Thin Walls
she was tall
blonde hair
not especially beautiful
unmarried
early forties
and through
thin walls
came to know
her existence
mostly alone
two years
my next door neighbor
but for a three month stretch
laughter with a man
love making with a man
perhaps happy
don’t know
then gone for awhile
came back
no hair
gaunt
Alice
the super’s wife
visiting often
speaking words
of comfort
hope
but there was
none
dead a month later
wept
really wept
we never talked.
poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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Related quotes
J-Love In Our Ages Love In Stages
In the first month
Love was tentative
Love was laughter
Love was ecstasy
In the second month
Love made questions
Love made laughter
Love made richness
In the third month
Love gave friendship
Love gave laughter
Love gave family
In the fourth month
Love became promise
Love became laughter
Love became spring
In the fifth month
Love grew flowers
Love grew laughter
Love grew deeper
June 2,1997
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
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Idle in June
She dares not let the world hear her speak,
She's getting thin and looking meek,
A grey hair is splitting in her widows peak
She lays idle in the month of June.
Her hands are cracked and stained from mud,
although she bathes in lathered suds
There's a little of me inside her blood
She lays idle in the month of June
She carries child at her old age,
She's stuck inside her fleshy cage,
Her father birthed her insidious rage
She lays idle in the month of June.
They locked her in a cell up high,
The crime of seeking suicide
Some women they are born only to die,
She lays idle in the month of June.
One day, I know, I'll see her soon,
How I loathe the month of June,
We'll met again come the next new moon,
I won't forget her, idle in the month of June.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
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That Girl....
I see her walk down the halls everyday
The girl with the dirty blonde hair with black streaks
Her blonde hair cascading down her back like a golden waterfall
The innocent sparkle of those gorgeous pale green eyes
Her strawberry lips make her lovely words drift in my head
But the only thing I know is she's that girl......
Even though I have no idea who she is she's still beautiful
Oh I know who she is now.....shes me from 4 years ago
But to me she'll forever be that girl.....
poem by Justina Nicole Haner
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Agony of the old
Had I died as a lad, my parents would have wept.
Had I died as a man, my children and wife would have wept.
Had I died ere my wife, my wife would have wept.
A widower, an invalid, a cumbersome,
When I die who will have wept?
28.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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39
I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair—
I’m going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
I’m going on for forty,
Where man’s strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows’ feet,
In spite of all my sins.
Then here’s the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the living Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhood’s grave—
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair—
We’ll find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.
Then here’s the wide, free Forties—
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wide, free Forties!
We’re good for ten years more!
The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
’Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
’Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And we’ll find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them—
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.
So here’s the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And here’s the good old Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Smell of your hair
rolling over in bed this night
I found a little hidden delight
for on the pillow I smelled your hair
making me wish that you were still there
memories of our time spent together
and how your hair tickled my nose like a feather
made me long for your joyful presence
though you've been gone for a month since
flooding my mind with your laughter and smile
still makes me wish you'd not been gone this long while
will I ever get over you? now, only time will tell
having lived through our breakup, has been total hell
even though my heart continues to billow
each time I smell your hair on your pillow
poem by Jr James D Nall
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One month Anniversary (1)
In months time
Time flew by
So fast, so quick
So many memories already
From first kiss in the Drive way
To First date at TGI's
To my first photo booth pictures
To Caving at Devils den
To already having many developed pictures
To being with a great person for one months time
Memories fly, but time is cherished
Having these memories with you means everything
Knowing you're there to tell me Morning
Knowing you're there to tell me Night
Everything we do makes me smile
And makes me realize everythings worthwhile
So here's to a month
A month so great
A month with no debate
A month with no regrets
I'm hope you've enjoyed it as much as i have
I hope for another month and more
Happy One month anniversary
poem by Tanner Gallman
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A Christmas Visitation
Anny stands by the door. Anny
Watches as your grandchildren
Open the seasonal gifts. Her blue
Eyes follow as toys are investigated
One after another. You see her there,
Her ghostly hand brushing back her
Curly blonde hair. She smiles at you
As she lifts her eyes from toys to you.
None of the others see her as she walks
About the room, her hands wanting to
Touch the toys, to finger the doll, to hold
Against her chest as once she may in
Better days before the Auschwitz death.
You sip your beer, your eyes watching
As she sits by your wife, taking in excitement
Of voices and grandchildren’s laughter,
Her bright eyes moving from you to laid
Down toys, maybe remembering her own
Childhood excitement of Jewish celebrations,
The candles, the singing, the feel of love,
The sense of awe. Speculation on your part,
You and your tender heart. Anny studies
Your wife as she talks of this and that to those
Around the room. Anny looks back at you,
Those blue eyes, that curly blonde hair, that
Ribbon tied in the hair, those 1940s clothes,
That sense of sorrow that follows her like
Perfume. You smile back and want to say
Other words you have said to her before,
But others might wonder why you speak to
One they cannot see, thinking maybe your
Dotage has taken a turn or that you’ve sipped
Too much beer in celebrational cheer. Anny
Understands these things and much beside
Since that Paris betrayal and train trip to
Icy Auschwitz where in 1942 she died.
poem by Terry Collett
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The pity of pities
In a year,
You brought me
Ten years younger.
In a month,
You sent me
Ten years older.
In a year,
You exuded my
Hormones to that of a lad.
In a month,
You defused it
Far less to one older than me.
In a year,
You kindled me
To soar to the peak.
In a month,
You bundled me
To plummet to the ditch.
But in a year,
You activated in me
The finest faculty.
It is in a month
That you motivated
It to result in fruiting.
In a month of setting,
Impulses suffered a lot.
Intellect reaped a lot.
Stress breeds in one
The best
Though in the process,
It upsets
Him, the pity of pities.
