Pantomime – Red Skelton and His Cat
The old man comes cautiously down
The stairs to the kitchen.
He takes the last step
That isn't there -
A bone shuddering stop.
Pausing, he searches the dark room
For the dangling light cord,
And moves toward
The center of the room -
Carefully.
It's unfortunate as the cat
Is discovered sitting in the middle of the floor.
As the old man steps on its tail,
It howls it great pain -
Startling the old man.
Finally, after groping the empty air,
He finds the cord.
Pulling it; he is
Blinded by the sudden light -
Causing him to cover his eyes.
Looking about the room.
He sees, in the corner,
The offended cat.
He ask for forgiveness -
Stoops to pet and caress.
He stands, with apparent pain,
Moves to the kitchen counter,
Sees a number of cans,
That must be cat food –
And selects one.
He shows the can to the cat;
Returns to the counter and
Taking a hand-cranked opener
He begins -
To open it with great difficulty.
Finally opened,
He places the lid on the counter,
Raises the can to his nose,
Smiles appreciately, bends and -
Offers the cat a smell.
Bracing his back he stands.
Takes a spoon,
From the counter,
And bends over the cat's dish. -
Placing a portion in the dish.
Pushing the cat away,
He adds a second helping.
Then, thinking he has
added too much, -
He spoons a bit back into the can.
Standing again with difficulty,
He straightens his back,
And once more sniffs the can.
Raises the spoon -
And takes a small bite.
Liking what he finds,
He turns his back to the cat,
And eats
All that remains -
Then wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
Guiltily he looks back at the cat,
Seeing there is liquid in the can,
He once again bends low
Over the cat and its dish -
And pours the remaining liquid into the cat's dish.
He stands,
Places a hand to his aching back,
Wipes his mouth on his sleeve,
Places the spoon and can on the counter -
And steps to the center of the room.
He pulls the light cord;
The room is dark.
From the darkness
You hear, -
'Good night and God Bless.'
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My Dark Room
Time has ended so I lay
The end to a very painful day
I lay silent with nothing to say
Here in my dark room
With eyes open I can hardly see
Staring at the ceiling thinking of me
Wondering in the future what I will be
Here in my dark room
Will I still have my dark room
The place where there is peace
Or will I feel deceased
In a new dark room
But maybe when the night turns to shine
I won’t feel so but feel fine
Until night when I come back and whine
Here is my dark room
Now it is late I can’t see no more
My arm falls and drops to the floor
The liquid dreams in my head start to pour
Here is my dark room
poem by Paul Celano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Generations Apart
She was the only
Person I know
Who painted
Interior window trim
In high heels
Helping us now
Get our house ready
For renters
She has always seemed
Dressed up
Even in an apron
Back when I was five
She pretended to count
The chocolate chips
Warning me that there
Wouldn't be enough
To finish the last batch
If I kept sneaking them
I was there to help
Get her the waxed paper
Grease the cookies sheets
And lick the beaters
I just wish
She hadn't
Scraped the bowl
So very hard
With her wooden spoon
There was hardly
Anything left
For me
When she finally
Handed the bowl over
I could barely
See over the counter back then
To know what she was doing
Buzzing around her kitchen
Her high heels clicking
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Marriage
Marriage for Esme began as a wide open room
with windows that let in the sunshine
and curtains so light and airy
they floated on the breeze.
Her husband's blue eyes would sparkle
with just a hint of mischief
and fun that they intrigued her,
made him special.
Then in the second year on her birthday
it seemed the room had grown dusty,
the curtains seemed dull,
the windows small.
And in the third year, without a doubt
the sun had gone down on her
and the room held a chill
like her aching heart.
By the fifth year, she'd aged,
her eyes had shadows, her skin had paled
and the room seemed small
with no windows at all.
