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ashley lingy Jan 2018
I retreat to my special place
A park by the river
A line of benches face the water
Each bench bears a name
Each a person departed
I pick my bench carefully
I sit
I gaze at the water
I wonder what the person was like
What love they left behind
Crystal Freda Jan 2018
leaning against her bench,
purple petals blossomed
and the sun shined brightly
and the grass was cut nicely

well cut bushes carried
these lovely blossoms
just so swimmingly
and the petals flew so freely

she read for a few hours
listening to the moving wind,
now the sun lowered gently
and she finished and signed sweetly
Chris Neilson Jul 2017
Through hazy nostalgic eyes
I walked with my mother
her ageing limbs carrying
the weight of her years
alongside my slackened gait

A municipal park our destination
which she frequented with my late father
her conversation searching her memory
for thoughts of her younger years
of good health, mobility and happiness

Reaching a diminutive, secluded garden
she stopped and pointed to a bench
a forlorn wooden seat for 2
it's best years behind it
reflecting my mother's frame of mind

We deliberated in soft, hushed tones
my father and role model her subject
on this very bench they had held hands
and talked of their successes and tragedies
and their union in treating them equally

Her eyes watered as her voice trembled
the loss of her soul mate still pained her daily
she missed his eyes, his voice, his guiding hand
she missed his presence, his warmth, his love
I held her hand as she gently wept
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
The world passes by as I look across the courtyard, I stop to see the dry world passing by.
Kids riding their hoverboards, men and women making their way to their destinations,
all this with man-made machines shrieking the brakes to halt;
Funny are these DNA-embedded beings contending over who is richest, strongest and most influential.
This is where I am.

Wrapped up in your arms, fingers running everywhere;
The moist soft touches, blowing kisses in the air,
The warmth of your body that sets fire to even the cold October winds,
This is where I want to be.

The quilt that kept me warm has gone frosty,
The hair that ran like silk has gotten old,
The gentle squeeze on my hip stays forgotten.
Ripples of pleasure turned to pain, as I look back, that’s all I gained.
Looking at the dry world pass by; This is where I am, This is where I want you to be.
Steven Forrester Jan 2011
It's where I sit and smoke
No joke
I find my head
So I know I'm not dead
When I think
On the brink
Of the sanity which I dread
I think of my idle Poe
Which helps with all of my poems
Some things I know
Others I don't
I think of everything I wrote
The things about a s*ty year
Where I found the reality of my fears
Am I crazy
I don't know
Is it bad
Ask Edgar Poe
Who wrote words that spoke to my soul
And broke through in clarity
"I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity"
In this line my true sincerity
I think about this in my serenity
As the white wretch
Upon his pedestal
My bench
(c) Steven Forrester- From Diary of an Ominous Mind
Oscar Mann Oct 2015
I will always think fondly
Of the park bench
Near the sad man’s statue
Whose beard of stone
Was sloppily painted
By a bunch of overenthusiastic pigeons

That silly park bench
Where we first kissed
And had our first public argument
About nothing at all
And at the same time
About everything we thought we had

At first our memories
Turned the grass greener
And the skies bluer
And sometimes it seemed
That sad man smiled
Though it might have been an malevolent grin

But soon it became tainted
A symbol of fleeting love
Of passion’s mortality
Its habit of swiftly disappearing
Like cagey, distrustful pigeons
And illusions fuelled by sentimentality

Now I understand the sad man
And consider his faith to be cruel
To want and crave and hope
Yet to be sentenced
His life writ in stone
Near an empty, broken bench
Äŧül Apr 2015
If one day in the imaginary ideal future,
We get stuck by the rocky Konkan beach,
And not even a decent sand bed is there,
To you for resting my body I shall offer.

Waiting for the tourist bus back we talk,
Tired we are from taking the sunny walk,
The evening the sun we wish will balk,
Our neo-natal plans together we chalk.

We shall sit on the bench by the beach,
You'll then rest your head on my side,
In comforting you I will bear much pride,
About being one forever we did decide.

Then you will soon sleep in the evening,
I will watch our hands and even the ring,
Angel on my shoulder you'll be sleeping,
And me??? Oh, I'll just be calmly smiling.

The baby bump is now visible so happily,
I'll think of unique names for the baby,
Basis of our relationship is really lovely,
The healthy baby will be so very chubby.
The most cherished dream of mine in which I visualize myself and my ultimate lover.

My HP Poem #829
©Atul Kaushal
Chase Hunter Mar 2015
Sitting on this small park bench
waiting in the winds while the trees undress
I look for a path that could change the past

All the words I speak are just continuous ideas I seek
Planning out my future like I am supposed to know who to be

Sitting on a park bench with the Autumn leaves
conversing with myself of what I actually want and need

Well I will truly never know until I succeed
but success is just an optimist of serenity
and sometimes even greed

So for now I will just sit on this park bench
with the calm and cooling breeze
Just being happy that I am me
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