Luggage
my luggage
A list of identifiable items,
After the long haul
The journey is a year, an hour, a day a month,
In a minute things will change!
That's what we all say
Hope for, something?
But the luggage stays the same
Hidden under different exteriors
Today fake leather durable fabric
water resistant, resists wear and tear,
Tomorrow plastic, polyester or nylon or canvas
light easy to handle
back frame in rucksack
to take the strain
But the luggage stays the same
An old toothbrush
A half finished sandwhich
a note book
Squeezed tube of paste
old shoes
lost maps of the underground
novels full of bus tickers
marker pens
phone numbers scribbled on bits of paper
people that you almost met
But will never know
new shoes
crumpled towels
one change of clothes
books you will never read on the journey home,
music still in your head
a passport photo expired long ago
of some one with your ears and eyes and nose!
A rotten forgotten apple at the bottom
meant for consumption
your life's dreams
full of photographs of strangers
standing in line
Bustops and corner shops
parties communions
weddings and funerals
waving goodbye
A shopping list
A shopping line
A whole weeks clothes
a battered bible
A faded sweet wrapper
A musty smell
Old scent
Train tickets
Two years gone
A packet of out of date mints
An old cardigan
saturdays supplement sealed up
untouched by a week now gone
A letter a lover
now gone
Still singing the same song
After a day a year a month
of rain
a photograph
a film a book
And the hour it took to walk across the street
To post unopened mail
And all the notes you took
The pacts you never really made
Words said, in silence
Words that never really came
Tomorrow you hope the load is lighter
But the luggage stays the same!
by yvette m smith
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Late Night, Maudlin Street
Winter coming
Winter push on
(push on)
Oh, winter push on
Winter is so long
Winter moves on
The last night on maudlin street
Goodbye house, goodbye stairs
I was born here
And I was raised here, and
...i took some stick here
Love at first sight
It may sound trite
But its true, you know
I could list the detail
Of everything you ever wore or said
Or how you stood the day
As we spent the last night
On maudlin street
Goodbye house, forever!
I never stole a happy hour
Around here
Where the worlds ugliest boy
Became what you see
Here I am - the ugliest man
Oh, the last night on maudlin street
Truly I do love you
Oh, truly I do love you
When I sleep
With that picture of you framed beside my bed
Oh, its childish and its silly
But I think its you in my room, by the bed
(...yes, I told you it was silly...)
And I know
I took strange pills
But I never meant to hurt you
Oh, truly I love you
Came home late one night
Everyone had gone to bed
But, you know
No-one stays up for you
I had sixteen stitches
All around my head
Oh, the last bus I missed to maudlin street
So he drove me home in the van
Complaining, women only like me for my mind...
Dont leave your torch behind
A powercut ahead; 1972, you know
And so we crept through the park
No, I cannot steal a pair of jeans off a clothesline
For you
But you ... without clothes
Oh, I could not keep a straight face
Me - without clothes ?
Well, a nation turns its back and gags...
Im packed
I am moving house
A half-life disappears today
With every hand waves me on
(secretly wishing me gone)
Well, I will be soon
Ooh, I will be soon
I will be soon
I will be soon
Will be soon, I will be soon
Mmm ... I will be soon, I will be soon
There were bad times on maudlin street
They took you away in a police car
Inspector - dont you know ?
Dont you care ?
Dont you know - about love ?
Your gran died
And your mother died
On maudlin street
In pain, and ashamed
With never time to say
Those special things ... oh
I took the key from maudlin street
Well, its only bricks and mortar !
Oh, oh, truly I love you
Oh, wherever you are
Wherever you are
Wherever you are
I hope youre singing now
Oh, I do hope
I hope youre singing now
Oh ...
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Notes To An Amnesiac
memories are made of these
Your keys
Odd socks left on the washing line
names on a list in a book
You cannot find
That lost glove
Pushed under the carpet
Or the note you wrote about your lover
Before you ever met or even touched
And the television is turned to neutral
As you listen
And unlisten
To the radio in your head
Your dinner is left congealed
Your books dusty and unread
The puzzle
Full of words you no longer understand
The alien has landed in a foreign land
Memories are made of these
The keys you lost
The odd socks
The lists full of lists left behind
And you feel like you 're losing your mind
Forgetting it all as you go to the door
Leaving the keys on the side
Dropping a glove in the floor
Losing the name of the street where you live
Forgetting what you're living for!