She had shriveled, was withdrawn,
she'd sit in the corner of the room humming,
rocking back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth........
poem by Ruth Walters
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Ode to Crumbs
when I eat
a cake
of chocolate,
Crumbs are everywhere
All over the counter
my hand
the floor
a mess everywhere
tiny islands on
the counter
meaningless
though I can't help
but pay attention
to crumbs
on my hand
my counter
my floor
all over the place
why are they so obssesive?
small
tiny little specs
though I can't look away
so
I must clean them up.
poem by John McAdam
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The Thrill Is Back
The thrill is back
Well Im ready to raise the blinds in this place
Think Ill rejoin the human race
You said yes, now youre wearing my ring
Guess I can stop playinolb.b. king
Chorus:
cause the thrill is back, the heartaches gone
Time stands still, baby love lives on
The room spins around, when youre kissinme
The thrill is back like it used to be
I sure could use a haircut and shave
Now that Im crawling outta my cave
Since you said we were through
Ive been down with a case of the blues
Chorus:
But the thrill is back, the heartaches gone
Time stands still, baby love lives on
The room spins around, when youre kissinme
The thrill is back like it used to be
Bridge:
I think Id better give my doctor a call
And tell him I wont need that prozac after all
Chorus:
cause the thrill is back, the heartaches gone
Time stands still, baby love lives on
The room spins around, when youre kissinme
The thrill is back like it used to be
Chorus:
Yeah the thrill is back, the heartaches gone
Time stands still, baby love lives on
The room spins around, when youre kissinme
The thrill is back like it used to be
Tag:
The room spins around, when youre kissinme
The thrill is back like it used to be
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee Cigarettes and Time
The late afternoon invites leisurely
to inactivity and rest The best time to sit back
and be waited on like a guest At the corner
coffee shop where the air is thick with smoke
People play pool in the back room placing bets
that provoke The writer who lives alone
on the thirteenth floor is relaxed He smiles
unnoticeably having a completed chapter faxed
The bartender is preparing for the night and
Happy Hour Inventing new fancy drinks
that are potent sweet or sour The old guy
sitting at the bar in no rush to get home on time
Shares opinions over strong coffee about a
forgotten war crime A woman ordered wine
getting cigarettes from the machine Slowly strolls
across the room wearing a stone of aquamarine
Late rush hour traffic encourages to hang out
for a while Two attractive men in the corner sharing
kisses really shy From the speakers on the wall we
can hear a funky jazz tune Sitting in club chairs smoking
stirring coffee with a spoon Time stands still for a
little while when it starts to rain Streaks of water
leave teardrops on the sidewalk as in pain
The streetcar stops and new people join
our convention Accompanied by laughter they
do not pay much attention Rings of smoke take off
being swallowed by the big room Some people order
appetizers but all you smell is perfume The walls
are plastered with old posters of musicians past Here
all you need is coffee cigarettes and time that lasts
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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The Sadness of The Empty Home
The light flickers on
Illuminates the empty hallway
The thud, click of a door in closing
Brings a silence to the room
A heavy sigh escapes
A look to the mirror sees only
Tired eyes looking back
A bag lain upon the small table
The light turned back off
On route to yet another room
Light creeps through the window
Allowing enough to see
The sound of a running tap
Filling the kettle for a final drink
Keys thrown upon a side
The clatter of cups and spoons
Then further silence
Now the creaking of a staircase
Another door opened
Another light flicked on
The curtains drawn to the world
Drink set beside the bed
The silence of the empty home
Fills the heart with loneliness
A television switched into life
Nothing worth watching
Just a sound there to fill
The silence and the sadness
Of the empty home
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Meanwhile
She sparkles, she dazzles
She lights up the room
We walk together to a table for two
Every man stares but her eyes are only for me
We take to the dance floor
She squeezes my hand
I cant believe just how lucky I am
Meanwhile back in the back of my memory
Youre still dancing with me
And Im holding you once again
...meanwhile
We move to the end
Of a beautiful night
Tender the kisses
Soft candle light
She draws the curtains
Slowly we climb up the stairs
And reach for each other
The passion begins
We fall together as lovers and then...
Meanwhile back in the back of my memory
Youre still lying with me
And Im holding you once again
I try and I try
The lord knows I do
But each time my heart beats back to you
Meanwhile Ill go on living my life now
Ill find a way somehow
Oh but meanwhile back in the back of my memory
Youll always be with me but Ill never hold you again
.... meanwhile...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parkinson's Disease
While spoon-feeding him with one hand
she holds his hand with her other hand,
or rather lets it rest on top of his,
which is permanently clenched shut.
When he turns his head away, she reaches
around and puts in the spoonful blind.
He will not accept the next morsel
until he has completely chewed this one.
His bright squint tells her he finds
the shrimp she has just put in delicious.
