Between Legs And Logs
leaning forward
into the monitor,
the back legs of my office chair,
deserving a metaphor,
something on the lines of:
'erect like the asses of my lover',
left the ground like captain antilles.
i peered
-no-
i searched for the answer.
skimming blogs
and googling
recently deceased poets
anthems,
their bios.
anything i could glean.
the lyrics from odelay
silver mooned
artwork hung
off the skirt of a thirty
something teeny
telling me she
wanted cum tonight
i want some too
but something purer
than one night tripe.
-inspiration-
i jogged under the weight of loneliness
hoping to release the endorphins
and write firework splashes of poetry
so i released my
euphoric state on the pavement
dud.
God was watching on a fold out
chair as i went into the bathroom
at the community pool and jerked off
He could have touched my robe
and i would have
proselytized reams of parody.
instead he tripped my avatar
with truth. soaked my sprinting
ass with petrol and put me firmly
in this easy chair
typing words.
poem by Walter Burns
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Related quotes
Cogitation
if this chair does not exist
will i, this, chair, me, who asks,
if this chair, exists at all,
can i, exist, too? will i be dependent
on the thought of a chair
a thought of me that i think i
can touch, that i think thoughts
touching this thought of a chair
does the chair think about me,
i ask, looking for that therefore
beside the chair that i thought
is a chair, that i thought is I,
am, therefore, a chair, thinking
chair, on four feet?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Chair Don't make the Man
People see me in this chair and whisper look at that poor man over there. They believe my life is wasted all because I’m in this chair. Well I got some to say that I want you all to hear. Just like clothes don’t really make a man neither does a chair. The chair is just what I use to get me for here to there. Just like people who walk use their legs to get them everywhere. Because besides the chair I’m just like you; I laugh, I cry and yes I have sex too. Now that you all know the next time you see me don’t whisper look at that poor man over there. In fact don’t say anything just remember the chair don’t make the man.
Wish For Release
Scared to return to the office to sit
in a chair that does not meet the
need for a correct sitting position
as the desk is too high for the office
chair I bought myself and the bar
stool I have is causing neck-ache
I don't know who to ask and where
to go to get my work station fixed
and raise the computer screen so
my head is not forced to hang down
and increase the pain in my neck,
I receive medication to force
my brain to ignore the pain
Will this help me to sit in the wrong
position until I am dead in my chair?
I ardently wish for release in what-
ever way if I cannot be freed from
the chair and the pain...
Saturday 21 June 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A Chair Is No Longer Just A Chair
it is your experience that
gives you more meaning to all those which
you think
have been too common and
insignificant,
perhaps
now you must have realized as you sit upon a chair
that someone used to sit there
and that someone waited for another to be with her
that on the same chair
there were some fears
and pains and even longings
and hopes
unrealized and by then
you see that chair not just a chair
you sit there
and you ask it
for this chair though muted by wood
will always have
a story to tell....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Arrow The Chair And The Falling Star
the chair is silent
it has feet but it does not leave
it screeches sometimes
because you are heavy
with your load (this burden
this baggage of the
soul)
the chair faces the sea
because your finger points to
a falling star
and the chair like you
makes a wish
like you
it wishes that the moon
may soon have lips
that you can
kiss throughout the night
unlike you
the chair never dreams of arms.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Write Place
I have a desk at which to write
but I prefer my old arm chair
It is so comfortable, just right
I usually do my writing there.
I have a pc which I use
mainly to edit and correct
The quick outpourings of my muse
as do most poets I suspect.
A pad and pencil are my tools
I use modern technology
but stick to my old fashioned rules
when I’m composing poetry
My desk is very nearly bare
but books abound by my arm chair.
21-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Marital Agonies
she sits on a rocking chair
but she is not rocking it
her eyes stare at the sea without
a horizon
she spreads her legs looking
for a spot to
rest her toes,
he is out there looking at the sunset
his shadow is consumed
by darkness
he comes home
opens the PC and begins to write some poems
mostly about
funerals
unlike before
there were lots of sunrises everywhere as though
mornings are the only
seasons
he pauses, he hears the rocking of the chair.
the TV is off
he cannot find the letters to form the words.
he stares at the monitor
he is silent.
there is no break in this monotonous sound of silence.
he wishes he were a stone.
she wishes she is a bird.
one refuses to grow further.
