"verandah" poems
On days, when time is going too fast,
I can't catch up, and there're things i can't get past,
I'd pull a chair at the verandah....just sit there
To witness, the gentler goings on in life...
See, how...why all plants face towards the sun,
On a dimly lit corner, watch a spider patiently spin its web,
Underneath the gravel and green grass, somehow,
The earthworm, painstakingly, bravely emerges,
Finds its way out of the soil...to remind us,
"...soil is healthy....it's time to plant!"
:::::
I feel, the beetle knows me, as it inches on,
Carrying its own body, crawling down the pine tree,
I won't ever grasp it, nor tie a string on its body
To control its range of movement,
As we do to tethered beasts of burden...
:::::
While sitting there, i decide: by all means,
Towards the flower *** i lean
Take time to smell a rose, feel its rough leaf
Not just a quick touch and sniff
But hold its thorny body, without daring to blink
While deep within, i'd let its fragrance sink
:::::
Some early evenings
When the cicadas' music are echoing
And the moths have started flying
Circling round the light at the ceiling,
I am warned...soon, it will be raining
And.....when it starts to rain, i keep listening
Til i'm soothed by the sound of rain...falling,
From sky to treetops.....flowing...landing
Next to the leaves......cascading down
To the concrete ground
Spreading quickly, far and deep...and as fate,
As nature would have it....the soil, without fail, waits...
:::::
Long time ago, we were small,
Curious and brave, we tasted glory, and all,
Armed with a child's innocence
And an insatiable hunger for learning...
Our eyes, our minds dilated,
Our brains were like sponge...
Like the soil.....we absorbed
All, that we discovered...
:::::
Sally
Copyright December 1, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
My next door
neighbour has a tree
that looks like jacaranda.
its branches reach right over
here and stroke at my verandah.
if you boil it's seed pods up
and steep a cup of tea,
the brew will mend
a broken heart
i've heard
apparently.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
I woke in the early hours to find
My head between her thighs,
She hadn’t been there before, I swear
And I’m not a man who lies.
I’d seen her out in the Public Bar
Of the ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
Halfway along the Outback Track
On the way to Wendouree.
I’d seen her dance on the table tops
I’d seen her prance on the bar,
I’d said to Lance as I saw him glance
‘I don’t know where we are!’
He shrugged, to say that he didn’t care
As long as she danced that way,
Her stockings, down at her ankles and
Her skirt in disarray.
‘Now there is a ***** to turn your head,’
Said Lance, with a burst of pride,
He’d been out on the verandah, then
He’d turned to go back inside,
She’d joined him there for a moment,
Just brushed by for a quick connect,
But he hadn’t noticed her eyebrow raised
In a sign that said, ‘Reject!’
We both had our eighteen wheelers parked
Outside in the hotel grounds,
I was headed away up north
And he to the lights of town,
He offered to give her the sleeper cab
While he drove the star-filled night,
I looked away and I thought it sad,
But the trucks both looked alike.
I heard him leave at the midnight hour
And thought she was gone for good,
It wasn’t often I hauled this way
Or stayed in this neighbourhood.
But then I clambered into my bunk
Above, at the cabin’s rear,
And fell asleep like a hopeless drunk
Till the morning sun drew near.
I made an offer to buy that pub,
The ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
But only when she agreed to stay
And dance on the bar for me,
I asked if she’d meant to go with Lance
And she looked at me with scorn,
I sleep the sleep of a new romance
And the pillows keep me warm.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
spring has most
definitely sprung
this morning
a pair of pigeons
were imbibing
in some birdie ***
the ****
mounted the hen
on the neighbor's verandah
they gave not a though
to those who may
have been prudish
they were in the mood
to be openly lewd
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
Brownout
A not too loud explosion pierced the quiet hours
..................immediately after......lights went out
Twelve midnight, and two minutes later
there gently blew, a whiff of cool air,
brushed past my cheeks and shoulders
but...that was it
Every hot, humid second of every burning minute
took too long to get out of my sweating body
the heat seemed stationary
in the stillness of this limited territory
Lukewarm water
flowed out of the shower
being wet.......was brief
it didn't bring much relief
It was cooler....out at the verandah
but mosquitoes are more active in the dark
the flickering candlelight
teased them all the more, this moonless night
This should be a good time
to ponder........to write
but my head feels limited...empty
swelling with something else, that is chilly
this silent.........uptight
uncomfortable summer night
...the hours, consumed with blight
a disappointment outright...
just waiting....for my eyes to give in
no longer defying,
but surrendering,
to the hot...humid
dark wee hours of the morning.
