Curator
My life’s a museum of memories buried
in a mausoleum to matrimony kept
scrupulously clean – there is no distinction
between exhibits and things living
I am Curator as well as main exhibit in the
open-all-hours public gallery that nobody
views though entrance is freely exchanged
for tea and sympathy
I expect it stay this way until ‘The Company’
gets made an offer it can’t refuse whereon
I will merge with the grateful trees afforesting –
acknowledging arboreal dreams
© 9 October 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Museum of Nothing
Although the museum had nothing on exhibit...
The people not believing this,
Would still come in droves to visit.
They would stand in line to wait.
And pay their fee to gain entry.
And inquire, once inside...
Why was nothing there,
To sustain them with pride.
And from room to vacant room,
They walked behind the tour guide!
So the board of directors,
Decided to please them all.
And changed the name of the museum!
The museum was renamed,
The Museum of Nothing.
And people came in the Winter,
Spring, Summer and Fall.
And 'nothing' it was affectionately called.
Although the museum had nothing on exhibit...
The people not believing this,
Would still come in droves to visit.
They would stand in line to wait.
And pay their fee to gain entry.
Some adjusting to the nothingness.
While others stood for hours,
Just to stare as if in disbelief.
Addicted to anything said to them.
And clearly easy to deceive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If These Are The Things
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why don't I dream
Anymore
I've tried to tell myeself
Nothing's changed my dear
But I look around me
And think maybe that's not so
I only have nightmares
And wake up with cold sweat
Coming through my pores
Why don't I dream anymore
I'm in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finnaly grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
It's rotten to the core
Why don't I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why don't I dream
Anymore
We lose our patience
Lose our trust
Yes we lose our innocence
To forget our sorrow and hide our pain
We lose old memories
But dreams are what life's worth living for
I wish I could dream
Once more
I'm in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them
Before they fall
I finnaly grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
It's rotten to the core
Why don't I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why don't I dream anymore
I've tried to tell myself
It's all for the best my dear
But I look around me and think
Maybe that's not so
I only have nightmares
Wake up in a cold sweat
Have I become as corrupt
As all I abhor
Why don't I dream anymore
I'm in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them
Before they fall
I finnaly grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
It's rotten to the core
Why don't I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
I don't want anymore
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If There Are The Thigns
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why dont I dream
Anymore
Ive tried to tell myself
Nothings changed my dear
But I look around me
And think maybe thats not so
I only have nightmares
And wake up with cold sweat
Coming through my pores
Why dont I dream anymore
Im in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finally grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
Its rotten to the core
Why dont I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why dont I dream
Anymore
We lose our patience
Lose our trust
Yes we lose our innocence
To forget our sorrow and hide our pain
We lose old memories
But dreams are what lifes worth living for
I wish I could dream
Once more
Im in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finally grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
Its rotten to the core
Why dont I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
Why dont I dream anymore
Ive tried to tell myself
Its all for the best my dear
But I look around me and think
Maybe thats not so
I only have nightmares
Wake up in a cold sweat
Have I become as corrupt
As all I abhor
Im in the garden
All the trees bear fruit
I have to pick them before they fall
I finally grab one
I hold it in my hand
I open it up
Its rotten to the core
Why dont I dream anymore
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
If these are the things that
Dreams are made of
I dont want anymore
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long Shadows Grow
Here I sit alone
with only ghosts from the past
to keep me company.
Memories of those
who I will never see again.
I sit and tell them
all my ills and woes;
it’s comforting in the silence
as the long shadows grow.
I tell them how my life has changed
since they went away
and that I hope to see them again
when it is my time to go.
They don’t answer me
like they used to do,
still it is comforting
as the hours pass on their way.
Just sitting here chatting
like I used to do
late into the evening tide
as the long shadows grow.
17 October 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Exhibition
Applicant, I am
Clean young flesh
Cubicles, we merge
And me so decent
Lock up my vehicle
Crack my walls
Im stealing new words
And me so honest
Someone took pictures
Just look at her go
Her presence exhausted me
Like spectators we are
I have no address
who are you?
Kiss my arse goodbye
The show goes rusty.
Simulate phone call
Face to face
Newspaper loose talk
You wreck my dreams
Exhibit a dog
So few of them left
Exhibit b god
The problem of death
Old sex, unclean
Do you still need the moon?
Recall no names
Dont ask me how are you?
Wheres my attendant
And where is my wife
Wait in the doorway
While I say goodnight
He looks like me
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buried Between two Trees
Back home again
in the yard
I used to play in
So many memories here
of days long ago
for memories, I hold dear
Saw the grave of old shep
the dog I loved so
in this yard, he followed me every step
He's buried between two trees you see
buried him in my brand new quilt
and my mother was really mad at me
In this yard, I would bathe him
many years before
his old eyes grew dim
His bed layed by the cellar door
with tall trees, all around him
oh memories, of the dog I adored
Memories of the time
that the meter man came
he hit old shep, that wasn't very kind
This old yard, was all shep had
he guarded it with his life
when he died, I was very sad
This old yard, now has in it,
a lot of beautiful flowers, all round
between two trees, he wouldn't mind a bit.