the other wants to fly away, no matter where.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blue Chair
Now its just you and me, my blue friend
And you say that its you that shes thinking of
And our affair must end
But if its you that shes thinking of
I think my broken heart might mend
Chorus: now its my turn to talk and your turn to think
Your turn to buy and my turn to drink
Your turn to cry and my turn to sink down in the blue chair
Down in the blue chair
Now Ive made up my mind Ive made my mistake
And I know that she cries for you
When shes barely awake
Well shes going to bend your mind
Well I hope it dont break
Chorus
Down in the blue chair
We can watch our troubles rise
Like smoke into the air
And drift up to the ceiling
Down in the blue chair
You can feel just like a boy or a man
And next minute you can find yourself kneeling
Down in the blue chair
Theyre boasting of loving the daylights right out of her in the small hours
Down in the blue chair
You say that your love lasts forever when you know the night just hours
And still I want her right now
Not any minute, hour or day
And wherever she is tonight
I want her anyway
I suppose she never said to you,
You were just in the way
Chorus
Down in the blue chair
Down in the blue
Blue becomes you
Down in the blue chair
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You know the first time I sat in the chair I felt anything but up, it was very emotional for me. I had a chair in my hotel room, a chair at rehearsal, and I was trying to spend as much time as I could in the chair.
quote by Gregory Hines
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Long Is Short Time
How long or short is Time?
Got up early sat on a chair not reading or watching TV,
time has been running too fast lately into the sand
of a desert that doesn’t bloom; must slow time down
to a trickle. After breakfast I went for a walk and took
no interest in what I saw, back in my chair looking at
the clock, yes the forenoon was endless and I was
hungry, and finally lunch. In the afternoon I went for
another walk, didn’t buy a paper I only get engrossed
in what I read and time flies. Back home I sat in my chair
watched a dipteral circle around, fell asleep and when
I awoke it was seven in the evening, time I had saved
that day had been wasted by me snoozing in a chair.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Big Green Chair
Look over there. See the big green chair. Its my favorite place, the chair over there.
I sit there quite often thinking of this and sometimes that. Sometimes when I sit there I wear a hat. Pink of course, nothing else would do. I even have pink shoe, the other one blue.
When I'm sleeply sometimes I crawl up in the big green chair. It smells of dad, his name is brad. But only mom call him brad, to me he's dad.
But my favorite thing about the big green chair is when dad calls my name,
Lainey, my dear, come and sit with me here in my chair, my big green chair.
poem by Brad Milner
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Upon a Chair Not Reserved for Me
to sit in a chair
not reserved for me
is disgrace
at the utmost
to poetry,
in truth
the house on the clouds
and winds
and seas
a life dedicated to the
flitting moon
does not have
a chair
neither a feet
nor root
of hair...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red Chair Fade Away
Red chair fade away
bring back memories
Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Grandpa's fairy tale
Red chair round the fire
Rainbows all the time
We're all going higher
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Red chair fade away
Bring back memories
Think of something nice
Fragrant lemon trees
I can feel the speaking sky
I don't want to know
It's filling up the air
Red chair fade away....
Red chair fade away....
song performed by by Bee Gees from Bee Gees 1st
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Blue Chair
There's a blue rockin' chair
Sittin' in the sand
Weathered by the storms
And well-oiled hands
It sways back and forth
With the help of the winds
And seems to always be there like an old trusted friend
I've read a lot of books
Wrote a few songs
Looked at my life where it's goin' where it's gone
I've seen the world through a bus winshield
But nothing compares
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it when I sit in that Old Blue Chair
From that chair I've caught
A few fish and some rays
And I've watched boats sail
In and out of cinnamon bays
I let go of a lover
That took a piece of my heart
Prayed many times for forgiveness
And a brand new start
I've read a lot of books
Wrote a few songs
Looked at my life where it's goin' where it's gone
I've seen the world trough a bus winshield
But nothing compares
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it
To the way that I see it when I sit in that Old Blue Chair
That chair was my bead one new year's night
When I passed out from too much
Malibu and Dye
And I woke up to a hundred mosquito bites I swear
Got em' all sittin' right there in that Old Blue Chair
There's a blue rockin' chair
Sittin' in the sands
Weathered by the storms
And well-oiled hands
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Who Discovered The Use Of A Chair
The man who discovered the use of a chair,
_Odds--bobs--
What a wonderful man!_
He used to sit down on it, tearing his hair,
Till he thought of a highly original plan.
For years he had sat on his chair, like you,
_Quite--still!
But his looks were grim_
For he wished to be famous (as great men do)
And nobody ever would listen to him.
Now he went one night to a dinner of state
_Hear! hear!
In the proud Guildhall!_
And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;
But nobody heard his opinions at all;
There were ten fat aldermen down for a speech
(_Grouse! Grouse!
What a dreary bird!_)
With five fair minutes allotted to each,
But never a moment for him to be heard.
But, each being ready to talk, I suppose,
_Order! Order!_
They cried, _for the Chair!_
And, much to their wonder, our friend arose
And fastened his eye on the eye of the Mayor.
'We have come,' he said, 'to the fourteenth course!
'_High--time,
for the Chair_,' he said.
