A Knocker
There are those who grow
gardens in their heads
paths lead from their hair
to sunny and white cities
it's easy for them to write
they close their eyes
immediately schools of images
stream down their foreheads
my imagination
is a piece of board
my sole instrument
is a wooden stick
I strike the board
it answer me
yes--yes
no--no
for others the green bell of a tree
the blue bell of water
I have a knocker
from unprotected gardens
I thump on the board
and it prompts me
with the moralists dry poem
yes--yes
no--no
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Related quotes
Teacher
Teacher was
Learn the
Black board...
Students was
speaking
Cinima story...
School bell
Ringing for
Lunch break...
The black board
Teaching the teacher
How to the time pass? ? ? ! ! !
Student are very busy
For cinima story...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Physical Science
(after Antjie Krog)
Right at the front at the big old green board
the teacher waits with a strong wooden cane
while pretty girls peep at me
and here I am alone in my wooden bench,
where just here I can die in my chair
when the teacher starts to wander around
while the lesson drags on and on
and he is causing great fear among the pupils
before a crooked old finger points at me,
I see scientific formulae in chalk,
how that teacher throws down the board-eraser,
and gives me a hiding until I get all the answers right;
sometimes I wonder from where he comes,
and see the most devious fiend only in him.
[Reference: "Wiskunde" (Mathematics) by Antjie Krog.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The snow
The feel of the snow
Coming down on my face
I must be in another world
The most bitchin' place
The wind in my hair
Oh, the wonderful breeze
My heart is content
My mind is at ease
I'm all alone
By myself on the slopes
It lifts up my feelings
My thoughts and my hopes
The swoosh and the swish
As my board turns
As each day comes
Theres somthing new to learn
Just me on my board
Blazing a new trail
Knowing that together
We could never fail
I live for the slopes
I live for the snow
With out these luxuries
I'd have nowhere to go
Oh, how wonerful
Life can be
With the snow and the board
As you can plainly see
poem by Brittany Marsh
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Baylitz's Wife And A Game Of Chess
Baylitz's wife served you snacks and booze
while you played chess in the lounge
at the small table set aside for games
and you watched her come and go
the swaying of her hips
the well crafted thighs
beneath the dress
the way her hands held the tray
her eyes green as emeralds
searching you as she laid it down
watch your bishop
Baylitz said
but in your imagination
you were already undressing his wife
for bed letting fall her dress
and bra and underwear
of flamingo pink or soft sky blue
you've left your castle well exposed
Baylitz muttered
his fingers over the piece
waiting there to pounce
you made a protective move
and he smiled and studied the board
as his wife stood by the window looking out
your eyes moved over her frame
caught in the sun's light
imagining her beneath you
in their broad bed
her lips on your chest
ah you've sacrificed your pawn too easy
Baylitz said and swooped in
for the kill of your piece
by his black bishop
you sat back in the chair
gave a sad expression
your eyes touching his wife's soft flesh
your king's in danger
Baylitz said
and your eyes moved back to the board
and studied Baylitz's fingers
lingering murderously
but too late
he moved in for the kill
checkmate
he stated
you sighed
and looked at his wife
who pulled a face
you sat
your dream of sex and love
stilled in frozen frame
another time maybe
Baylitz said
ok
you replied
unfulfilled.
poem by Terry Collett
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Down by the Salley Gardens
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
poem by William Butler Yeats from The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems (1889)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Marriages are not made in heaven! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
You smile at me gazing deep in my eyes
From the picture I pinned on the soft board.
As I untangle my wet hair and hurriedly blow dry,
Tying into a knot with pins, rush out on road
To catch 9 AM metro after all night work;
It’s Monday, deadline for a cover story
On long distance marriage; board and smirk
You can make it work, with trust, commitment.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Ouija Board, Ouija Board
Ouija board
Would you work for me ?
I have got to say hello
To an old friend
Ouija board, ouija board, ouija board
Would you work for me ?
I have got to get through
To a good friend
Well, she has now gone
From this unhappy planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors of it
Ouija board, ouija board, ouija board
Would you help me ?
Because I still do feel
So horribly lonely
Would you, ouija board
Would you, ouija board
Would you help me ?
And I just cant find
My place in this world
She has now gone
From this unhappy planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors of it
Oh hear my voice (hear my voice)
Oh hear my voice (hear my voice)
Hear my voice (hear my voice)
Hear my voice (hear my voice)
The table is rumbling ...
The table is rumbling
The glass is moving
No, I was not pushing that time
It spells : s.t.e.v.e.n
The table is rumbling
The glass is moving
No, I was not pushing that time :
P.u.s.h.o. double f.
Well, she has now gone
From this unhappy planet
With all the carnivores
And the destructors of it
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was an Old Man who said, 'Well!
Will nobody answer this bell?
I have pulled day and night,
Till my hair has grown white,
But nobody answers this bell!'
quote by by Edward Lear
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Father And Child
She hears me strike the board and say
That she is under ban
Of all good men and women,
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad names;
And thereupon replies
That his hair is beautiful,
Cold as the March wind his eyes.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Green Fingers
People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
A few gardens boast fantastic water-features,
Or a large array of stone, woodland creatures.
To make their garden nice, some folk really do try,
Whilst other gardens really are a sight for sore eyes.
Some folk really wish their garden was just not there,
And, about them, they, very obviously, just do not care.
Without a garden, some people would feel really lost,
And they keep them looking nice, whatever the cost.
Some people are blessed: they have green fingers,
And, in their gardens, for hours, they love to linger.
When some people pull on their gardening gloves,
They tend their gardens with such heartfelt love.
People love to spend their time sowing seeds,
Trimming their hedges, and pulling up weeds.