Sally
Copyright May 12, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
My nose is cold
because its the middle
of Winter
but I'm sitting here
on the back verandah
waiting for my soul
to splinter
because its so frustrating
that I'm waiting
for Life to just come
smack me in the face
as I sit here and pity
such a waste...
*What dreams did I imagine
while just watching the river flow?
What real life did just pass by
as I watched another day die,
burnt beneath a fiery glow?*
Slowly does the irritation
leech from my fingertips
Rapidly does the poison
fall from my unmoving lips
Achievement from the sleeping state
is all that I ever seek
but coming from my wakened state
is the havoc that it reeks
*I close my eyes and fall asleep
and ask my demons to hopefully keep
one eye open to look around
for my sanity to be found*
Amen
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
*******
*******
*******
the sky is *******
******* here
in all the pots of beer
this *******
is really quite queer
*******
*******
*******
the sky is *******
******* on the verandah chairs
******* everywhere
******* without a care
*******
*******
*******
the sky is *******
******* up and down town
******* all around
even in the dog pound
*******
*******
*******
what's that you spray?
I mean say
the sky is *******
yeah! the sky is *******
*******
*******
*******
the sky is *******
it swamped all the Englishmen
and drowned Big Ben
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC
spring has most definitely sprung
this morning a pair of pigeons
were imbibing in some birdie ***
the **** mounted the hen
on the neighbor's verandah
they gave not a thought
to those who may have been prudish
they were in the mood
to be openly lewd
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC
Have you ever heard in your mind
the sounds that silence makes
the silence that spreads like music
as in splendor a dewy morning breaks
silence that clings to a Florentine fog
as lone cyclist a cobble street snakes
the silence that hangs heavy
after a heavy down pour finally ends
or await with it for the moment
when heaven its pearly reward sends
they sound so different and surreal
like life’s ethereal myriad bends
the silence that weighty dwells
in wisps, rises from vacant eyes
the silence that fills to the brim
dole, of a beggar’s ripping sighs
silence that hangs like a sword
on fears of unsaid distant byes
silence o endless tormenting silence
you play on a piano’s dusty keys
from a chair that rocks in howling wind
on a lifeless verandah, distant sees
from a score of such like mends
wherefrom one has drunk to ones lees
it speaks no man’s earthly breath
yet heard in shattering numbness
in ache and blight so steeped
in rustle of a long gone worn dress
in raucous merry gay proceeds
or the mirth of a child’s bless
in the time of a frisky bloomy day
or gnaw of a long starry night
the lullaby of distant streaking trains
or the gondola’s reflective sight
the cavort of journeys done together
Echoes the hush of a soundless blight
original
saadat tahir
22nd July, 2k13
Islamabad.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
We're at the point of almost melting
Hellish heatwave is most sweltering
All of us getting an absolute baking
Thermostats are all upwardly rising
Abundant solar activity is happening
Skin on our faces akin to pork crackling
Copious amount of water we're drinking
Our sweaty brows are in need of mopping
Relief from the heat we're always seeking
Cool locales like long verandah shading
Hades is where us folks are now dwelling
Endless hours of excessively high temperatures
Reductions in these would be such a pleasure
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
The train goes rattling down the track
A trail of smoke is at your back.
A spot of soot may close your eye,
To miss the gums as they fly by.
The porter shouts "All tickets please",
To check that all have paid their fees,
The engine driver blows his whistle,
As the view converts to thistle.
Out on the verandah the children play,
"Come inside", the parents say.
From the windows they hang around,
Not a care is to be found.
Traveling onward 'round the bends,
A joyous journey with our friends.
Then at last our stop we reach;
Hooray! Hooray! It is the beach.
Eric Rodda 1996
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Yes, we shall walk through ferns as tall as our waist
And step over the beige colored mushrooms
We'll sit down and dream beside the creek
And let the melody of a cello and harp duet
Refresh us and give us strength anew
We'll live inside that old-fashioned home
With lovely wallpaper in nearly every room
We'll sit down together on the comfortable window seat
Overlooking the dreamy farm with tall, tall grass
And rustic fences here and there in those verdant pastures
We can sip cold Dr. Pepper on the privacy of our verandah
Enjoying the silence together--me and you
We'll stroll through gardens full of iris blooms
Take walks down our flowering cherry tree lane
Walk inside the beautiful forest with wild honeysuckle vines
And periwinkles carpeting the forest floor
Yes, we'll wander aimlessly all day
Maybe walk a few dogs and ride some horses
This is our dream that may never come true
But we'll keep on wishing for it--me and you
~Marian~
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
The lake is smoothed jade after the rain
and only the commercial flotsam
of a lonely plastic Aqua bottle is adrift
on untrammelled waters.
