Best Carpenters Poems
(Sing to the tune of Close to You, by
the Carpenters)
Why, O, why this night has nary a clue
Yet, my darling how you always knew
Dream of the night is just me and you
Just me and you
Why, O, why stars up high zealously pry
When doting moon vies marigold skies
They love it too, the dream is so true
Just me and you
When so far you are, yet so close you feel
How earnestly whispers of longing plea
Unveil gently the missives of memories
Just you and me, sweet as can be, yearning to be
Why, O, why nightingales echo the tune
When song of the dawn robins croon
They love it too, the dream is so true
Just me and you
When so far you are, yet so close you feel
How earnestly whispers of longing plea
Unveil gently the missives of memories
Just you and me, sweet as can be, yearning to be
Why, O, why this night has nary a clue
Yet, my darling how you always knew
The song of the dawn is just me and you
Just me and you
The song of the dawn is just me and you
Just me and you
Ah, just me and you
La, just me and you
Ah, just me and you
La, just me and you
October 13, 2021
Poem of the day on October 14, 2021
Solitary sun in sapphire skies,
beams its rays upon Earth's radiance.
A tepid breeze flows between
daffodils and bluebells, gently rocking.
Spring is in the air,
yet streets remain silent.
Masked men in green suits,
bearing arms, patrol -
perturbed by unsought peace.
Anticipating unauthorised motions,
they wander past eerie emptiness -
sleeping theatres, picture less cinemas,
sober bars, childless schools and unfit gyms.
Silence is disrupted by military vehicles
occasionally startling their comrades.
Echoes of continuous coughs,
hidden behind closed curtains,
prevent even the obstinate ones,
admiring scents from rousing roses -
whose petals are not idle in isolation.
Industry of death is thriving -
undertakers undertaking, grave diggers digging.
Crematoriums fighting coffin carpenters -
whose sympathies are disguised by greed.
As humanity evolves into ashes.
In the midst of clean air,
mother nature smiles,
bathing in tranquil purity of serenity
the only fire burning is the sun.
Silent One
Simple Musing
22 March 2020
My favorite verse from THE soft rock song of my youth
Hit song of 1969 by the Carpenters:
(They Long To Be) Close To You
(middle stanza of the song)
"On the day that you were born
the angels got together and decided
to create a dream come true
so they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue."
Dream Boy
To fall for him I needed just one look
and after that, he had me on his hook -
a fact which I’m not sure he even knew!
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.
I lived for those church dances in his town.
I’d see him there but always feel let down.
Girls followed him around. What could I do?
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.
Not being in his orbit or his school,
I longed for him and simply played the fool.
The fantasy for me would not come true!
Dream boy with hair of gold and eyes of blue.
Dedicated to Chris Frogley, wherever now he may be.
For the "I Love Rock 'N roll" Poetry contest of Kelly Deschler
Line of enquiry:
Instrumentalising mind, I rested thought
employing it only when needed
shifting to heart, I became self-taught
gentling touch, voice of conscience heeded.
Intellect and intuition are like a sword and shield.
One cuts through darkness to bring clarity,
the other is an internal compass protecting the lost.
Both are formed polished, vigorous and gallant,
but through the struggles of each battle,
become ineffective when not revived.
My mind plays like a piano
and I am its pianist.
When I sit upon the cliffs of doubt,
it seems to be sleepwalking into a
chaotic jungle of consciousness,
where the symphony ignores the song sheet.
I don't want my words to be forgotten.
There is no reality in this reverie,
so the soul yearns to be free,
like a seagull soaring above stormy seas,
towards a sapphire and ivory skyline.
Sometimes skies can resemble fire,
where flames appear too strong,
so my internal wings seek refuge.
To heal from the noise, I lose myself
in the stillness of solitude.
In my loneliness, ego screams,
so I escape from this echo chamber,
by starving it from unworthy self praise
but if I do not love myself,
who will love me?
When dwelling upon the mountain of overthinking,
my spirit is unable to adapt to the flutes of fate,
but I ignore the provocation of poison.
I listen to the musicality of my heart,
releasing the strings of attachment.
I burn myself to light up the blackness,
composing lyrics from adversity's lessons.
I am a metaphor for a star,
touching the divine horizons,
sparkling, but still learning from the
'see saw' emotions of my heart and mind.
We are all carpenters in life,
with different tools to master our minds,
trying to control the outlook of our emotions.
As rivers of wisdom integrate smoother,
when we build bridges of compassion over them.
"Why do stars fall down from the sky?"
Oh, they have heard song of your heart
Lauding verse of seasons gone by
Strumming rhythms, love-passions impart.
When dreams evoke notions of glee,
Why do stars fall down from the sky?
For "just like me, they long to be"
Chasing themes of love in your eye.
When your smile, Venus and Moon vie,
“And starlight in your eyes of blue”
Why do stars fall down from the sky?
You know it’s true, your love they woo.
“Why do birds suddenly appear?”
To cheer your soul and soothe your sigh;
Deep in your heart, you know my dear,
Why do stars fall down from the sky.
