Six square panes, so varied and solid,
In painted arrays of quiet and light,
Four windows per side, a glorious sight.
Of eight casting shadows on wood-grain and rite.
On Sunday, the benches hold twenty souls,
With standing room only in pious rows,
Embracing the flock as the morning wind blows.
Across the green of the country lane, resting
Beyond the pale borders of Protestant ground,
The Catholic services welcome the weary
At The Painted Church, the painted panes are found.
Yet both of the steeples reach up to the blue.
*In the 90’s, lava destroyed the Protestant Church that was later rebuilt in the main town. The Catholic Church, best known as The Painted Church, was lifted onto an 18-wheeler flatbed to a secluded spot, one mile from where the lava flow came to an end. Father Damien made it of historic significance.
aboard the 71, about halfway down the left side
i sit facing forward, heart leaping as he embarks—
he’s on the way to the grocery store,
or his sister’s house,
or work, but he’s running late;
standing room only
he grabs a handle facing me.
he catches my eye and i his,
waves at me with all five fingers and
i wish to hold them in mine, trace
the outline of the bones in his hand,
look into his eyes deeply,
see what’s true;
two stops later, a seat opens up on the right—
one row ahead.
dark, curly hair.
i take measured glances,
don't stare don't draw unwanted attention.
i want his arms around me,
to look into his eyes some more.
he disembarks.
The type of place you hear about,
The locals tell you ‘Go check it out.’
The walls trap echos of laughter,
haunting the outdoor heaters long after;
It could be a break up that leads you there,
or the desire for a shot or an ice cold beer;
That’s not all that happens when you find it,
conversations become the addictive habit;
Music fuels the vibe at 2 in the morning;
Come last call? You know you’re not leaving;
People come together, no longer strangers,
turn up the rhythm, we are a force of nature;
A lot like the cars in the parking lot,
packing standing room only at this spot;
You can’t get this press from a promoter,
Just one night; you’ll fall hard for Coasters.
The west winds of springtime
Brought forth April showers
That rained on the pavements
Of Southwick for hours.
It was standing room only
And full to the brim
As people sought shelter
At the old Tabard Inn.
A man with a top hat
Sat staring in space.
There was illness and sadness
Etched deep in his face.
A man with a fob watch
Was seen swapping gold
For a bottle of whisky
Before facing the cold.
A woman sighed deeply
Then laughed with a guest
While sipping tap water
And winning at chess.
There was no chef so no food
Since that dark violent day
When the innkeeper watched him
Being stretchered away.
So the sailor (being followed)
Missed having his tea,
And drank five pints of real ale
Before leaving for sea.
I've got a reading!
And the venue's all sold out.
It's an old phone booth
that some company threw out.
Standing room only
you can get in by arrangement
I'll just hop out
for the term of your engagement.
If you show up
you won't even need a mask
'cause you'll be standing
on the far side of the glass.
My voice sounds muffled
in the sound-proof enclosure
so my poetry won't really
be getting much exposure.
For my fan base
it's the ideal place to show.
See, I can do the reading
and no one else will know.
It was the school semester of 1971,
I was a volunteer usherette at the university theater,
in order to attract more people for plays,
our uniforms were red hot pants and white blouses,
we seated the audience including wives and spouses.
Older women who attended glared at our attire,
jealousy and resentment filled the theatrical air,
men stared at our legs and not at our faces,
the live performance was in the aisles
as we pranced along sashsaying creating smiles.
By mid semester there was a full house,
standing room only consisting of men,
a Shakespearean play was presented on stage,
the actors were upstaged and resented the fact
the hot pants attired usherettes made an impact.
standing room only
everybody's here
the crowd is crazy
glad you could make it here
we gotta show to do
we have some memories
to make
standing room only
for goodness sakes
ladies and gentlemen
the fabulous
fabulous........
welcome everybody
the show is kinda hype
we gon do our thang
hope that you like(it)
something very special
applaud to let them know
standing room only
everyone enjoy the show!