A butterfly of the kind we usually see pinned and dead
drifts by
like me, enjoying the return of the sun,
“mata hari”, the eye of the sky
shining fiercely like Hanuman
from a leaden countenance.
Boys fool by my verandah view offering
to sell me a girl.
The travellers pass through like capsules,
pausing only to bleed money into outstretched palms.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
Bullock carts moving forward
With the music of jingling bells
Women walking like a peahen
Balancing mud pots of water
On their head with a band
Women churning butter from
Milk with the churning rod
Men with their spades to fields
Ready for the ploughing
Boys,with their tool, catapult
Aiming at the juicy mangoes
Little girls running with laughter
To the call of a bangle-seller
Old men sitting in the verandah
Memorising their days of youth
Fruit selling woman calling out loud
Bananas,Apples,Mangoes
Smoke from the chimneys
Like an engine of a train
Red chillies, turmeric and coriander
Spread on sheets in the sunlight
Goats and calves crying out in
Search of their pet homes
Village full of greenery with
Gulmohars, Banyan and Neem
Busy with their daily duties
Happy with no disappointments
The villagers of olden days !
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
We two sitting out upon the verandah
On a Sunday late may cooler afternoon
And you were knitting clicking away
As I sat enjoying a port when very soon
Two birds so high away up in the blue sky
I stopped and turned around looking at you
You looking over your glasses saying .. what
You waiting for my answer a puzzled true
I said look at those two birds away up there
Side by side of how they together as one fly
Both in the very same direction perfectly
And they are only birds will be till they die
You and I can't agree on anything at all
Try to do so we do so every other single day
Since I married you down the street its true
We spend most of conversation arguing I say
They are only birds and always flying as one
Regardless of the weather come what may
And here we are a supposed inteligent species
Yet we argue over everything every single day
terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
Holiday in the Gulf
The intimate ones
With the night shift worn face
Of Uwaisi hospital nurse Clara
The queen of spades
In the attire of
Althaf Hotel boy Kassim
The king of clubs
With the face of my dad
Waiting for the postman
At the verandah of
The half finished house
The king of hearts
With the face of Abu
Staring at my young sister
When he comes to collect
The cut throat interest
Of the never ending debt
Hiding face down
For a full hand sweep
The trump diamond jack
Cornered in the hand
The waste twos and threes
Remember
The jobless gang home
The canal side cards play
Unaware to the opponent
With a scratch mark
Or a creased edge
Hinting the card in hand
The foul-trick playpal...
Breaking the trap
Jumping a fence
When the police ambush
Making me hide
In the abandoned ghost well
The saviour friend Ravunni
Keeping in mind friend
On the next home visit
A job visa for you
Here tonight when I am
Losing games one by one
Behind the opponent stands who
Invisible to prompt his cards
To make me win round by round
By honours and by fulls
On the phone at odd hours
Who is that from away home
What's the news so urgent
In the abandoned ghost well...
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
and so to infinity
if things pan out
it'll be the end
of me.
*** you Bonanza
I'm on the verandah
with a spiced drink
you thought
I think
*** you
cute eh?
but it's melodrama in the
panorama
the doctor tells me
'he would wouldn't he'
(and him never knowing the
Christine that I did)
About this time I'm high
or I was
time gone by
the genie is looking after me
thinks he
as he balances on the edge
of the World.
Atlas
kiss my ***
I'm calling you out.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
I want to be a lavender orchid
on your beaming verandah
That you'll spray water
and I'll see your face every morning.
I want to be a glittering pen
in your pulpy hand case
That you'll write poems
and I'll touch your emotions every day.
I want to be a brooding pillow
on your squishy bed
That you'll sleep deep
and I'll read your dreams every night.
Poem 20
Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007
Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen
Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh
ISBN 984-8700-82-X
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
one fine spring morning
sitting in my chair
newspaper
in hand
basking the sun
in front of my eyes
a scene thus run:
a sparrow perched
on nearby neem tree
sailed to my verandah
and sat on the sill,
in front a looking glass
a while she sat still
a little thoughtful
a little perplexed
finally she was
bitterly vexed.
her own image in the glass
she couldn’t tolerate
to beat it with her bill
at the glass she knocked,
so madly she did drill
as if ‘the other’
she would ****
in doing this
she broke her beak
all over the beak
the blood did spill,
ignorantly her own
she couldn’t bear
mercilessly her own
with her own beak tear.
frequently she visits,
she now understands,
she comes with her company
but I never saw the repeat,
she and her company
seem to have known
the harmony in Nature
to places they have flown.
