walk the line,
Do 'Deelia' one more time
And when you do them Cottonfields
You warm this heart of mine.
So, one day I thought, Hey, I'm gonna do it!
(That's what I said)
So, I mortgaged the farm and pawned her wedding ring.
I sold the gold tooth out of my mouth
And jumped in the pickup and headed South.
For a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.
I hit Nashville cold and wet and hungry.
I said, 'I'm here, bring him on let him do his thing.'
But they told me down at the Old Pit Grill
I'd have to go all the way to Andersonville
For a front row seat to hear ole Jonny sing.
I found his house knocked on the door and it was opened
By a brown-haired girl and a baby with a teethin' ring.
I said 'I seen you somewhere before
but don't stand there and block the door
I want a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.'
(chorus)
She said I'd have to go down to The Opry
And the feller there said I'd have to wait till Spring.
He said, 'We've been sold out for months and months
And this poor insane fellah wants
A front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.'
Well, he said a couple more things, and I started cryin'
And then he laughed at me and that's when I started to swing.
Well I bust through the doors in a roaring rage,
Crawled over the crowd till I reached the stage
For a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.
(chrous)
Then some crazy guard started shootin'
I shot back, and the next thing I know I was winged
and on the floor
When a guy in a voice kinda deep and low
Says, 'Boy that's a mighty long way to go
For a front row seat to hear ANYBODY sing.'
And I guess that judge, he weren't no music lover.
I got fifteen months but that don't mean a thing.
Cos' yesterday in the prison yard
A show come through and HAR! de HAR!
I had a front row seat to hear ole Johnny sing.
(chorus plus some typical Shel ranting and raving)
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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A Bedtime Story
It was just after midnight and I’d been reading in bed for an hour
when a sweet sickly smell wafted in, which turned horribly sour.
Cursing, I got out of bed and opened the window some more,
which seemed to cause a draft that slammed shut the door.
I reopened the door much wider this time and returned to my bed,
a draught blew the pages losing the place to where I’d read.
The temperature dropped so I again got out of bed and closed the door,
and also the window slightly, but it was still cold, so I closed it more.
Large goose bumps formed along my arms as I got back into bed,
I picked up the book and tried to find the last page that I’d read.
It was warmer now, but I still pulled the covers up to my chest;
I found my page and carried on reading with keen interest.
The atmosphere in the room seemed somehow unusual and strange
with an unpleasant smell and sudden coldness change.
Above the top of my page I saw a movement at the foot of the bed
and I saw someone standing there, so I raised my head.
The hairs on the back of my neck stiffened and sent a shiver down my spine,
for a second I was speechless; it was an apparition the colour of lime.
Motionless he just stood with his face towards the floor with nothing to say,
his lifeless body sagged wearing a worn out coat that had seen a better day.
“Who the Dickens are you and what do you want? ” I nervously said.
He stared straight through me when he slowly raised his head.
His aged gaunt tired face seemed to stare far beyond my body,
so I turned to see, but there was only the wall behind me.
“Why don’t you answer me, ” I said, “are you unable to speak? ”
Then with a voice that was deep and certainly not meek,
said, “Oh yes I can speak when and if it suits me to,
but what makes you think that I want to speak with you? ”
“Well excuse me, you came into my room and stood by my bed
and you looked as though something just ought to be said.”
“You don’t mean anything to me, I didn’t even notice you
until you broke my spiritual flow, like all you living do.
I don’t think you living realise that restless spirits come and go,
we roam the dead space of time just as the four winds blow.
We didn’t ask to be here, abandoned to wander forever more,
we’re trapped and forgotten spirits behind heaven’s door.
And don’t bother to ask me how I got here because I don’t know,
I never harmed anyone when I was alive and that is truly so.
I freely admit that some of the spirits have become evil and sour
and like the living, insanity becomes worse by the hour.
You the living remind us of how it was when we were there,
but we are enraged by the many who abuse and don’t care.
It is possible that you could end up here in this dead space,
and then with me you’ll be wearing my kind of face.”
As I was about to ask a question he quickly faded out of sight,
the smell and coldness went with him into the night.
I don’t expect anyone to believe me, but I know it’s true
and perhaps one day a similar experience might happen to you.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Outside The Pen And Parchment
Sitting at a table
outside the Pen and Parchment
waiting for some poets to come along
to add rhyme to summer’s song.
A nice cold drink in front of me
to refresh the parts
other drinks seem to miss.
The sun was high in the sky,
everyone around was sweating,
all of them except me.
I was wearing a black suit and shirt and tie,
my trademark you could call it.
Every time they looked at me
they seem to melt a little more,
but I was cooler than my drink
that sat in front of me.
27 July 2008
poem by David Harris
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After That.
After that
the only
thing she thought
mattered was
the sunlight
coming through
the tall trees
as you and
she lay on
your backs by
the large pond
listening
to birdsong
and the wind
coming through
the branches
and she there
full of life
breathing in
the sharp air
and she said
Van Gogh could
have captured
this morning
with the trees
and sunlight
and the way
the wind moves
through branches
and you said
but Renoir
despite his
arthritic
hands could have
captured your
young beauty
on canvas
somewhere off
a dog barked
a cow mooed
and your hand
like a crab
moved over
the green grass
and touched her
small warm hand
and she smiled
like da Vinci's
painting of
the Mona
Lisa you'd
seen in that
old art book
in the school
library
tucked between
a battered
old atlas
and book of
poetry
which no one
ever read
no doubt the
pond's still there
the sunlight
and the wind
but she's not
she gone now
all silent
amongst the
peaceful dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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