Then, with both of his hands, and with all of his force,
He hurled his chair at the Lord Mayor's head.
It missed that head by the width of a hair.
_Gee--whizz!
What a horrible squeak!_
But it crashed through the big bay-window there
And smashed a bus into Wednesday week.
And the very next day, in the decorous Times
(_Great--Guns--
How the headlines ran!_)
In spite of the kings and the wars and the crimes,
There were five full columns about that man.
ENVOI
Oh, if you get dizzy when authors write
(_My stars!
And you very well may!_)
That white is black and that black is white,
You should sit, quite still, in your chair and say:
It is easy enough to be famous now,
(_Puff--Puff!
How the trumpets blare!_)
Provided, of course, that you don't care how,
Like the man who discovered the use of a chair.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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A Memory Of Love
I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.
The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.
Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.
Curiosity got the best of me
so I turned it over and I did see
her name scribbled hastily.
'Janette, my love I give to you
this picture I love to sit and view.'
and then I placed it back.
The house was no longer cold to me
for it housed a loving memory.
I left it right beside the chair
as if the lover still was there.
Upon leaving the bedroom I closed the door
so it would stay as it was before.
My intrusion on this private place
as I exited left a smile on my face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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When Daylight Goes To Town
I remember you when you was me
oh what a beautiful sight
you'd cool it up
or you'd cool it down
from some dizzy, dizzy height
I can still hear that rolling sound
like a diesel in my head
sometimes I wake and I think of you now
forgetting that you're dead
I was born on a rolling train
Runnin' when I hit the ground
I watch these wheels turning now
nothing here, nothing left
watching the daylight fade away
watching the daylight go to town
Well
This hotel rooms like the wild, wild west
and there's strangers moving underground
I still have your photograph
it picks me up when I'm feeling down
Pull up a chair and you pour me one
let's kick back and let it roll
There's nothing here
and there's nothing left
but watching the daylight go to town
We'd get swept up on a pillow fight
you just couldn't let it go
I watch these wheels turning now
nothing here, nothing left
watching the daylight fade away
watching the daylight go to town
Don't you fade away
solo
Well I guess I'm walking right back home
got to set this all down
pull up a chair and you pour me two
cos there's nothing here,nothing left
but watching the daylight turn around
watching the daylight go to town
watching this world spin around
watching the daylight go to town
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Cats Warm
A cat, tabby and tomcat charming
Reclines watchfully on the left
On a desk that once was my daughters but nows
Hides my books and holds
My fan, and frames the window
Black cat crowds me back in my chair
Curving C that never minds
The taby after a spit and spat
In the middle is Artificial Means
By Christine Lavin tapped out
On Second Monitor waits
And the taby washes himself
As I begin my Sensitive New Age Guys
As one taby foot rests on the arm of my chair
Yellow eyes
Pink tongue
Content, now that Black Cat left
And jumps back, shifting back to the top of my
Novel to be
Printer
Forgiveness.
poem by Charlotte Ballard
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Burning Up
Said youre burnin up inside, no one seems to tell
Youre living from a personalized manual from hell
Life is pretty easy when its from my easy chair
And youre burnin up inside and no one cares
Said you had enough this time, cause time dont treat you well
You always cried coincidence, while I drew parallel
Life it seems so easy when its from my easy chair
And youre burnin up inside, burnin up inside
Burnin up inside and you hurt me!
Try to take my hand tonight, Ill show you where to start
cause every word that left your lips is like a needle through my heart
And life it seems so easy when its from my easy chair and youre burnin up inside, burnin up inside
Burnin up inside and you hurt my eyes
(cause youre burnin up inside)
Hurt my eyes
(cause youre burnin up inside)
Hurt my eyes
(cause youre burnin up inside)
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thw Musical Lady
The Musical Lady
I knew of a pavement café where tables and chairs were painted
in different colours, this to lend ambience in an otherwise dreary
street. A young lady, a student at the music conservatorium, came
here for lunch and always insisted on sitting on the same chair,
a rosa one; she was pretty in stern way, long black dress, flat shoes,
plain long hair and big glasses, waiters were happy to oblige her.
This caused jalousie amongst other chairs that wanted her to sit on
them too. In the night they ganged up on the rosa one, upended it
and scratched badly. The owner thought it was the work of vandals,
put the damage chair in the store room, but when the musical lady
came she insisted to sit on her chair damaged or not. Other seats
felt bad realizing it was not the rosa’s fault but the idiosyncrasy of
the artist, so in the night the spruced up the rosa till it looked as new.
But now the pianist didn’t want it, not the same as before, she said
and sat on a yellow chair. Feeling a miffed the gleaming new looking
seat said to itself: “No big shake she had a narrow, cold bum anyway.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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