En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Old Man On A Bench...

An old man on a withered bench
Down by the ocean's end
Staring at the stormy sky
wondering if she's there up high
watching him sit in their favorite spot
where he wrote - forget me not...
'Here is the bench where we would sit
you and I a perfect fit'
He whispers softly to the wind
and wishes she would hear
how he misses her
or wipe the tear
that silently creeps down his face
as he remembers a time and place
Her lively eyes
Her soft grey hair
Memories so bitter-sweet
are all he has of her
And in his gnarled old hand
he lovingly holds her wedding band

poem by Chantelle Ribeiro
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Bench

Sitting on a bench watching people go by.
Smiles and frowns, Stares and glares
Wondering what they are thinking?
Is it me greeting them one by one
Or me sitting on a bench.
The seat of comfort and distractions
a place to think and read
Feed the birds, Friendly chats
Surprising hellos, A lot of old fellows
wanting the seat, for they are beat!
Everyone's favorite seat
The bench of life

poem by Michael Peterson
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Still Silently

I see a shadow
shining through the moon
there is a reflection
and it's coming through
I hide my face
a silhourette
in my window
pitcures burning of you

It's just a memory
passing me by
in the midnight sky
after a pouring rain
with troubles I can't forget
still silently
I'll wait one more day

I hear the sound of the wind
howling through the trees
with echoes of your voice
that whisper to me softly
just like jasmine
it was such a sweet smell
but it was just the pain
that took your place
still silently
I had to walk away

Their was a teardrop
that fell from these eyes of mine
as I stood on that montain top
watching ghost dance
off in a distance
as we died
still silently
we had to try

But what would it matter in time
when their was no other choice
I changed every direction
to escape your affection
such an addiction
still silently
I stood alone on this stage

I hear your name
still in the breeze
but I won't be coming home soon
sickened by your disease
turn yet another page
for a new destination
still silently
we feel the same
(spiritwind-2000)

poem by Spiritwind Wood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Brother’s Fountain

He died last year about this time
I still miss him every day
I think about him all the time
For my brother’s gone away

I have the fountain he once had
There’s a special place in my yard
Surrounded by his favorite Roses
They are beautifully standing guard

I also have in this honored spot
A park bench so I can hear
The trickle of water down the rocks
A sound that is oh, so dear

It brings back so many memories
All the years when we were children
It’s like spending time with him again
Listening to my brother’s fountain!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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Ice Cold Sweet Tea

vs.1 As I sit on the bench beside our tree,
I can't help but think about you and me.
As the wind picks up and blows my hair,
I can't help but wish that you were there
~Holding my hand, holding me close,
Telling me I'm what you love the most~
(chorus)
But now I'm sitting by myself,
Trying not to cry,
No one else could cheer me up,
No matter how hard they try.
I've lost you to someone else,
And my heart is on my sleeve.
If there's one thing I miss the most,
It's our ice cold sweet tea.
vs.2 Even though it's hard on my heart,
To think about what you did to tear me apart,
I don't regret the feelings I had for you,
But I wish that I could forget those, too.
~Holding my hand, holding me close,
Telling me I'm what you love the most~
(chorus)
(instrumental)
vs.3 I sat on our bench everyday,
My best guy friend came to say
'I don't know why you do this but I understand.
However, I should tell you-' and he took my hand,
and said, 'I wanna hold your hand, I wanna hold you close,
I wanna give you forever 'cause you're what I love the most! '
(chorus 2)
So now I'm sitting on his lap,
With his arms holding me close,
He's the one who cheered me up,
When I thought there was no one else.
I've gained the best thing ever,
And although it's hard to believe,
I have somebody better,
And we have better ice cold sweet tea.

Yeah, there's no one else better but him
For drinkin' ice cold sweet tea :)

poem by Rebecca Ryan
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A Place To Sit

Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.

Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.

poem by Orlando Belo
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The Bench

I saw her and felt very sad
There she was, thinly clad,
Sitting on a bench on a railway station,
Motionless, there was no animation,
No showing of any observation,
Her aura was one of devastation,
Although things were happening all around her,
Nothing seemed to make her move or even stir,
Actually no movement of any kind,
She was acting, totally blind,
No spark of recognition,
Or of making a decision,
Staring blankly into space,
As if lost without a trace.
I wondered what was making her this way,
All I could do for her, was to silently pray,
And watch the tears go sliding down her face,
Oblivious of the place, that was her location,
Which was, sitting on a bench on a railway station.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Old Man

The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.

Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.

He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.

Everyone spoke about him,
but no one ventured to talk.
Then one day the old man
wasn't on the park bench
and he was nowhere to be seen.
Now a different question was asked.

Day after day, the bench was empty.
Where had the old man gone?
Had he simply passed away?
The questions remained unanswered
because no one ever stopped
to enquire of his name.

I would like to think
that in the dying hours
on the park bench one day
that he had found
what he was waiting for
and then happily he faded away.

12 July 2012

poem by David Harris
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A Walk On The Beach By Nadood

From all the stress and all the pain
I would walk on the beach in the rain
I could hear the whispers of the Shore
Taking away all the problems and sore

As I look at the sea
I know there is nothing like this beauty

When I take a deep, deep breathe
It would take out the fear
And I could hear the whispers of the ocean in my ear
Telling me softly and gently 'Oh, dear! Oh dear'

As my heart beat goes faster and faster
I could hear the ocean's laughter

I love it when the gentle touch of the water hits my feet
You would never want to take a seat

When the wind blows
And your hair flows
Your stress just simply goes

You feel as calm as ever
You feel peace and so much better
It's just you and the beach forever

And when you lie on the sand
And you touch it with your hand
You feel like you're in wonderland

Every speck of sand brings back time
Memories and days of faith, hope, and shine
Instead of thinking about crimes

The beach makes you not worried
About the things you did or going to do
Because the whispers of the ocean will still say 'I love you, I really do'

Oh! That soft, gentle touch of the ocean
Makes me wonder about the potion
They used to put me under their spell
And that beautiful sound of the bell

Oh! How much I love the beach
I come to it when I'm sad or mad
I come to it when I'm happy or cranky
I come to it for advice
All this for no price

As I weep beside it about my problems everyday
It is like I can almost feel it touch my shoulder and say 'it's going to be okay'

I don't know whether to trust or believe
But the ocean said 'just follow your heart and you will achieve'

Do you want to know why I love this ocean?
It is because I know it will never leave.
Because finally it told me to achieve

poem by nadood al ND
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Memories On A Park Bench

He sat on a park bench
just to pass the time away
when he saw her there
from the corner of his eye.
She was older now,
but her beauty had not faded.

She turned in his direction
and he smiled at her.
At first, she looked at him strangely
until there was recognition.
She smiled back
and then joined him.

They sat there on the park bench
the sun smiling down on them
as the daffodils swayed in the breeze.
For both of them came a flood
of memories of when they were young
before the world spirited them away.

Both had walked down many roads,
had some hard knocks along the way.
Both recalled them now
the way old friends meeting do.
As they sat there
recalling memories from happier days.

All too soon they would be parting
and as they would go,
they would take with them
a little of each other
in the form of memories
that they acquired on a park bench.

5 April 2009

poem by David Harris
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Green Ricefields

green ricefields spreading to a distance
some white herons circling and landing finding a hiding place
for a while gone and then the wind comes from the trees swaying

the white herons in a flock of fives fly away again
to another rectangular spread of a green ricefield
a scarecrow stands in the middle of the place
the clouds arrive turning from pale to grey to blue
the sun has come in full grandeur

i am just amazed, sitting on a bench praying
simply watching and wondering
they all say that i am lazy and doing nothing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When April Comes!

When April comes with softly shining eyes,
And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair,
Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies,
And every day will bring some sweet surprise,--
The swallows will come swinging through the air
When April comes!

When April comes with tender smile and tear,
Dear dandelions will gild the common ways,
And at the break of morning we will hear
The piping of the robins crystal clear--
While bobolinks will whistle through the days,
When April comes!