In Niagara Falls Canada
Visitors come from all over
To visit this popular site
In the Niagara Falls area
A Niagara Falls site packed
The Lady of The Mist is here
Always a line up for the tour
Rain or shine -people come
Tourist dressed in rain capes
Wait for their tuen on the lady
When The lady of The mist tour
begins
Only a few can go- Standing room only
When she gets closer to the falls
Everyone in their capes
Get soaked by the waterfall
It is part of the fun
Some days the trouser snake wont sleep,
he has a simple mind, to take me to the place
men like, that rests with womankind
And in a dance when only twenty, tight
trousers were the rage, young waist and
body pressed to mine he popped out of
his cage
His size increased to take the stage while
girls at side did giggle, to see this creature
kick and jump, to ‘Beatles’ fiesty jiggle
So I sat down while he stood up, I cursed
and swore to kill him, while maiden fair
with thighs of gold pretended not to see him
And later when I walked her home, and asked
her for a date, she answered yes and coyly said,
”Don’t forget your mate”
the last supper only twelve were invited for betrayal and the cross
and today only ten make it to share the table of control
when I open my door I run out of chairs as a meal is to be shared
standing room only they flock to partake the smiles and wine
as ninety bangs on the door for a full belly and dreams come to non
religion long gone embrace the world of starvation
power as the rich and mighty pretend to care tax free
the world on its axis do not revolved solutions but tax on my soul
I give you a chance to make it right.
an appeal to the ten to save my soul believing you meant it.
so tomorrow I will wake to flowers and forget me not
I feed the outside cat as she knows I am the only one caring for the abandonment
write write her tiger strips she is gentle to rub my feet begging for a meal.
I'm immobile by deafening chants of my fans.
Mounted on a grand stage draped in humiliation
The arena is packed standing room only
Murmurs of insults produce a grievous boom echoes in my head
You, Me, Someone, Anyone Say Something!
Slashed to pieces by your taunts
Pummeled, pounded, and mauled seeming to erase my exsistence
Cornered, trapped held captive by fear
My cries go unheard ashamed of my weakness
You, Me, Someone, Anyone Say Something!
Branded, labeled gripped daily by hail storms of fist,
bruises, scrapes, stupid, ugly, gay, punk, B!t@#.......
Scar me to the depth of my soul.
You, Me, Someone, Anyone Say Something
Bullying is no longer only on the big screen, it's in our faces
Don't downplay it until it hits home
We are losing to many young lives to BULLYING
The final ACT is.................. DEATH
YOU, ME, SOMEONE, ANYONE SAY SOMETHING!
In crowded spaces, falling down:
Toward the sky into the ground,
And always landing "out-of-bounds"
As I lie awake on sleeping sounds
No room to dwell in Heaven's Hell,
No lies confessed, nor Truths to tell
The Demon's region, and Poets in legion-
Oh! My words, forever quelled!
I find myself sprawled on the floor
Frantically trying to gather the pieces
My heart has been shattered
Jagged, sharp, crimson colored shards
I lay wounded, unaware of my surrounding
The surface is hard and cold, a slab of granite
A crowd of onlookers, strangers stop to stare
They gasp in disbelief at the spectacle
I have a front row seat, standing room only
The sunlight has pierced my soul, I lay exposed
Heartbroken, abandoned, dignity is out the window
I'm holding a bloody big chunk of my heart
I tell myself, breathe in, breath out
I close my eyes, so that I may see with clarity
With eyes closed, the view is breathtaking
Healed, healthy, vibrant and alive
Still with my eyes closed, wide open, I see the crowd
They begin to applaud, then quickly disperse
I become the lone witness as my heart heals itself
As the darkness explodes into sunlight, triumph
Delete sadness. Insert hope.
I hear someone in the crowd singing my song
~Rick Berry
Bar is standing room only
Poetry reading
Hopefuls and veterans make the scene
Rub shoulders
Drinks in hand
Crowd at the bar
The place closes down
Quietly people move
Like silent shadows
Leaving
Without saying goodbye.
Nighttime
Second Avenue alive
Young people congregate
Hustlers stand on corners
Neon lights twinkle in the night
A few street people
Sit in a doorway
Huddled and lost
Hustle for change
Something to eat
Playing music that only the stars can hear
The beat of the city goes on
Never stopping
Undiminshed
Only the vastness of night
Reminds us
That we belong somewhere.
The Texas Lunch lies in my memories
A corner hamburger stand
Just a counter and standing room only
For the best burgers in the land
Now Texas Pete didn’t hail from Texas
From Greece came he and his wife
They came to work for the American dream
And for a better way of life
They had a genuine love for this country
Working hard to make their dream come true
And raised a respectable family
Doing all that they could do
There wasn’t a man in town who didn’t know Pete
His personality had a lasting effect
He earned more than just a living
He earned the town’s undying respect
Whenever I walk down Broad Street
I look over where it used to be
I can still see the Texas Lunch
In the back of my memory
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