Next to the voice and touch of those we love,
food may be our last pleasure on earth—
a man on death row takes his T-bone
in small bites and swishes each sip
of the jug wine around in his mouth,
tomorrow will be too late for them to jolt
this supper out of him. She strokes
his head very slowly, as if to cheer up
each separate discomfited hair sticking up
from its root in his stricken brain.
Standing behind him, she presses
her check to his, kisses his jowl,
and his eyes seem to stop seeing
and do nothing but emit light.
Could heaven be a time, after we are dead,
of remembering the knowledge
flesh had from flesh? The flesh
of his face is hard, perhaps
from years spent facing down others
until they fell back, and harder
from years of being himself faced down
and falling back in his turn, and harder still
from all the while frowning
and beaming and worrying and shouting
and probably letting go in rages.
His face softens into a kind
of quizzical wince, as if one
of the other animals were working at
getting the knack of the human smile.
When picking up a cookie he uses
both thumbtips to grip it
and push it against an index finger
to secure it so that he can lift it.
She takes him then to the bathroom,
where she lowers his pants and removes
the wet diaper and holds the spout of the bottle
to his old penis until he pisses all he can,
then puts on the fresh diaper and pulls up his pants.
When they come out, she is facing him,
walking backwards in front of him
and holding his hands, pulling him
when he stops, reminding him to step
when he forgets and starts to pitch forward.
She is leading her old father into the future
as far as they can go, and she is walking
him back into her childhood, where she stood
in bare feet on the toes of his shoes
and they foxtrotted on this same rug.
I watch them closely: she could be teaching him
the last steps that one day she may teach me.
At this moment, he glints and shines,
as if it will be only a small dislocation
for him to pass from this paradise into the next.
poem by Galway Kinnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Little Girl and The Moon
once upon a time there was a little girl.
she liked to sit outside at night and talk to the moon.
everynight she kept the moon company.
one night she noticed the moon seemed tired, so
she climbed upon the roof, to tell the moon a secret.
the old moon smiled, so she reaches up
takes the moon in her hands and puts him in her pocket.
then she climbs down and goes into her house, up the stairs
to her room.there she takes the moon out and lets lay on
her bed.for hours they talked, told secrets and giggled.
then they heard people asking where the moon was.
outside was so dark, they couldnt find their ways.
the old moon says to the little girl
'maybe you should put me back into the sky,
so the people can find their way home at night'.
the little girl agreed.so she picks up the moon,
puts him back into her pocket.
she walks downstairs and goes outside.
it was very dark, but she wasnt afraid,
she had her friend the moon to help
show her the way.
she climbs back upon the roof, takes the moon out
of her pocket. holding him with both hands
she tells the moon'i love you,
we will still talk every night, but you must go back
give people light at nightime'.
she leans over kisses the moon goodnight.
then reaches back and tosses the moon
hard as she could back into the
nightime sky.
then the little girl and the moon hear, all the people
shouting and laughing.
after everything quietened down
the stars who were so happy the moon returned
all gave the moon kisses.
the little girl climbed down
with the moon lighting her way
went inside up to her room
took 1 last peek out
blowing the moon a big kiss goodnight.
poem by Sandy Nobody
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Childhood - 3
Give me back the moment
while nothing was impossible to me
give me back the moment
while i was kissed by all guys
Give me back the moment
when Mom lull to make me asleep
i cannot forget the moment
when i stole spoons of sugar from kitchen
i can not forgo the moment
flying kite to touch the sky
Can I forget when I gazed at the stars
at their twinkling light
when i gazed at the moon
thinking to be a silver dish on the sky
while i was thinking
a deep valley at the end of earth
Give me back my childhood
when i was thinking to fly
like a butterfly.
When i was trying to understand
the language of birds and crow
i weep over the crow
when snatched biscuits from my hand
My childhood was a splendid moment
when the lap of my mother
was more than any heavenly bed
My childhood was the out give of my life
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Lay Back the Darkness
My father in the night shuffling from room to room
on an obscure mission through the hallway.
Help me, spirits, to penetrate his dream
and ease his restless passage.
Lay back the darkness for a salesman
who could charm everything but the shadows,
an immigrant who stands on the threshold
of a vast night
without his walker or his cane
and cannot remember what he meant to say,
though his right arm is raised, as if in prophecy,
while his left shakes uselessly in warning.