I Highly Recommend You Find Another Job
You want the oven turned on,
But you don't want to go into the kitchen?
And you expect the pots and pans to be spotless,
Because you are a new arrival.
With a jumping into this heat...
With a full set of teeth seen grinning from ear to ear.
And you wish the others to greet you,
Living in the home as if you are a queen...
And 'not' the MAID they will believe they own?
I highly recommend you find another job!
Because this one you 'claim' to qualify for,
Is not going to be what you've been led to believe.
Because of positions you have had before.
You will not believe how unique this one will be.
The people living in this home,
Think of it as a mansion.
And not only expect you to be the chef...
They expect you to clean up after them,
And cater to every whim they have for you to expect.
With no complaints from you about being worked to death.
Or moaning about being disrespected.
Oh...
And before you leave for the day,
Be sure to mow the lawn and scent each pillow...
That the 'family' living here sleep on!
And after you have made the beds,
From hand washing and Sun drying clean sheets...
Go to each one and listen to their sorrows.
They will love you for it!
And...
I wouldn't advise you to wear make-up on this job.
You've come to serve.
Not the other way around!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Assigned And Commissioned
The picture,
On a canvas painted...
Depicts a specific image,
Much greater than that...
Than the stature presented,
By the creator who made it.
For purposes to solicit a public exhibit.
Certain people selected will be forgiven,
For misdeeds intended.
Since they have an ability to diffuse truth.
No matter how low,
They may stoop to deceive.
With a getting of a reprieve...
To contnue doing as they please.
However...
There is a placement unmistakable,
For others labelled too abstract.
And into custom fittings...
They are deceptively unmatched,
With a matted background...
Known and viewed by just a few,
To be inappropriate for the framing done.
The picture,
On the canvas painted...
Depicts a specific image,
Much greater than that...
Than the stature presented,
By the creator who made it.
For purposes to solicit a public exhibit.
But...
If the painter of a picture,
Is assigned and commissioned...
With a payment no one will turn down to refuse,
Who will not pocket and run...
With a job requested and satisfies when done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Accept my sympathy
In all sincerity
It is a pathetic pity
I merely offer sympathy
With such velocity
This sadness born out of the blue
That decides to levy itself on you
In your fixed stillness
I sense your illness
Accept my sympathy
You lost a pet
Somebody made you upset
Accept my sympathy
You lost a friend
Your broken heart is yet to mend
Accept my sympathy
You were once abused
Possibly at times wrongly accused
Accept my sympathy
You marriage is on the rocks
You got divorced, left without a buck
Accept my sympathy
You lost a fortune
Your voice can't sing a decent tune
Accept my sympathy
You lost in love or lost your job
Or perhaps at one stage got robbed
Accept my sympathy
Your life is a mess
Everything around you depresses
Whatever the circumstances
Accept my sympathy
And if I happen to show no sympathy
Please accept my sympathy!
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Sympathy In End
In all sincerity
It is a pathetic pity
I merely offer sympathy
With such velocity
This sadness born out of the blue
That decides to levy itself on you
In your fixed stillness
I sense your illness
Accept my sympathy
You lost a pet
Somebody made you upset
Accept my sympathy
You lost a friend
Your broken heart is yet to mend
Accept my sympathy
You were once abused
Possibly at times wrongly accused
Accept my sympathy
You marriage is on the rocks
You got divorced, left without a buck
Accept my sympathy
You lost a fortune
Your voice can't sing a decent tune
Accept my sympathy
You lost in love or lost your job
Or perhaps at one stage got robbed
Accept my sympathy
Your life is a mess
Everything around you depresses
Whatever the circumstances
Accept my sympathy
And if I happen to show no sympathy
Please accept my sympathy! By SARTHAK DAS
poem by Sarthak Das
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Let's choose today to quench our thirst for the ""good life"" we thinks others lead by acknowledging the good that already exists in our lives. We can then offer the universe the gift of our grateful hearts.
