Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XLIV
We came at last, alas! I see it yet,
With its open windows on the upper floor,
To a certain house still stirring, with lights set,
And just a chink left open of the door.
Here my companion stopped and bade me in;
Her dressmaker's, she said. And I, who heard
A sound of women's voices from within,
Shrank back alarmed and ready at a word
From any damsel stoutly to deny.
But ``Madame Blanche,'' she said to ease my fears,
``Is a good soul, and far too wise to pry
Or fancy evil of her customers
At any hour of the night they choose to come,
Much less of me.'' And so I followed dumb.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Related quotes
Domestic Shades 4
The thief was the chieftain that night
Stole from five houses erst in full flight
Last was ours at late night
Must've been there enough sound definite
As the windows were cut open straight
And weapons, palm-logs caught later our sight
Stupid me, unusually slept without a shake slight
However usual time set me ready for a plight
Monition woke up to wake up my daughter's exam fright
By then back door slammed me down at a dark height
Alarmed tongue drove the legs to fall and fear and excite
'Thief, thief' screamed my mind ready to fight
Nudged my husband with all my might
Stirred up hubby locked out of his sleep freight
Just to let the chieftain out of sight
Wide- open back door, broken windows stood quite
However remarkable was that night
For dacoity hacked many houses of our site
And trust, cop could bravely trace them out right
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Tales Of Horror and Suspense
Madame Pompadour honoured us by graciously
informing the Department a terrible bug bit her in
the neck during the night, must have been Dracula
we immediately surmised, she a Damsel in distress
trying her best not to waste her time with the rest
of us plebs in the open-plan office, her door must
have been open and the evil monster attacked
perfectly on cue; mesmerised by the marvellous
adventures of our haughty Madame keeping her
head high while one event is followed by the next
incident; her list of original excuses is growing and
soon we shall publish a book delineating the lovely
progress of her exciting life, enlivening bureaucracy
with tales of Horror and Suspense!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Dropping By Your House This Morning
i dropped by your house this very early morning
the windows are closed
but the door is half-open
and i could have given in to this little curiosity
that cats keep on their paws
and soft feet
or hands if you may
but i didn't. there is something in the houe
that says
you had a bad day and that night you did not have
a sound sleep
the roses are wilting and a flower pot falls on the ground
broken
the soil splashed like spilled water on the grass
there is no sound of the wind
from the storm last night
i just dropped by. I respect you. The door of the house
finally closed
i did not see the hands that closed it.
it maybe yours
or someone else's
the rug has spoken. You want to be alone.
to keep the faint light left
in that little room. the curtains fall. the lights
went off on that very early morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So many names
I have so many names
You can call me by any name.
Are you ready to come to me
I am here for you only
To heal you from all diseases.
Open the door of your house
The word the sound enter your house
And you find in every word in each sound
My name is there.
You can call me by any name
That suit you.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Open The Door, Homer (1)
by Bob Dylan
Now, there's a certain thing
That I learned from Jim
That he'd always make sure I'd understand
And that is that there's a certain way
That a man must swim
If he expects to live off
Of the fat of the land.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.
Now, there's a certain thing
That I learned from my friend, Mouse
A fella who always blushes
And that is that ev'ryone
Must always flush out his house
If he don't expect to be
Goin' 'round housing flushes.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.
"Take care of all your memories"
Said my friend, Mick
"For you cannot relive them
And remember when you're out there
Tryin' to heal the sick
That you must always
First forgive them."
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Devil At My Door
when she was asleep in her bed
she heard a pounding in her head.
who can be knocking at this ungodly hour?
for in this house, the devil has no power.
when she heard a voice outside her door!
'open the door and i will give you riches and fame
if but once you call my name.'
hearing this voice outside her door ' she responded'
but! this is the house of the LORD, you see.
i will not open up for someone like thee.
you can not give me what i desire
and i will not follow you into the fire.
so leave my door- never to return ever more.
the devil responded:
but! i can give you all these things
and you don't have to kneel before me.
i can give you eternal life
if you but- become my wife.
she responded: before my LORD i will kneel
my heart and soul, he can heal.
eternal life- i will have with him
and not have to commit a sin.
so take away all your promises and foolish ways
for i have nothing more to say.
my LORD is with me- i will not sway.
so with this he left her door
to return never more.
poem by Louis Rams
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Be Windows To Be Shut
Don't open the windows!
Cold air will rush in.
Don't open the windows!
Hot air will blow in.
Don't open the windows!
Mosquitoes are there.
Don't open my history!
Treacheries will snare.
Don't open my memory!
Debaucheries will slip out.
Don't open my very eyes.
I should not be a witness.
Let the windows be shut;
With that the past buried.
Switch on the air-conditioner.
Spray on the bed perfume.
I must enjoy my night
With the world outside shut.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Open The Door, Homer
Now, theres a certain thing
That I learned from jim
That hed always make sure Id understand
And that is that theres a certain way
That a man must swim
If he expects to live off
Of the fat of the land.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before
But I aint gonna hear it said no more.
