She Lives Alone
She lives alone in a house on a hill.
Sitting in her favourite chair
alone by the window she'd sit and stare
waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to notice the tears in her eye
She lives alone in a house on the river
Standing at the open front door
alone on the porch, she waits for an hour or more
waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to notice the tears in her eye
She lives alone in a house in a wood
Lying in her cold single bed
still and alone, for she is dead
she was waiting for someone to pass her by
anyone to be there and say goodbye
poem by Nicola Burkett
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The Old House in the Glen
Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.
The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.
If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.
The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.
The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.
poem by Kate Wiley
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The House Where Love Lives
A squeaky gate a welcome lock a big shaggy dog that lives out back
And some might even call it a shack but this is the house where love lives
The paint is peelin' off of the cells the mailbox is full of bills
And it's no mansion on the hill but this is the house where love lives
There's a little boy who looks just you with freckles on his nose and eyes of blue
A little girl almost two and everybody says she looks just like you
So thank you dear for loving me though I know rich we'll never be
But that doesn't matter to you and me cause we live in the house where love lives
[ steel ]
So thank you dear for loving me though I know rich we'll never be
But that doesn't matter to you and me cause we live in the house where love lives
We live in the house where love lives
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soledad
in true faith to her name
she lives alone in a small house
on the side of a hill
the trees are cut and the grasses
have grown taller
the house sheds of window panes
pillars recede their heights
soledad in true faith to her name
continues to live alone in that small house
on the side of the dead hill
she waits for her beloved
who long died in the war.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sitting In An Empty House
Sitting in an emtpy house
Waiting for the phone to ring
Sitting in an empty house
Wanting someone to call about anything
Sitting in an house
Just a cat for company
Sitting in an empty house
Will someone please take time for me?
Sitting in an empty house
No one knows I'm so alone
Sitting in an empty house
The pain I feel remains unknown
04/29/06
Hiding From The Broom!
i walk the paths of stillness
into the setting sun...
in the company of dead poets,
and a few mongrel dogs.
we come to a clearing,
and gather wood for a fire,
waiting on the night spirits to join us.
my hands are broken,
they cling to nothing and no one.
i see with my ears,
and listen with my eyes.
my soul rhymed by darkness
dissolves into dust,
while crickets chant eternity.
i return to an empty house,
curtains pulled, door flung open.
lighting a candle, i sit on the floor,
waiting for death, or morning.
only then i notice the spider,
candlelight tracing the web in the corner.
and in this moment i knew,
of such am i!
a moment, a corner,
my heart just a web...
waiting on love,
while hiding from the broom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A House called Lonely (A Trilogy in three parts)
There is a street in every town that owns a house
called lonely. Then when your just passing by you might
just say, 'if only.
If only could mean a life time of thoughts but it does'nt cure
a lonely house and all its faults.
Boarded up windows and tiles gone from the roof, graffiti
painted by a rebelious youth.
Such a lonely house and an oh such a tired one,
one that has lost all it's fun.
Stairs and rafters all gone to pot all that is left
is wood worm and dry rot.
No children playing in the garden, it's just a house condemend
by the council without no pardon. Poor lonely house someones
forgotton dream, now describing lifes social scene.
This lonely house stands in the way because their building
a By Pass or a new motorway.
The house called lonely could be any where, in the town, the
country or city square.
Even in your street there's a house called lonely just waiting
for you to say 'if only'
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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Past Lives
An angel came to me last night
She saw me in a different light
She showed me things I thoughht I could be
Are not a million miles away
As surely as night follows day
It follows, Im a king not a slave
It is another case of dj vu
It seems to happen everyday
It all comes back to me whatever I do
Theres always been a price to pay
Past lives, past lives
You can never put the ghost to bed
Get the feeling that you live, forever she said
Past lives, past lives
Rub my stomach while I pat my head
Get the feeling in your mind
When youre out of your head
And to the eastern side of the bay
My shadow is sailing away
Treasure possessions and money to burn
I wont be taking these with me
I hear the echos and Ive nowhere to turn
After all Im at sea
Past lives, past lives
We can anchor off the coast she said
The storm will pass and the fog will clear in your head
Past lives, past lives
You can never put the ghost to bed
Get the feeling that you live forever she said
In another world when dreams collide
To the mocking bird of faith we tied
She comes to pass but not to stay
Through the looking glass, she fades away
Welcome to the house of usher
An angel came to me last night
She sold me down the river of life
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Pass Me By
I listen for your footsteps
Coming up the drive
Listen for your footsteps
But they don't arrive
Waiting for your knock dear
On my old front door
I don't hear it
Does it mean you don't love me any more.