WE ‘the roof and crown of things’
spill blood of our brothers
some times on 9/11
in US and fly
again in Jaipur and
Bombay high.
How long will go on this ****** trail?
When will the harmony in man prevail?
C. P. Sharma
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
***********
....................so let me narrate
about the rain and sun...off and on, they alternate
i wait......i sigh when my moon is not there, and night is late,
no moon tonight...just rain, it's mist wakes me often nowadays
my eyes squint, and blink...to clear off the gloom, the gray,
the sky is sadly white this morning
ashen.....like my thoughts... paling
trees are stilled.... rooster is crowing
rain, from the leaves are dripping
i must not be swayed by the vast grieving skies
may there be no tears falling from my eyes
let me hear angels' laughter and giggles, instead of cries
let me share their pain
i wish to see them smiling again
let me speak to God
stand with my moon up above
i seek Him now
i so need Him now
He seems too far to hear
yet, i know, i feel...He is always near
there...at the verandah these past nights
i've been waiting for that magical glow of light
a sign...that my hopes and prayers may soon take flight
be heard, and granted...after this dark, rainy night...
calendar says it won't be soon....
though i'm grateful for a quarter...it's a boon
but, i really want it full...so, i wait for my august moon.
Sally
Copyright August 8, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
**********
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 7:11 AM UTC
Sunstroke.
There is nothing in the way she looks at me
that would lead me to believe
she'd ever read a book with me
or take tea out on the verandah.
Miranda
Miranda
I dream of Miranda out on the verandah with me
wish she could see what I feel
Wish I could steal her away for a day
wish she would say
'hey
how are you doing
I've got the tea brewing
come out to the verandah'
Oh Miranda
you make my heart ache
wish I could take you and make you believe
put my heart on your sleeve
put my lips against yours.
I woke up out of doors
I'd fallen asleep in the sun
waiting just waiting for Miranda to come.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
it was only a little house,
two bedrooms, small in space, a kitchen, bathroom
and living area..
some woul call it quaint,
others run-down and dilapidated...
...but it was
a happy place....even if it
sat alone ...bar a jacaranda tree...out in the middle of
a drygrass sea...
on the outside, the paint
had peeled and the boards
had begun to warp...
the yard was dry brown
grass and dryer red dust,
the roof, corrugated tin
was dull with age....
the door, was once painted
a bright hopeful blue
but now faded like old
denim... on the verandah
two chairs a table.....and
an old cattledog....
the bell, a suprising ******
but inside that ramshackle
house... that stood by luck
and will alone....
was a home....filled to the brim with love....
the old couple who lived there...
still held hands ....still looked
at each other with love and
longing.....still danced to the old record player most nights....
still slept wrapped in each others arms....
still bickered and fought
then made up....with a lasting passion....
still wished for, more days
together in the sun....
these are my memories
of my aunt beth and uncle
wilf.....
and the house,
they made a home....
out in the middle of nowhere....
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
the air is crisp
as i sit on the front
verandah, snuggled up
in wooly hoodie, flannel
pyjamas and ugg boots
hands wrapped around
a large mug of steaming
coffee
watching those with more
enthusiasim, than nouse
riding up the hill in bright
lycra body suits.
the weekend pelaton rides
on to wherever.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
A little empty that morning
she sat on the top step
of the verandah
sipping tea, sipping thought.
Three steps down to the pavement
squares of sandstone
lay in even handed rhythms;
flatly refusing to contour.
He’d moved away last week; big bloke, big smile
could clasp four pavers in one hand,
laid the lot inside ten days,
maybe a record, who could say.
Completed, the pavement was now empty of him,
no more scraping back, no more chipping out,
no more broad smiling hands
reaching for her cups of tea.
She missed this; as she missed the slightly flat renditions of
‘midnight oil’ and ‘fleetwood mac’, the **** of his straw hat
and the farewell call of... "see you sometime in the morning suze..."
(always at exactly 6.30 a.m.)
He was big on tea,
said he was glad
to meet someone who knew it
wasn’t merely the dis-colouration of milk.
She’d smile at that, he was right,
things like tea were best, given time to infuse.
She sipped her tea, sipped her thoughts
and the deeper taste that came with a little time.
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 1:13 AM UTC