Can you put me back
To saddle high in the track?
13.06.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Erotic Hair
when my hair
gets long enough
after a month
uncut by
my gay barber
they become
so curly
like my pubic
hair
and women
and even gays
love all the curls
of my hair
erotic hair
and i am wearing it
as a crown
understand
i am coping up
with mid-crisis
and i like to
say
i got hair
and they are too curly
like my
(messy) sex life
listen, my life
begins at 69.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Like A Tall Thin Girl
Well, I dont care to eat out in smart restaurants.
Id rather do a vindaloo: take away is what I want.
I was down at the old bengal, having telephoned a treat
When I saw her framed in the kitchen door.
She looked good enough to eat.
(and I mean eat.)
She was a tall thin girl.
She looked like a tall thin girl.
She said, ''whose is this carry-out?
My face turned chilli red.
Well, I dont know about carrying out,
But you can carry me off to bed.
(and I mean bed.)
She was a tall thin girl.
She moved like a tall thin girl.
Maybe I can fetch for it,
And maybe I can stretch for it.
I may not be a fat man and Im not exactly small
But when it all comes down, couldnt stand my ground.
This girl was tall.
(and I mean tall.)
Big boy doane, hes a drummer. dont play no tambourine
But hes madras hot on the bongo trot,
If you know just what I mean.
Stands six foot three in his underwear;
Going to get him down here and see
If this good ladys got a little sister 'bout the same size as me.
She was a tall thin girl.
She looked like a tall thin girl.
Well, can I fetch for it?
Well, maybe I can stretch for it?
Well, am I up for it? or do I have to go down for it?
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful
You're so beautiful
I love the way you smile
When your in my arms
I hope you'll stay awhile
You're so beautiful
And your eyes so bright
I love to gaze into them
Whether day or night
You're so beautiful
Your skin soft and tan
I love to touch your fingers
I love to hold your hand
You're so beautiful
Your hair so sexy even out of place
I like it pulled back or surrounding your face
You're so beautiful
from head to toe
You're so beautiful I just had to let you know
poem by Mariah Simpson
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The Best Way to Comb the Blonde Hair
Years is the worst unforgivable hairstylist
He cuts my hair short;
shorter than our short story..
He cuts my hair off;
off the last relationship..
Now it's 4 sharp in the afternoon,
i, wooden, seize the comb, wooden.
Mirror does not tell lies
age can only climb high.
the comb runs through my hair
my hair flows through somewhere
more strands of hair are gone..
more worries are born
I forget how I combed hair
back in those years..
A young blonde is coming..
and i gonna ask her this question.
poem by Garland Jodie Jeen
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Secret love
He gloomily sat by the wall,
As gaily she danced with them all.
Her laughter's light spell
On every one fell;
His heartstrings were near unto rending,
But this there was none comprehending.
She fled from the house, when at eve
He came there to take his last leave.
To hide her she crept,
She wept and she wept;
Her life-hope was shattered past mending,
But this there was none comprehending.
Long years dragged but heavily o'er,
And then he came back there once more.
-Her lot was the best,
In peace and at rest;
Her thought was of him at life's ending,
But this there was none comprehending.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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July....
July is the month where the families get the barbeque grills fired up.
July is the month where the night sky is light up with fire works.
July is the month where many families go out of town to be with family.
July is the month where many kids are dreary because it’s a month away for school.
July is the month where America gets to celebrate its independence from England.
July is the month where many people are dying of the heat of the summer.
July is my favorite month because it’s the time that I get to be myself around my family.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Love lost matters nil.
I had lost my wealth in a gamble; I wept.
I had lost my son in a battle; I wept.
Out of love or out of loss had I wept?
Out of fear or out of need had I wept?
No one ever for the love lost had wept.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Manami
I am Sorry. I am sorry those are the only words I can put to effort I am sorry I was not there to tell you good night, I am sorry that I wasn't there for your recitals. I am sorry I was not there to brush your hair, or get you ready for prom, I am sorry that I was not at you graduation that balmy June day. I am sorry that I was not at your wedding, to your dark haired handsome husband now that I look back and wish I could brush your blonde hair or to see your smiling face but, only in my dreams no more will I see the face of my young. I am sorry that I am your mother and for not being there when you need me the most so forgive me my sweet brown eyed blonde hair and with light tanned skin. Manami. I am Sorry.
poem by Raine Uchiha
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I love my hair
I love my hair
I always toss it around in the air
As if without a care!
I love my hair
Once I caught the super hair bug
Caught it whilst I slept on an old rug
The super lice were playing scratch, scratch, and scratch
While my fingernails were playing catch, catch and catch
Finally my hair was shaven as there was no cure, no other drug
I wore my head on my shoulder for a while with a distasteful shrug
Hiding underneath a cap with obvious bald patches that seemed to match
I love my hair
Long, golden plaited and brown
Enough to move heads around in town
People just want to come near
And stare! Stare at me! Who is that alien from elsewhere?
My hair is beautifully plaited in strands
This kind of hair fashion is high in demand
So many different styles to experiment with and expand
Today a woman needs to look good, do you understand?
I talk to my hair with oils
I say today I need you to curl
And when I style you,
Stay in place, do not spoil!
I wash my hair twice a day
Maybe when I am old, it would go grey
But for now the beauty is here to stay
I hope so, I definitely pray!
Beware all, take care
I love my hair, I love my hair
Don’t touch! But you can stare
You can stare at how I wear
My beautiful hair!
Try and out-do me if you dare!
I love my hair
I like to show it off
Around me do not sneeze or cough
Or with you I can be horribly tough
Around me do not sneeze or cough
If you don’t want to know the meaning of rough
I mean it, this isn’t a bluff!
I love my hair!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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