When April comes, the world so wise and old,
Will half forget that it is worn and grey;
Winter will seem but as a tale long told--
Its bitter winds with all its frost and cold
Will be the by-gone things of yesterday,
When April comes!

poem by Virna Sheard
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A Mother's Sacrifies

Curled up in warm blanket
sewn from the tears and
love of a mother
no worries in the world
face ached with a smile
he sleeps in serenity

Perched on a bench she sit
with the wonders of the world
on her mind
tears held back
and hidden by a smile
she clenches her baby to her

Birds chippings up a head
provides the softening hymn
as he rocks back and forth
exhausted by the day
a mother breaks down when her eyes
drops on the heir of her fortune
as tears slow grace her face

A decision of a king
left to be done
as the wind softly blows
perched under a box
wrapped in rags she cries
her self to sleep

But perched on a bench
he cries awoken from his sleep
neatly wrapped on a bench
without his mothers love

poem by Robert Roberts
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She Sang the Songs...

She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
sweet words of love, in perfect time
to her style... soft words of love;
the lyrics to her Country songs
of love and heartbreak, hope and sadness;
life spread out in flawless rhyme,
but they were really hopes, and dreams
of his...
he knew this, all along.

She wrote songs as well; and, when he read them...
his heart missed a beat;
Beneath the stave, below the notes...
her lyrics, in her childlike hand;
soft words of love, he longed to hear
her say to him...
all whispered, sweet;
now, here they were, before his eyes...
but, accident...
or gently planned?

Were they whispers of her heart...
or just composed from out her head?
he had no way of knowing,
but... in either case, her words were sweet;
a silky glide across the page...
a wistful ballad... hearts that bled;
he sadly smiled, yes... his heart bled as well,
but,
to a different beat.

She sang the songs... he wrote the words,
words from his heart... soft, yet intense;
Perhaps, one day, she'd see
they were for her...
and, not her audience.

poem by Dream Weaver
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Old man

Old man sits on a bench
His life surrounded by a cyclone fence
Remembers times from way back when
As he sits beside his best friend Ken
Relives the old times again and again
He was married to his late wife Jen
The love of his life from back then
He says his sorrow will never mend
Pulls out a card he never did send
Tries to be tough but he can`t pretend
He says Jen was his very best friend
Was very sad when her life did end
Tells ken that you never know when
The time you have will come to an end
Send your love as soon as you can
Don`t delay for another day
Sometimes god will take her away
Here on the bench the old man stays
Day after day he sits and prays
A tear from his eyes as they start to glaze
With love in his heart that never strays
Even after they have parted ways

poem by Joseph Whelan
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Dinner Thoughts

In the kitchen all the pots and pans
are steaming The roast is in the oven there is
no time for dreaming Fresh vegetables are
cleaned and potatoes peeled Salad is
prepared with onions straight from the field

The table is set with white dishes and
beautiful glass Every place setting is styled
with sophisticated class The wine is chilled
and desserts promise to be sweet Everything
is perfect with lots of excess but discreet

One of the seats is occupied by a man
with long hair His clothing is old and torn and
in dire need of repair The woman on the bench
silently weeps over the food Because she is
happy that she is no subject to extrude

Two little boys with smudges of dirt
on their faces With mom and dad they have
lived in many places The old lady from down
the street offers a grin While I turn on
some music to let the feast begin

Well - that is what could be but instead
I eat alone I am wondering why because
I have room in my home Life could be more
fulfilling if I would take a stand But I
continue to hide when I should extend a hand

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Ace

By: jimmy buffett
1971
Hardly seems a long time
Just a minute of the day
But the man who stood beside me
More than gave himself away
The food stain on his spotted shirt
A gray beard on his face
A man composed of many names
So i just called him ace
Chorus:
But ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
Born in mississippi
Picking cotton as a child
Left soon for the city
Where he heard that life was wild
That was fifty years ago
When nothing's really strange
>from a poor dirt farm to dirty streets
Is really not much change
Chorus:
And ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
Go back to the country
No he really can't do that
Wasted years have left him
Nothing but an old straw hat
So he puts it on his head
And waves a last good-bye
No time left to turn around
And no time to ask why
Chorus:
Ace can't read and ace can't write
And he sleeps on a bench at night
A little man the world has left behind
He ain't bitter, he ain't sweet
Makes his living on the street
Never knowing what he's gonna find
And this old world has left poor ace behind

song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How i feel

Ask me how i feel; summer rain in sea of flowers
Or clifftop sunset, lighting ocean's sleeping rage
To feel night's hidden storm as starlit beauty cowers
Releasing sweet sonnet from the page.
Ask me how i feel when trees dance with sun's soft kiss
Or breeze softly combs morning meadow like a wave
To feel snowflake cool a fevered brow with bliss
And view the solitary bird that twilight sky did save
Then ask me how i feel about you.