Now, theres a certain thing
That I learned from my friend, mouse
A fella who always blushes
And that is that evryone
Must always flush out his house
If he dont expect to be
Goin round housing flushes.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before
But I aint gonna hear it said no more.
Take care of all your memories
Said my friend, mick
For you cannot relive them
And remember when youre out there
Tryin to heal the sick
That you must always
First forgive them.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before
But I aint gonna hear it said no more.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Teasing Moon....
sometimes to
complete the woodenness of the floor
you simply have to close the door
make the planks
exclusive to
its beams
with all the nails
sleeping
the windows with open eyes
beg to be exempted
from the hassle
of privacy
the view of the sea making love to the sky
is simply irresistible
the moon is teasing you to take the boat
but to do this you need to open the door of the house
where no one lives.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bereft
Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch's sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly striking at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret my be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.
poem by Robert Frost
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The House With Many Doors
the house i love is a house
with many doors
the usual house you have
a front door and the back door
when one enters and there is nothing
to hide, one simply takes the back door
and be gone to the woods,
i can be imaginative at times
one door must open to the earth
another door must open to
the sky
and now, i must find a way
how to grow wings
or if destiny is too cruel
i must grow sharper claws
for digging the rocks of this
earth
now you must know that i have
many choices
up or
down.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lullaby
Lullaby! Lullaby!
There’s a tower strong and high
Built of oak and brick and stone,
Stands before a wood alone.
The doors are of the oak so brown
As any ale in Oxford town,
The walls are builded warm and thick
Of the old red Roman brick,
The good grey stone is over all
In arch and floor of the tower tall.
And maidens three are living there
All in the upper chamber fair,
Hung with silver, hung with pall,
And stories painted on the wall.
And softly goes the whirring loom
In my ladies’ upper room,
For they shall spin both night and day
Until the stars do pass away.
But every night at evening.
The window open wide they fling,
And one of them says a word they know
And out as three white swans they go,
And the murmuring of the woods is drowned
In the soft wings’ whirring sound,
As they go flying round, around,
Singing in swans’ voices high
A lonely, lovely lullaby.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Consent
i
only knock
you are the owner
of the door
of the house
if
you open it
then i
enter
but you close
the door
and the windows
of your house
airtight
and so
i turn my back
and walk
away
if you change
your mind
however
i am just
a stone
throw
away...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Death of Fred Marsden, the American Playwright
A pathetic tragedy I will relate,
Concerning poor Fred. Marsden's fate,
Who suffocated himself by the fumes of gas,
On the 18th of May, and in the year of 1888, alas!
Fred. Marsden was a playwright, the theatrical world knows,
And was highly esteemed by the people, and had very few foes;
And in New York, in his bedroom, he took his life away,
And was found by his servant William in his bedroom where he lay.
The manner in which he took his life : first he locked the door,
Then closed down the window, and a sheet to shreds he tore
And then stopped the keyholes and chinks through which air might come,
Then turned on the single gas-burner, and soon the deed was done.
About seven o'clock in the evening he bade his wife good-night,
And she left him, smoking, in his room, thinking all was right,
But when morning came his daughter said she smelled gas,
Then William, his servant, called loudly on him, but no answer, alas!
Then suspicion flashed across William's brain, and he broke open the door,
Then soon the family were in a state of uproar,
For the room was full of gas, and Mr Marsden quite dead,
And a more kind-hearted father never ate of the world's bread.
And by his kindness he spoiled his only child,
His pretty daughter Blanche, which made him wild;
For some time he thought her an angel, she was so very civil,
But she dishonoured herself, and proved herself a devil.
Her father idolised her, and on her spared no expense,
And the kind-hearted father gave her too much indulgence,
Because evening parties and receptions were got up for her sake,
Besides, he bought her a steam yacht to sail on Schroon Lake.
His means he lavished upon his home and his wife,
And he loved his wife and daughter as dear as his life;
But Miss Blanche turned to folly, and wrecked their home through strife,
And through Miss Marsden's folly her father took his life.
She wanted to ride, and her father bought her a horse,
And by giving her such indulgences, in morals she grew worse;
And by her immoral actions she broke her father's heart;
And, in my opinion, she has acted a very ungrateful part.
At last she fled from her father's house, which made him mourn,
Then the crazy father went after her and begged her to return,
But she tore her father's beard, and about the face beat him,
Then fled to her companions in evil, and thought it no sin.
Then her father sent her one hundred dollars, and found her again,
And he requested her to come home, but it was all in vain;
For his cruel daughter swore at him without any dread,
And, alas! next morning, he was found dead in his bed.
And soon theatrical circles were shocked to learn,
Of the sudden death of genial Fred Marsden,
Whose house had been famous for its hospitality,
To artists, litterateurs, and critics of high and low degree.