Some tend flower beds, upon bended knee.
Some grow delicious fruit upon their trees.
The gardener's nightmare is the garden pest:
To eradicate them all, they do their best.
Some people love to escape to their sheds,
Where they can think, and clear their heads.
In their gardens, people love to spend time,
But they like it best, when the weather is fine.
When all of their gardening chores are done,
Some people love to sit and relax in the sun.
Time spent in the garden, always really flies;
The benefits of gardening cannot be denied.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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391
we stand
at the scrub board
of a laundry sink filled
with soaking sheets
strangely moving,
close-cropped images
banal becoming eloquent
the tension between
the baroque folds of crumpled
white cloth
the geometry of the unremarkable
the transparent plane
of the water's surface
transforming the space
in another dimension
we stand and watch
in Spain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The art of surfing
I have not mastered the art
of riding on rolling waves
fifteen feet high,
speeding by like a bird
in the overcast sky,
slicing the roaring thundering rush
of water filled with immense power
piping through swirling churning cavities
on a storm tossed sea
and almost drowned in the trying
with the board passing me
like a piece of driftwood,
with water enveloping me,
knocking the breath of life from me
and I sank like a piece of lead
and was tossed out
like spit on the beach.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Into Your Eyes
When I look into your eyes,
I visualize having a child with my lips and your board smile.
When I look into your eyes,
I could never imagine a day without you in my life
When I look into your eyes,
Overwhelmed with love I can only sigh.
When I look into your eyes,
It feels like we are meant to be,
Our paths crossing was all part of our destiny.
When I look into your eyes,
I can see who you really are deep down inside.
When I look into your eyes,
There are two things that I want from you that are of great value,
And with me there'll never be an Easy come Easy go.
When I look into your eyes,
It was never about pride.
When I look into your eyes,
I say I want you to appreciate me and you do,
And I know I give you the impression indicating I want more out of you.
When I look into your eyes,
There's a storm in the ocean,
And you'll see me continuous devotion.
When I look into your eyes,
One day our views might collide,
But no matter what I am sure to stay by your side.
When I look into your eyes,
When I really look into your eyes,
It's eminent that our love will survive.
When I look into your eyes,
Hope Love take us to the end of times
poem by Anita Khelawan
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Fated
In a little cottage by the sea
She waits so patiently for me
Though we have never met you see
Fate knows our love some day will be.
Maybe she lives in the U.S.A.
Perhaps New York or even Santa fe
I'll board a flight to her someday
When fate decides to show the way.
I've always loved her through my tears
Been waiting for a million years.
A needle in a haystack I'm told
But her smiles still warm
A heart that's cold.
A bell will ring
small voice I'll hear
Then serendipity will make it clear
Those trains we miss
The plans we change
Impossible love fate will arrange
And when we meet two hearts will skip
On 52nd street or
On board a ship
We'll sail away at last fulfilled
And drink Champagne
That fate kept chilled.
poem by Kevin East
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(Hide and seek)
My father gets the wooden stick
he counts from five
i run and hide...
My father is coming with the wooden stick
he counts from four
i close my bedroom door...
My father is looking for me with the wooden stick
he counts from three
as he searches for me...
My father is close by with the wooden stick
he counts from two
my face turns blue...
My father is right next to me
with the wooden stick
he counts from one
now i'm done...
My father finds me
with the wooden stick
he counts from zero
...yes i know, i'm in trouble...
My father says
'there you are!
i found you
now it's your turn to count
and my turn to hide'
...and the game continued...
poem by Allen Steble
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Definition of Creative Art
With shirt wide open at the collar,
Maned as Beethoven's bust, it stands;
Our conscience, dreams, the night and love,
Are as chessmen covered by its hands.
And one black king upon the board:
In sadness and in rage, forthright
It brings the day of doom.-Against
The pawn it brings the mounted knight.
In gardens where from icy spheres
The stars lean tender, linger near,
Tristan still sings, like a nightingale
On Isolde's vine, with trembling fear.
The gardens, ponds, and fences, made pure
By burning tears, and the whole great span,
Creation-are only burst of passion
Hoarded in the hearts of men.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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No soliciting and loitering here
Oh! How can I explain my plight?
Violators will be prosecuted the rusty board says.
I pasted my poor scribbling on that oblique board and left alone.
Is there any other place in the world someone who could accepts me cordially?
* May the happy Christmas would release all the barriers against humanity!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Passing Trains In The Night
A train passes by
Only five minutes walk
From my door to the track
I’d like to board that train
Riding somewhere away from here
Where old memories linger
Like stains on the future
I’d like to escape
My nine to five existence
Only I’m kept comfortably
By routine and responsibility
Now too old to change
Take that five minute walk
Board that train
Go someplace away from here
No I’m set in my ways
Listening to trains pass by
While I wait to grow old
Make a complaint, die
I’ll just sleep now
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Train
Writers: leo sayer & david courtney
Running through my life
Like a river, like a song
Train keeps pushing me
Right back to the place where I belong...
Back along the tracks
Fly a million years
Right across my path
Train moves on ringing in my ears...
Come on board
Come on board
Train, oh train, take me back, again
I remember, I remember, take me back
Train, oh train, the journey ends and starts again
I remember, I remember, I remember
Ive been up all night trying to get this down
Now Im hallucinating
Staring at the wall look what Im creating...
Look at the clock Im twelve hours old
So many more remain
Way up ahead I know I see a train...
Come on board
Come on board
Train, oh train, all those memories, all over again
I remember, I remember, take me back
Train, oh train, the journey ends and starts again
I remember, I remember, I remember
Waited on the station all day
Just to see a glimpse of the morning train
Just to see the wheels turning round
Blowing up steam,
See what I mean,
You see what I mean...
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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