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In my hand luggage I always have my camera, iPod, make-up bag, tooth brush, cleansing products, clean underwear, socks and a change of clothes in case anything goes missing at the other end - and of course my passport.
quote by Lisa Snowdon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The way I feel about you
The way I feel about you
Today
Tomorrow
Next week next month
Next year,
I will always love you
I will change, you will change
My love for you will reamain the same
You lifted me up
When I couldn't reach
You gave me strength
When I was weak
You were my light
When it was dark
Now all I want to do is be happy and love you
Tomorrow's here and I still feel the same about you
Next week will come
Next month will come
Even next year will come
I shall feel the same way about you
I will always feel that way about you
poem by Makayla Straight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love is it?
Love what is love?
Is it a handbag, or glove?
Is it that certain look you wear?
At that certain time?
Is it the turn in the year?
Is it a sign?
And can we buy it?
And will we leave it all behind?
In the things shed
The skin surface of things
As they appear?
Will they dissapear?
Into the turn in the year
The being alone too much?
and the crowd who will see them
So many loves?
Do we even count them, know them?
Next year we will have forgotten
The first line of the song
That showered them in rain
And yet that first smile
Of your first love
Is still here
Standing in the shadows
Shedding light
And how much did it cost?
This love without money?
And was it worth the fall, into love?
yvette m smith july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A months and years
Some of the months are long remembered
So many came out with strong resolve to stand for unity
It was call for peace and amity
To raise the strong nation from rubles with quality
Can we call it popular rising?
Or people’s verdict for armed uprising?
It was definitely a unanimous call
The draconian and darkest hour to fall
Seasons are remembered for atmospheric change
we adjust accordingly and arrange
The insects too store enough food and manage
The young and old too act with the age
The time may pass of easily
The need of the hour is to pass it happily
No month is particular or acts silly
It is our belief and may be shared by many
Days and moths may form years
All changes may be liked by eyes and ears
It is formation of new strategy
Love, death, and birth maybe raised as bogey
We may celebrate it with fun fare
We may stay at same place and go no where
It is all felt sad and joyous
This process is part of life and stays continuous
So nothing particular about month or year
Some one may grieve the loss and someone may find dear
Few words to spring surprise and to be heard
Still all to be taken care off and to look forward
So in all it is cycle for the year
It may please to our ears
We may witness some pleasing moments
It may be enjoyed by concerned with events
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Nothing to declare
we need passports id-s and an
unrepeatable unique crucial numbers of a citizen
we look at those photographs with weary visa faces
that reflect a tiresome long standing in a queue
why can't we sit
we need hands palms a pointer sealed in an
unrepeatable unique crucial print of a citizen
why can't we make a handshake
we need this for the sake of neat info organization
so as not to be lost so as to be easily found
why is no one looking for us
we need health cards credit cards phone cards
business cards membership cards
why can't we discard them
we need birth school pre post BA MA PHD certificates
why can't we really sign them
we need a luggage a lift a transport a life
why can't we travel
why do we have
nothing to declare
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Life is a short journey.
Life is a short journey
It may be bitter
It may be honey
Life is a short journey
Choose your way
Choose your mate
You won't be early
You won't be late
Our ways may differ
But our end is there
Go by car or by train
Go on foot or by plane
Go on horseback or by rocket
Go by bike or by boat
Life is a short journey
All of us will be on time
All of us will be the same
All of us will have a luggage
Choose what to leave
Choose what to take
Choose what to build
Choose what to break
Life is a short journey
Whether you like it
Or you don't
You try to change it
But you can't
Life is a short journey.
poem by Bouche Cousue
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seeing Stars
(robin wilson)
Spit it out, the sad truth
One of many secrets we acquired in youth
My dirty clothes
Lately I keep em in the luggage that you to gave me
With a little luck, one night
Well drink together in a different light
Our heads down, our ears ring
We only see angels when we both believe
Take me, take mine, hide it away
Take me, take mine, hide it away
Spit it up, the right words
Of course we always keep em where we know it hurts
The little things you did too
Id almost still believe if it werent for you
Take me, take mine hide it away, hide it away (so late? )...