All four lines from Carpenters’ song: Close to You
"Why do stars fall down from the sky?"
"Just like me, they long to be"
“And starlight in your eyes of blue”
“Why do birds suddenly appear?”
Surrounded by various profession
Business, medicine, soldiership and education
It's heaven-sent and planned for Him to labour
To work manually with strength and effort
True hardships; entails a great man of honor
He picked up woods and tools to craft
From small drawers and tables to houses that will last
An impression of humility and expression of equality
Though He is reverence; a Saviour from heaven
Joseph was the adoptive father
Where His skill of carpentry originated
He worked night and day; perspired with pain
He asked of no demand and with no complain
The name is Jesus born in Betlehem
The only begotten son of our Father in heaven
He could have worked in another occupation
But chose to make a living from down-below
Carpenters make
Carpenters create
They take the common and make it something to consider
Equipped with right materials they bind things altogether
The reason-being, for us to know He's a builder
Don't you know that we're under construction?
Whenever our hearts broken and the world is all we know
When we pray and call, Jesus is at work
To fix us and forgive; improving mind and soul
No work is greater if hardwork is shared
Truly, Jesus had proven that a carpenter's noble
To help us build our dreams and make the world stronger
"In Him, all things hold together"'.
The Carpenters in their time were defining,
Offered their fans so much more than more,
Uncanny that the words of this song keep returning,
For the brave Ukrainians, a heartfelt encore.
Why does the sun go on shining,
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me anymore?
Why do people keep on sighing, God is all knowing
He is with, and loves each victim on either side,
Because of this war families are dying, HE is hurting,
That one man with ego changed a country’s tide
Why do the birds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when I lost your love
First thing in the morning and every night
For their peace I am constantly praying,
How cruel to say goodbye to the who must fight,
Husbands, fathers, children or brothers, crying.
I wake up in the morning and I wonder
Why everything is the same as it was
I can't understand, no, I can't understand
How life goes on the way it does
So many widows, soldiers dying every day,
So many orphans from this uncalled slaughter,
Innocents whose lives have suddenly gone array,
I saw a man on the news, cradling his infant daughter.
Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye
The Ukrainians must win, no more goodbyes
Not the end of the world, but a new beginning,
For without a shadow of doubt the good guys,
Must live to record history, their pride rimming.
PS Inspired by the song sung by the Carpenters (IN ITALICS) THE END OF THE WORLD
Author: Runping Chen
The desk sends forth its particular fragrance
That gladden people’s hearts.
That is the sweet-smelling of the old camphor bodies
And into the impression of my childhood immerses.
The shade extended my fellow villagers’ strolling;
Countless summer nights embraced people’s joyful cooling.
The huge and tabescent trunk held up
The wind and frost for generations’ living.
The refreshing breeze was kissing the head of the tree.
Kindly pulled the old camphor closer
Some strands of cooking smokes
Vaguer and vaguer.
The production teams’ whistles were resounding over the village,
And grownups shouldered the sun and moon
Hurrying to the hills and fields
While the old camphor collected the children’s imaginative yields.
--In its chest
The childhoods would not be lonely and flurried
Counting from the stitches of leaves
Thousands and thousands of suns.
Many rivers of time were flowing around;
With no sense of time, the sadness I’ve known.
Since I was away, many shifts of the sunrise and sunset
I came back home and found the old camphor fallen on the ground.
It’s lying on the ground with no voice and sound,
Being dying and breathing
The merely last fragrance of its life
In front of the horrible carpenters who circled around.
The carpenters held their stainless saws
Ignoring the old camphor’s itches and aches.
On its shoulder was an owl
With the mouth open, and family ruined after all.
Prizing up the mouth for no use of vomiting sadness,
The birds sang no songs any more in the sky
Because they could hardly find back
Houses and household articles among the green leaves.
Children carried in both hands the remains of the old camphor’s bones,
Hating to pile them in the firewood house.
When the setting sun was sliding down the west hill ridges,
I walked back and forth around the old camphor tree.
Who was this white haired Claus
With rabbit teeth?
Carrying a ton of peanuts
For all to eat.
Dragged in a sleigh pulled
By Agnew and Nixon,
Who ran right beside
Donnar and Blitzen?
He circled Camp David,
A fast fly by;
With lox and bagels for
the Jewish guys.
A carpenters’ pencil
Was poised by his ear,
And boxes of nails dangled,
From the gear in the rear.
Why! Its Jolly Ole Carter Claus
Draped in menorahs.
Handing out home plans to
the Arab before us.
Visions of world peace
Danced in his head;
As, he flew straight to Afghanistan
‘Fore noggin hit bed.
When down from the sky
In the form of deer dung,
Fell fruit tree seeds
Too be sown in the sun.
And, as CarterClaus’ whip cracked
O’er Nixon's ear,
As Agnew blanched,
His eyes filling with tears.
Droplets hit sand with
A plop and a splatter
’Pon the fruit tree seeds with
Nary a clatter.
The desert grew green;
Trees sprouted and grew;
Hearts filled with wonder,
Bellies with stew.