My father in the night shuffling from room to room
is no longer a father or a husband or a son,
but a boy standing on the edge of a forest
listening to the distant cry of wolves,
to wild dogs,
to primitive wingbeats shuddering in the treetops.
poem by Edward Hirsch
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One Evening
one evening because the walls of the room
are shrinking,
feeling as if i will be crushed by its four corners,
i finally decided to close the windows and open the
door to try to see if there are stars outside
and if the stars can relieve me from such a
claustrophobic impending death,
i step out into the open and sleep on the grass
to feel the coldness of the earth
i lay my body my arms stretched as far as my hands
can do in creating distance between my feet and my
center of gravity,
what i see is a dark sky and infinite space
i feel like a grain of sand spilling from a giant palm
i agree
i am insignificant
that room becomes nothing compared to the fear
of incomprehensible choices
an ocean of freedom
continental responsibility
i feel so drunk drinking too much space from a glass of my gaze
to this vast universe
nauseous still
i stand back to regain my composure
i go back inside the room
and then the wind howled
outside like an angry master
back to the comfort of my blanket
i promise myself a good sleep.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
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Perfect Circle
Put your hair back, we get to leave
Eleven gallows on your sleeve
Shallow figure, winners paid
Eleven shadows way out of place
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Pull your dress on and stay real close
Who might leave you where I left off?
A perfect circle of acquaintances and friends
Drink another, coin a phrase
Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
Heaven assumed, shoulders high in the room
Try to win and suit your needs
Speak out sometimes but try to win
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowers - Giving It All Away B-side
Renegades and shifting shades
And the lights in your face
And you friends talk lying
But some of them got flowers in their room
When its on and youre falling on every floor
That youre hoping to score
And youre every night ? ? ?
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
Hear the word that the man on the stairs
Knows your every affair and is holding your hand
And he says some of them got flowers in their room
And he screams in a face
But the smile on the face is cool and its cold
And it reads vacated
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And I take someone home and I cant be alone
And theres faces to please and I walk on the knees
Oh you see, I got no flowers in my room
And I laugh with my mouth and I laugh with you
But the joke was a joke that I never really knew
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dust # 2
the old man fell asleep in his chair, and dreamt:
he was swinging the sledge barechested in the
hot summer sun, driving iron fence posts. his
daughters were pulling the wire fence every
now and again he stopped to help them pull it
tight. the dogs ran free, chasing each other, and
barking
finally, he stopped. 'gonna go in and check on your
mom. y'all watch the dogs! '
he opened the sliding door, and walked into the coolness.
letting his eyes adjust for a moment, he stared across
the room. his woman sat on the counter, her feet in
the sink, shaving her legs. grinning, he walked across
the room.
she looked up. 'what are you grinning at, fool? '
'the prettiest damn thing i've seen in a while! '
she wrapped her legs around his sweaty waist. 'well,
what are you going to do about it? '
he picked her up. one of his daughters came to the door.
'you coming back out now, daddy? '
'not right now, baby.'