You said surround me when its over, I cant stand it another night
Forever now and definitely sober
When we stare in a different light
Spit it out, the sad truth
One of many secrets we acquired in youth
The right words
Lately I keep em in the luggage that you gave to me
Take me, take my hurting away (so late)
Take me, take my hurting away, hurting away (so late)
Take me, take mine, hide it away (so late)
Take me take my hurting away, hide it away (so late)
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A life of standing and waiting
Standing in the bus queue
it's twenty minutes late again
when you get on the bus is full
public transport what a pain.
Standing in the post office
fifteen minutes just for a stamp
stood in a long line of people
now my back hurts it must be cramp.
Standing at the railway station
waiting for a train that's been delayed
and when it finally bothers to arrive
we're told there's an engine fault I'm afraid.
Standing in a queue outside the cinema
been looking forward to this film all day
but after waiting patiently for half an hour
I'm told it's now full so I have to go away.
Standing about and queueing is what we do
I wonder if it's like this in Heaven when you pass away?
knowing my luck I'll be in a long line of people
only to be told your in the wrong place so go away!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Poetry
These words are not porcelain
Nor are they sculpted from a certain glass
Nor do they shine even after the hour is passed
But they break like flesh and bone
They are a metaphor
For china
For fragile things
And underneath lies the poetry
Beneath the skin
It lives and breathes
Some senses burn hot
Some passion dry cold
But beneath the tempest
Lies the still hour glass
Of all thats told
And these words are the flesh and the bone
The lines in your head
The shadow in the photograph
The stories you have lived
For who can read you, after words?
Who can know the journey you have taken?
Or understand such imprints in the sand?
And yet they the live and leave their sign
In the body of one life
yvette smith feb 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Holiday Shopping
Holiday shopping, is an extremely
tedious chore! You get up early in
the morning, to wait on line, until
the department stores open their
door! It's a mad rush, everyone
pushing and scrambling around.
People running all over the place,
looking for that bargain, to be
found. This year, I made a list for
everybody, it really should turn out
to be a cinch. I hope I choose
wisely, I don't ever want, to be
called, a grinch! Many hours have
passed, I think I did pretty well. My
head is starting to ache, from the
ringing, of Santas bell! I guess I
really had it, I accomplished, what
I set out to do. Now, it's back to the
car, I'm heading for home. Thank
goodness, my shopping, is through!
poem by Audrey Heller
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A week, a month, a year
How long is this waiting?
A week, a month, a year
I can’t count the days anymore
How long is this yearning?
A week, a month, a year
I barely feel the difference
How long is this goodbye?
A week, a month, a year
Is the end is forever?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Nothing Stays The Same
In this old world of ours,
nothing stays the same.
Two hearts so much in love
could easily break tomorrow
or when the next day comes.
Two lives could be easily shattered
as nothing stays the same.
Hate can easily turn to love
the very same way.
One day you could hate someone,
next day you could love them to bits.
The future is not ours to share
for nothing ever stays the same.
Today you could say you are leaving
and tomorrow you’ll come home again;
as long as this old world keeps turning,
nothing will ever stay the same.
1 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Of Three Or Four In The Room
Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Forced to see the injustice amongst the thorns,
The fires on the hills.
And people who left whole
Are brought home in the evening, like small change.
Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Hair dark above his thoughts.
Behind him, the words, wandering, without luggage,
Hearts without provision, prophecies without water
Big stones put there
Standing, closed like letters
With no addresses; and no one to receive them.
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Lourdes 2006
Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there's molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I've got
a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you
went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said
Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed
and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until
they were clean and smelt of soap and fresh air
and all the while 94 year old Jim sat in a chair
watching with his eyes watery and jaw hung loose
seeing the black water run down the wide plughole
and once it was done you wrung the clothes out
like your mother used to do when you were a kid
and hung them out on the balcony on the small
clothesline and placed the washed out black shoes
by the outside wall to dry out in the hot afternoon
sun and Jimmy came over and stood on the balcony
with one hand on the rail and the other on his stick
looking over at the Pyrenees in the distance and he
said That was real good of you. I owe you big time
and you stood next to him feeling the hot afternoon
sun on your face and arms and felt good and you
said You owe me nothing Jim I just did what some
good guy would and his watery eyes swept over you
matching the French sky's watery afternoon blue.
poem by Terry Collett
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Baby girl
Baby girls are not wanted and desired
Their entry in family is not admired
Ill treatment from them from the very day of arrival
No celebration or joy when
Recent event opened my eyes
Six month old baby left behind as desperate try
Baby was alone and found in railway compartment
Parent left her at mercy in suspicious movement
So beautiful and charm of heavenly rose
She was there for nobody to dispose
How can you be so cruel for lovely child?