And now dear Mrs Marsden is left alone to mourn
The loss of her loving husband, whom to her will ne'er return;
But I hope God will be kind to her in her bereavement,
And open her daughter's eyes, and make her repent
For being the cause of her father's death, the generous Fred,
Who oft poor artists and mendicants has fed;
But, alas! his bounties they will never receive more,
Therefore poor artists and mendicants will his loss deplore.
Therefore, all ye kind parents of high and low degree,
I pray ye all, be advised by me,
And never pamper your children in any way,
Nor idolise them, for they are apt to go astray,
And treat ye, like pretty Blanche Marsden,
Who by her folly has been the death of one of the finest men;
So all kind parents, be warned by me,
And remember always this sad Tragedy!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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These Arms Are Open All Night
Well, it's closing time, I got no place to go
No, I'm not tired; nobody's waiting at home
Hey, what about you? Looks like you're leaving alone
Guess that makes two - me and you
By the way, my name's Jones
I know a place not far from here
That's my dented red Chevy out front
You can follow me there
Chorus:
There's no neon lights
It don't stink of beer
It's just a mile up the road
Just a minute from here
These arms are open all night
If you need someone to talk to
A hand to hold onto
And if it feels alright
These arms are open all night
The band is through, they're breaking down the drums
The took the singer's keys, man, he was really drunk
They're turning on the lights, we can't stay here no more
I can take a hint, find my way out the door
So what do you think? Are you going my way?
There's still a whole lot left to this night
Baby, what do you say?
Chorus:
There's no neon lights
It don't stink of beer
It's just a mile up the road
Just a minute from here
These arms are open all night
If you need someone to talk to
A hand to hold onto
And if it feels alright
These arms are open all night
God only knows how long it's been that I been so lonely
Back there at the stop sign
I see her headlights
I think she's coming with me
Chorus:
There's no neon lights
It don't stink of beer
It's just a mile up the road
Just a minute from here
These arms are open all night
If you need someone to talk to
A hand to hold onto
And if it feels alright
These arms are open all night
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A little Ghost Story
As I was going to bed
I turned out my light
tucked myself in
on a long winter's night
All of a sudden
I heard a door squeak
I thought someone was in my house
so I decided to take a peak
I heard the wind blow hard
and started to shiver with fear
and heard some noises again
but this time I knew I was near
I went into the living room
and noticed my door was opened wide
squeaking back and forth
I laughed so hard I almost cried
So I decided to go back up to my room
When I heard some terrible cries
I rushed to my room real quick
but a ghost stopped me in surprise
I ran and yelled
and I ran outside my house right then
and decided I would never
go back to that house again
At my new house
I turned out the light
you can probably guess
what went on that night
poem by Shaina Lloyd
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I Don't Feel Very Receptive Today
This door has been shut for days
And it's all too familiar
Can't I just crack a window
Can't I just shake it off?
I'm sure I've tasted this before
Everything is out of reach
And I just want to see outside
The air has been getting thin
I feel like cutting it open tonight
And falling on the floor
There's nothing left unused in here
There's nothing left to say
I haven't talked in days
and I'm really not too sure
What I sound like anymore
My vision has gone and my mouth is full of sores
I feel like dripping it dry tonight
Over and over again
It's time to open up the door
song performed by by Underoath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Thrush In A Rush
Our house, once had a visit from a baby thrush,
Who took a wrong turning, during a mad rush.
Our back door was open: the weather was hot;
Then suddenly, over the threshold, he did pop.
The next thing, of which, I was then aware,
Was the young thrush flying up our stairs.
On reaching the top, he turned left, and he zoomed,
Through an open door, in to one of our bedrooms.
In his blind panic, he flapped and flew about;
That he was full of fear, there was no doubt.
Exhausted, he settled down on the floor to rest,
And it was then, that I spotted his speckled chest.
The poor little thing – he really was very scared,
And he knew in his heart, he shouldn’t be there.
I offered words of comfort, but he didn’t understand;
All he knew was that he was in a strange looking land.
Back out on to the darkened landing, he soon took flight,
And headed back down the stairs, out towards the daylight.
Through the open door, a familiar land, he now could see:
A land where, once again, he could fly about, wild and free.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Saturday
I'm good to go
And I'm going nowhere fast
It could be worse
It could be taking you there with me
I'm good to go
But it looks like I'm still on my own
I'm good to go
For something golden
Though the motions I've been going through have failed
And I'm coasting on potential towards the wall
At a 100 miles an hour
When I say
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door (yeah)
I can't sleep
In the wake of Saturday (Saturday)
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Pete and I attacked
And lost the story
Oh we promised them decisions
The mass of youthful innocence
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived more than an hour (more than an hour)
When I say
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door (yeah)
I can't sleep
In the wake of Saturday (Saturday)
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door
Me and Pete
In the wake of Saturday
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
Saturday
song performed by by Fall Out Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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