I hear the clock a'ticking
On the mantel shelf
See the hands a'moving
But i'm by myself
I wonder where you are tonight
And why i'm by myself
I don't see you
Does it mean you don't love me any more.
Don't pass me by don't make me cry don't make me blue
'cause you know darling i love only you
You'll never know it hurt me so
How i hate to see you go
Don't pass me by don't make me cry
I'm sorry that i doubted you
I was so unfair
You were in a car crash
And you lost your hair
You said you would be late
About an hour or two
I said that's alright i'm waiting here
Just waiting to hear from you.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House Of 1000 Corpses
She got a corpse
Under her bed
He had her fun
But now hes dead
Hear momma said
Come feed desire
Her brother said
Hey, throw her on the fire
This is the house
Come on in
This is the house
Built on sin
This is the house
Nobody lives
This is the house
You get what you give
I cut the flesh
And make it bleed
Fresh skin
Is what I need
I let it dry
Out in the wood
All your crying
Did no good, yeah
Now youre lying
On the floor
Yeah, you cant
Take anymore
The devils laughing
In your face
Give me another taste, yeah
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Houses
Yesterday's house,
where I used to live
was warm
with brick, and mellow wood.
Sounds bounced
softly
back and forth,
to blend with living words.
Yesterday's house
does not remember me.
Today's house
is cold and bleak
with steel,
and pitted stone.
Sounds clash,
as havoc reigns...
with reason
lost to madness.
Yesterday's house
is masked by time,
and clockwork hands
that can't turn back.
My body lives in today's house -
my eyes weep today's tears -
but my heart
is safe in yesterday's house
where the mortgage
is always paid.
poem by Robert Reldan
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Every House
Every house has a sun and moon,
And a little porcelain cup,
And a little silver spoon;
Every house has laughter and pain,
And feels the kiss of a needed rain.
Every house has a pet or two,
A cat in the tree,
A dove that coo;
Every house has a little mouse,
Lives in a hole he never comes out.
Every house has a window or two,
And some grass and trees,
And a sky that's blue;
Every house has a child that dreams,
As he plucks at raw reality's seams.
poem by Patti Masterman
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The Sebokarang Villages
Every evening
I always go to the Sebokarang villages
bike to break through the twilight
In the Bamboo threes
and the field of sugar plantantion
its flower blossom, yellow and
to bend in the street
to be fenced in kembang sepatu
and than turn to her hause
the wall of her house made from teakwood
and around her house planted
The Ceplok Piring flowers
in front of the door of her houses
I knocked its with my thremble fingers,
With my thremble heart
Where my blood flow fastly
The evening wind
Blowing softly
And start to be darkness
Its covering the leaf
Eat the tree near the street
Where the people pass and through
So cat run to catch the mouse
the mouse jump
To the path of the villages
I fell loneness
in front of the door
waiting for you
open the door
when the door opened
the light of petromax lamp is lighting
to my eyes wonder
of your smile
from the red lips
open, just open the door
the door of your heart
again and again
till I could stay
in the wide room of your heart
forever
poem by Prasetya Utama
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House Of Four Doors, Part 2
Walking through that door,
Outside we came, nowhere at all.
Perhaps the answer's here, not there anymore?
Then in our hearts the light broke through,
A path lost for years is there in view.
House of four doors, you'll be lost now forever.
House of four doors, pass up life, lives forever
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Numbers
Its stranger how some numbers
keep recurring in our lives.
At first, we do not notice it
until one day we think of them.
Our date of birth, houses numbers we have lived in,
our children’s birth date
and our brother or sister’s date of birth.
When you look at them
and one number seems to readily appear,
you begin to wonder if that number
has some bearing on our lives.
The number linked to my life is number 8.
I was born on the 18th,
in Canada the house I grew up in was 28
and my sister was born on the 18th.
Moving to England our house number was 62.
When my wife and I got married,
our first house was 24,
our second house was 18
and our present house number is 107.
My wife’s birth date is the 8th;
my son was born on the 17-8-71.
Everywhere I look the number 8 just keeps popping up.