In one remote corner of railway yard she was left to find
She was so much liked by all
But parents were not found to call
They had left her behind in hurry
As if she was not thing to worry
Orphanage was contacted and taken care
But parent were not seen any where
Whole of media came to rescue
Nation wide hunt started for identification and view
Fifty hours had passed off and yet no query
It added to tension, concern and worry
Alas! Some phone call was made from far place
The parents were on line in any case
"We were in hurry to off load the luggage"
She was sleeping on one side of baggage
We were busy in checking meanwhile train moved
We noticed nothing while luggage was removed
No one believed such story and police swung in action
All the institutions were making sure of reaction
Many contacted to take control of baby girl
Now it was out hand and was parent's turn
There are people who still care for nothing
Baby girls are unwanted and traded off for something
Either they are left or sold off for paltry sum
This trend is still not going off and is certainly worrisome
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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One Way Ticket To Heaven
I've got a one way ticket to heaven
On the glory train
I'm taking a trip to the promise Land
I'm never coming back again I made my resurrection
Long long ago
So when the conductor says all aboard
I would be ready to go I sent in for my tickets
Away ahead of time
So when the train pulled out from the station
I wouldn't be left behind I won't take any luggage
But that will be all right
When I get to Heaven
I'll wear my robe of white I hear that train coming
I hear her whistle blow
I've got a one way ticket to heaven
and I am ready to go
poem by Freda Lee Jackson
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Midnight Train
The Midnight Train to nowhere is boarding-
My life-long luggage has already been brought on-
The tracks of non-mobility are ready and waiting-
To sings its droning railroad song;
Its quite catchy to the ears they tell me-
As the trains roars itself in place upon the tracks-
Bidding my final farewells to everyone-
Turning my head-with plans to never look back;
They say that this train will get you nowhere-
And you know i believe this to be true-
Non-riding the tracks-ignoring the facts-
I'm on my way back home to you;
You are at the end of my nowhere-
Been there for so very long-
Just biding your time with your prose and rhyme-
While i write this here Railroad Song;
Oh -the Midnight Train to nowhere is not flyin'-
In stationary movement upon its nowhere tracks-
Hummin' its Chatanooga Choo Choo melody-
And me-vowing never to look back;
Staying in one place-stationary-
Really movin' nowhere in real time-
Know that you are there waitin' on me-
Writin' your rhyme at the end of the line;
Just A Silly Poem.
June 22,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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BOREDOM in retrospective shades
It mostly rained mid afternoon
Pressed against the window
Dark dreary
Feeling nothing
Listless sad damp saturdays
Curtained off from the day
And sunless
Full of football league results
And muttered conversations over steaming tea
Football saturdays full of rain and nothing
With winter pressing in like night
Midday and waiting
For the boredom to sink in!
The hot cat slinks in
Lazy in summer pose
Limbs stretched over half read papers
Leaving pawprints across the broad sheet in repose
Forgotten bodies lie abandoned on the lawn
Waiting for post mortem
All thoughts of tomorrow suspended
The ice cream thawing slowly the thermostat is blown
Who wants to know about the weather?
There in the graveyard for the idle
Birds have nested made their home
Boredom
Belongs to the masses
The dissatisfied 'writer'
Of romances
And pulp ficition
The lottery winner who has it all?
[and ponders nothing]
To the factory and office worker
The bodies moving between
Shifts of day and night
To the old and lonely
But never to the child?
The cat is curious
The dog indifferent
The mouse is sly
And boredom comes to us all
Don't ask me why?
So many catch the train
So many rush on buses
Complain in queues
Push for seats
disconnect the senses
To the ipod and the phone
Leave their thoughts
of love and life behind
But take their boredom home!
yvette m smith poet of uk
july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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