poem by Eric Cockrell
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She Moves On
I feel good
Its a fine day
The way the sun hits off the runway
A cloud shifts
The plane lifts
She moves on
But feel the bite
Whenever you believe that
Youll be lost and love will find you
When the road bends
And the song ends
She moves on
I know the reason i
Feel so blessed
My heart still splashes
Inside my chest, but she
She is like a top
She cannot stop
She moves on
A sympathetic stranger
Lights a candle in the middle of the night
Her voice cracks
She jumps back
But she moves on
She says ooh my storybook lover
You have underestimated my power
As you shortly will discover
The I fall to my knees
Shake a rattle at the skies
Im afraid that Ill be taken
Abandoned, forsaken
In her cold coffee eyes
She cant sleep now
The moon is red
She fights a fever
She burns in bed
She needs to talk so
We take a walk
Down in the maroon light
She says maybe these emotions are
As near to love as love will ever be
So I agree
Then the moon breaks
She takes the corner thats all she takes
She moves on
She says ooh my storybook lover
You have underestimated my power
As you shortly will discover
Then I fall to my knees
I grow weak, I go slack
As if she captured the breath of my
Voice in a bottle
And I cant catch it back
But I feel good
Its a fine day
The way the sun hits off the runway
A cloud shifts
The plane lifts
She moves on
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fractured Moon
Fractured moon
In a silver spoon
Dissolved into the eyes
Of awakening tiger
Then moved away
In a vanishing light
With a lunar tone
Fractured moon
Swallowed
By a flying dragon
With all fire and no fire
The fractured moon
Collapsed in doom
While the souls
Of the dead
Still roam
Closer and closer
Near the moon
Around the moon
Within the moon
Or what have left
From a
Fractured moon
Or maybe
Another Moon
Like a photo of
A bright image
Held by aging fingers
Of a woman
Praying in her
Upstairs Room
For “long” dead
Human loved form
Near the bolted
Green back door
Stood a ghostly figure
Of an old man
Weeping
In the silence of
An astral night
Trying for an opening
To reach her
Over and over
But in vain
For the woman
in the
Upstairs room
Darkness born
In the second shadow
Of a fractured moon
And light moulded
In the old house
In a special corner
of
A very special room
Fractured moon
In a silver spoon
Dissolved into the eyes
Of awakening tiger
Then moved away
In a vanishing light
With a lunar tone
poem by Najib Altawell
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Supernova
Sand;
It clogs my nose.
It dries my mouth.
I cover my mouth with a scarf
of red, white and blue.
Special operations;
Under this discipline,
I am trained to navigate
The deserts as a lone wolf.
My mission is simple;
I am to place beacons
For air-strikes in the heart
Of enemy encampments.
Sneak in and sneak out;
Nothing could be easier
Under covers of darkness and storm
Where sand flies and strips bare all.
Covered from head to toe,
I am safe from the flurry,
And with the force of the wind
I hear naught but my thoughts.
My tunnel vision shows me
Buildings on the horizon;
Smoke rising from chimneys
Made of dirt and clay and rocks.
This is hardly the first time
I have done such a thing.
I confirmed enemies elsewhere
And torched their barracks whole.
Not a soul sees me as I
Slip between the buildings.
It takes me several minutes
But I reach the center at last.
Two men walk outside with rifles.
They are night patrols, surely.
I sneak around and silence them.
I recognize the faces from briefing.
Two Taliban members in sight,
I radio in the coordinates.
Airstrike confirmed soon
And I must make my escape.
[T minus fifteen minutes]
I take a moment to rest.
I hear a door creak open
And swivel around, gun trained
Eye level on a young boy.
He looks barely seven.
As I approach with killing intent,
He rubs his sleepy eyes and smiles.
In perfect English he says hello.
The cold of night sinks in.
He stands still, then suddenly
Runs inside with widened eyes.
I chase after him knife drawn.
[T minus ten minutes]
Left? Right? Straight? I panic,
Thinking if he wakes anyone
I am surely to be discovered
And will not escape in time.
My heart skips a beat as
He pops out from a room
And in his hand, his little hand,
He holds a thing not seen in weeks.
A candy bar; a chocolate bar
Completely untouched and
Still fresh, he tells me,
Once again in words strangely clear.
[T minus six minutes]
I stand dumbstruck;
I laugh aloud at my actions
Then cover my mouth with my hand
Turn silent and then remember.
Franticly, I radio in
Headquarters, mission abort
Civilians within perimeter
Please advise. Repeat...
Static;
High grade equipment. Sure.
But I feel that even if it weren't
There would be no reply.
[T minus three minutes]
Goosbumps all over me,
I dry heave and fall
To my knees, and finally
My breakfast escapes me
The child bends over me
With overflowing concern,
That drowns me in words
Salty as my tears, and bitter.
My pack feels far too heavy;
I take it off and throw it away.
My scarf is choking me;
I loosen it and it falls to the floor.
[T minus one minute]
I tell the child to go
Get close to his parents.
He says his dad is out on watch.
...
Then let us play a game.
I tell him to go hide
Anywhere he wants to.
He has a thirty second head-start.
And I promise
Wherever he goes,
I will follow.
-
Hundreds of thousands of miles away
An aging star explodes.
I've not seen it nor heard it
But I know it was there.
I hope that one day
Someone looks up
And sees the bright light
And smiles
And thanks the star
For all its light
And all the joy
That his death brings.
poem by William Blake Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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