Ask me how i feel when autumn carpet rolls me welcome hue
Two wedding rings in golden June
Distant music washing me with sky of blue
Dancing on white sands as friends disappear too soon.
Ask me how i feel when moonbeam lights a childlike face
Or grey train carries unknown love away.
When tear creeps down the lone clown face
As lost romance pleads in vain to stay
Then you know how i feel about you.

poem by Kevin East
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Shooting Star

Shooting stars, they blazed in the night sky,
As on the beach, didst two lovers stare into the sky.
She the princess and he her handsome prince
As they shared a soft moonlit kiss
Princess, beauty rare. To her prince without a flaw
Wanting nothing at all.
Whispers he, 'I love you always.'
So they live, happily ever always.

Alas, such a fairytale ending will never be.
For a small fire would change the princess you see.
No longer the soft flower of the meadow, in full bloom-
Now she was scarred and burnt - willing for death to take her soon.
She last remembered him, as they whisked her to the ER
His horrified face turning away as she was dragged from the car.
Weeks passed, she refused to see him, till finally he no longer called.
She no longer wanted to see the mirror, she was a flower that withered and wilted.
She ignored his messages, she didn't want to hear, his voice again,
To tell her that he could no longer see her like this again.

Now she stood trembling in a soft summer wind
Teetering on the edge of an endless abyss.
Staring out over a beach where so long ago,
Someone whispered to her, I love you, I really do.
But it was over now. Her beauty scarred beyond repair.
Some things you don't dream of, you wouldn't dare.
Her cold tears froze her face, carving down the scars that remained,
Wondering if she would ever live and breathe again.
An endless abyss, stretching in front of her, she felt herself falling towards the ground
When someone caught her arm and turned her round.

Her dashing prince was standing there. She looked away in shame.
He whispered her name as the heavens cried drops of rain.
Why didn't you answer? he asked, holding her tight.
Do you know that you've been on my mind every night?
He ran his hand through her hair, touched her face,
She felt her tears subside as he laid her fears to rest.
I'll always love you, he whispers in her ear.
And I'll love you forever still, as long as I am here.
I don't care what you think, he turned her face to the light,
I'm always going to be here for you, even in the darkest night.
No matter what happens, the damage and the scars,
I love you for who you are.
And as the shooting stars shot unseen across a stormy summer sky
He laid to rest her doubts and fears as he looked into her eyes

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Hollow

I sit alone at the edge
of a bench, watching the children
as they laugh
and play.
And they run past me
as I smile back and laugh
with their small voices
and wet hair in their eyes.
And they call me their friend,
as they see me often.
I often sit alone on that bench.
In the dust at the corner
of the sunlit park.
With a sagging tree
just over my head,
dappling my clothes
and shading my eyes
from the sun.
Until I stayed the night.
The sun was shooed
out of the sky
and the moon took
her shift.
The shadows grew longer
and the children left,
calling in the faeries.
They wanted me to dance.
I smiled and stood
in the center
of the pure Beauty.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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Lonely

There was an old man
sat on a park bench,
his trousers were baggy,
his hair was unkempt.
It flowed long and white
right down to his shoes
and children would pass by
looking bemused.

A glint in his eye
and a glow on his cheek
he sat all day long
not a word did he speak,
but should you have asked him
why he was there
he'd had given you reasons, I'm sure
with a stare.

He sat on the park bench
eating some berries,
he didn't look sad
and he didn't look merry,
then just when the church clock
struck quarter to four
the old man got up
and he fell to the floor

Nobody noticed him tumble
nobody even passed by
and as sunshine hid behind a cloud
that lonely old man, he did die.
But sometimes as I pass that bench
I have a strange feeling inside
that someone is eating a berry or two
and watching the people go by

poem by Ruth Walters
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