quote by Sarah Ban Breathnach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cabbages And Beans
Like the dunny door it
simply bangs incessantly
until your patience thins
You can refuse to hear
it if you fry your brains
in oil with vapid apathy
A fear is that it might be
right and sadly true but
then again it might be wind
You’ve clearly had enough
if you accede too meekly
to its patent bullying
This cringing metaphor is
brazenness acclaimed
as an incipient authority
While all I see’s a pannier
of cabbage leaves and
salty beans
© 2 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Warmish Day
‘nother warmish day,34° on the patio
irrigation underway in an Orchard too
easily dehydrated by parable to deny
deeply ingrained psychology sprays
delusionary water where precious drops
of rain would soothe sun-savaged weals
inane ideas afoot in arid contempt of
what makes the debate germane is
amply evidenced but I’ll save the trees
so save yourselves wear buoyancy
vests learn how to float between
troughs and crests of arrant treason
warming is merely a warning before
the downpour begins and a freeze
proceeds to inaugurate your pain
© 18 December 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Poets
we always busy
to weave another sky
you can fly freely
we never expect
your garland
the dollars heavy
on your gravity
your clumsy thoughts
burdened with rat-race
senseless fight
to exhibit you great
we always busy
to spread your lampshade
into infinity
never we die
with any failure
or live we to die
with every success
our words put every brush
to ornament that sky
where you can fly
freely
Pranab k c
15/08/2012
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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October Suprise
He walked up to me
An October suprise
Made me see things
Through his wide eyes
Yea, heavy on the heart
He'd drain it dry
He spoke with a voice
That lifted the sky
He trembled the trees
I was damned by his eyes
Cause he smiled a smile
That parted the skies
October, you're bittersweet
Your flying leafs and happy trees
Oh, October, he's bittersweet
This suprise your time gave me
poem by Whitney Albright
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Picture Perfect
Picture perfect a life that you saw in a magazine
Or maybe a travelling book
Wanted to get on that plane and fly away
cause you are a rock star deep down inside
You walk with a swagger, got nothin' to hide
Cigarette in your mouth, a cuff on your jeans
Your sideburns are perfect, you're a perfect and lean
So you made an oil painting to inmortalize
All of the hope and vision in your eyes
In your leisure coat and cowboy hat
North American records and so much to bat for
Please bring me along
Please bring me along
Because I want to see everything you have to offer me
Get a job lifting cement
Oh it's so dry when it rains it gets wet
And the village was great, now it's a suburb
You left behind half of all that you had learnt
Relearn a couple things along the way
The thrift shop so clean all for half what you'd pay
So you try everything on, on for size
Drop top your Camaro and go for a ride
Please bring me along
Please bring me along
Because I want to see everything you have to offer me
And I don't mind to sit here and waste my time
Oh but this world is not mine to define
And I want to shine
Please bring me along
Please take me away
I don't want to stay
And I want to see everything you have to offer me
And I want to see everything you have to offer me
And I want to see everything you have to offer me
I want to see everything the world has to offer me
I want to see everything the world has to offer me
I want to show everything I have to offer it
I want to show everything I have to offer it now
song performed by by Nelly Furtado
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Diversity for Friend Leslie
The sonnet form is capable
of being very flexible
It can be used to air your views
on almost anything at all.
From memories which you recall
to any subject you may choose.
Purists refuse to recognise
a sonnet form which in their eyes
is worthy of a total ban.
Because it differ from the form
which they insist must be the norm.
Petrarchan or Shakespearian.
Although they can stick to their views
I must refuse. I can’t agree
16/05/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
Jeffreys sonnet
Devised by Scott.J.Alcorn.
*syllables per line
Two sestets with a cross rhymed couplet.
Rhyme pattern
xxxxxxxA
xxxxxxxA
xxxxxxxBxxxxxxxC
xxxxxxxC
xxxxxxxB
xxxxbxx xD
xxxxxxxD
xxxxxxxE
xxxxxxxF
xxxxxxx F
xxxxxxxE
xxxxxxxG
xxxgxxxG
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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October Air
Cool and crisp October
Seizes my memory.
I can never forget…
Trees cut out to make a clearing,
Just enough shelter to guard our friendship.
Everyday was spent there.
It became our lives.
Away from the schoolyard drama,
The yelling of our parents-
It was a whole, separate life,
Without worry.
It was a place that belonged to us,
A place where we belonged.
Whatever names we were called,
Whatever trouble we had made,
Was left at the door.
Those things were not important inside.
We were ourselves.
We were best friends, with nothing to hide
And nothing to offer,
But ourselves.
October again now, still as cool and crisp.
Just enough frost to bring a tear to my eye.
I long to go back there,
But it would never feel the same.
poem by Leslie Kavanagh
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I never can pass by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York without thinking of it not as a gallery of living portraits but as a cemetery of tax-deductible wealth.
quote by Lewis H. Lapham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Dreams Are Made Of
hey now
hey now
hey now
hey now
have you ever seen such a beautiful night
i could almost kiss the stars for shining so bright
when i see you smiling i go uh oh oh
i would never want to miss this
cause in my heart i know what this is
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
i've got somewhere i belong
i've got somebody to love
this is what dreams are made of
have you ever wondered what life is about
you could search the world and never figure it out
you dont have to sail the oceans uh no no
happyness is no mystery
it's here and now it's you and me
hey now hey now this is what dremas are made of
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
i've got somewhere i belong
i've got somebody to love
this is what dreams are made of
open your eyes(this is what dreams are made of)
shout to the sky( this is what dreams are made of)
when i see you smiling i go uh oh oh
yesterday my life was life was color
now everything's technocolored
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
i've got somewhere i belong
i've got somebody to love
this is what dreams are made of
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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