Coincidence I guess you could call it,
or is there something else a foot.
I will just let you the reader to decide.
3 September 2009
Author’s note.
The evening I wrote this, my wife went out, was talking to someone, and mentioned how the number 8 always appeared in our lives.
Coincidence?
poem by David Harris
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Stranded On The Island Of Life
Life sometimes seems like
You're stranded on a desert island
Waiting for the ship to come and rescue you
When no one knows you're missing
So you keep waiting and hoping they will come for you
Not knowing that they don't know your missing
There having so much fun on the yacht
That they won't come back for you
So you keep hoping that one day
They'll come back for you
And not knowing that your
Only 5 miles off shore
You sit there and wait
Not knowing you could swim to shore
It's only 5 miles away
You're so close to the shore
And you don't even know it
But you keep waiting
For them to come back for you
So years pass
Months pass
Weeks pass
Days pass
Hours pass
Minutes pass
Seconds pass
Eventually you give up
Not knowing you're so close to shore
And all you had to do was swim 5 miles
There might be some danger in the water
But it's worth all that you go through
Just to get to the main land
Where all the other people are
Return Post
(v. peterson/s. hoffs)
Vicki
Writing the lines as they come to me
Scratching them out almost immediately
Dont know what its done to me
Its cold and its wet its been raining all night
And theres a letter Ive been trying to write
Something better waiting somewhere for me
One of them is sitting on the wrong coast
One awaits an answer by return post
Waiting, waiting
Try to remember how long its been
There was more to us than paper and pen
Think how easy it is to conceal
And I know when were together again
Well be strangers for an hour and then
Well have to figure out if this thing is real
One of them is sitting on the east coast
One awaits an answer by return post
Waiting, waiting
Take a drink and staring out the window
Wondering how long this can continue
Waiting, waiting
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 26
It is narrated that a tyrant who purchased wood from dervishes forcibly gave it away to rich -people gratuitously. A pious man passing near said:
"Thou art a snake, stingest whom thou beholdest,
Or an owl; wherever thou sittest thou destroyest.
Although thy oppression may pass among us
It cannot pass with the Lord who knows all secrets.
Oppress not the denizens of the earth
That their supplications may not pass to heaven."
The tyrant, being displeased with these words, got angry and took no notice of him until one night, when fire from the kitchen fell into the store of his wood and burnt all he possessed - transferring him from his soft bed to a hot mound of ashes - the same pious man happened again to pass and to hear him saying to his friends: "I do not know whence this fire has fallen into my house." replied: "From the smoke of the hearts of dervishes."
Beware of the smoke of internal wounds
Because at last an internal wound will break out.
Forbear to uproot one heart as long as thou canst
Because one sigh may uproot a world.
Upon the diadem of Kaikhosru the following piece was inscribed:
For how many years and long lives
Will the people walk over my head on the ground?
As from hand to hand the kingdom came to us
So it will also go to other hands.
House of Flesh
Crooked,
decrepit windows
see the world in shades of grime.
This lonely house sreaks
and groans in the rain.
Tattered
mother-eaten drapes
cover the hurt of abandonment.
People pass by
and talk cheerfully
of their own inhabited homes,
graced by the presence of a loving owner.
They are filled,
overflowing,
with friendly masses.
They are filled with people
who look in pity and distain
at this crumbling house on the corner.
These bodies pass by
with not a thought to this sad house,
all alone
begging for someone to pass it's threshhold,
to care.
Poor abandoned house on the corner,
quietly falling to pieces as the seasons pass.
No one wants you.
poem by Meggan McGuire
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People's Indifference
people who pass
by the house
always stop a while
taking time
to look at the window
which is closed
the whole day
the stairs still have
dry leaves
at the back of the house
a boy is screaming
the fence is closed
and a white dog is yelping
wanting to go inside
as people pass by the house
stop a while take time to
have a glimpse
and then leave
doing nothing about it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Living in a House of Blue
Living in a house of blue
Waiting for a girl I knew
Living in a house of pain
Waiting for her purple shoes
To cross the threshold to my door
Like she did a thousand times or more
Looking for a perfect rhyme
To entice her back to the scene of the crime
Living in a house of blue
Waiting for I girl I know
She likes to go to the picture show
And watch the wicked witch cast her spell
She cries for the princess all night long
And falls asleep in my arms
When she sound asleep
I take off her purple shoes
And lock up our house of blue
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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