Homes were rebuilt,
as before the fall,
Cook fires were lit.
Children grew tall.
And Ole Carter Claus
Flew home in a daze.
Passing out sandwiches
That Roslyn had made.
Notre Dame...Notre Dame...
your eight hundred years of wisdom’s gone;
eight hundred years of beauty strong;
architectural sage, Notre Dame.
Notre Dame your life has seen
so many broken centuries and
oh, the stories your stones could tell,
told by the ringing of your bells.
Will they rebuild you once again?
Will your façade grace more eyes and
then will you be the same as once;
can France’s spirit overcome this loss?
Survivor of revolution and two world wars;
you’ve stood beyond the bombing hoards.
How many strove to give you life?
Their legacy’s now a burning pyre.
One hundred eighty two years of sweat;
poured into stone and minaret.
Gothic, stained glass beauty of Pa-ree,
such blood and sweat poured into thee.
Oh Notre Dame...Notre Dame;
survivor of eight centuries;
what’s now to become of thee?
Written 4-15-19
As an artist, I am sorrowful for this beautiful loss but, glad that no lives were lost. When I think of those who poured their life’s work into Notre Dame’s Beauty, the artist, architects, stonemasons, carpenters and more, I feel an even stronger sense of loss than just that of an
"On the day that you were born the angels got together and decided to create
a dream come true " lyrics by Burt Bacharach for Carpenters' "Close to You"
Angelic was my love – a vision!
He made me develop something
maybe close to tunnelvision
for him, a heavenly young thing!
I swear rapture was in his eyes.
Angelic was my love – a vision.
Radiant was he as sunrise.
Perfection needs no revision.
Day one there was a collision -
chemistry we could not deny.
Angelic was my love – a vision.
On wings of bliss I learned to fly.
Kisses and caresses sublime.
It was not a hard decision
to give to him all my sweet time.
Angelic was my love – a vision!
Splinters in his hands
The thorns of his profession
Wait to be removed
A dream comes to life
Under his hands it takes shape
Satisfaction reigns
He creates beauty
Wood yields to his artistry
A carpenter’s hands…
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The impressive mighty trees
Are birthed from such small seed
Drawing resilience from the sun
And earth’s fertile garden bed
Trees wooden trunk has shaped
And sustained for centuries many in varied ways
Some over and upon oceans wide
Where waves stroke shapely hulls
And lull to sleep the hapless venturer
Trusting in woods durable strength and buoyancy
And from such crafted boughs
And whispered sounds
Her meekness and strength is seen and heard
Like the creaks of grandma’s rocking chair
Where the hapless wanderer was first rocked to sleep
Trees have cradled and rocked in their arms
High and low of this world
The greatest of these was in a lowly manger
In an animals crib
But for this one tree its destiny was marked
Chosen before time
For on this tree’s wooden shoulders
It bore God’s greatest gift–
A Holy Child born - Like it-
For one purpose only –
To become accursed - on its wooden cross
To bear the sins of All
The Holy Son then rose - triumphantly from earth’s fertile soil
Into His Father’s arms
© Brenda V Northeast 11th March 2012
Built to suit, a perfect fit
a joining squared and plumb
This and all the more we seek
for life's perfect companion
And then it dawned upon my mind
to compare a little while
how wood be whittled and pieces of metal
are crafted into function with style
The strongest piece of joinery is not the grade of wood
But rather the one that's fashioned together
Two pieces "made one" that would
support and strengthen the other for better
And share in the load that they bare
Welded and melded so perfectly fit
in the joy and the burdens they share
It's a marriage of the perfectly knit
Similarities of strength or texture
the details that make us what we are
mixtures of colors blended together
best and better to be joined than apart
People like tools and the carpenters bench
sawdust floating round the air
Building and tearing and building again
the proofs in the tool called a square
For all the angles, fractions and lines
blades that break and nail curling signs
You can see the heart worth investing
in patience for the course of time
The perfect fit is not a trip
of hope so's, maybe's and try's
It's seeing the plan and knowing you can
It's holding it all in your hands
If your lucky enough to ever find
that perfect companion to share a life
fashioned and squared head to hind
beholding finally for that which you strived
Oh the pride, what it must be like
Like building the very door to your life
The one through which you'll come and go
from now till the end of your life
(For my bestie T-bird on your wedding day- under the arbor made of doors I made for your alter. How dearly I love you)
About a dream
I had just lost my way in a wooded ,
Dark village. Trying to explore, through an
Open hall where carpenters work, I find
The hall’s other side walled up. I am told
To take another path which further on
Is blocked by a thatched shed with a table
On top of which are a roasted chicken
And side by a small, skeletal, bizarre
Human figure. Three, four men are asleep
On the floor. To them I declare without
The least thought :’I am your saviour’. The one
Who looks like the leader in colorful
Long robes rises, smiles and prepares to speak.
Right then, something wakes me up and I find
My wife in deep sleep had just put her arm
Over me. The morning finds my daughter
Ill and my plans for the day cancelled.
@ 26/ Nov/12
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For: Leonora Galinta’s ‘Waking up’ contest