Poems about board


є 1188489

Board Games

I feel like now playing chess
Through hasty key commands
We're on equal standing

board,  games.

Author: ezra jason
Date: 18/03/2020

є 1176063

Surfer Without A Board

I drift around the shores of cyber space
Looking for that big wave
I am known as the Imprinter
The surfer without a board

I play with havoc as hard as hell
Do dark to hide I am from glorious Heaven
So think me nice and rather cool
For I am the surfer without a board

I am, a mirror in times fabric
A telly tally time bomb
Some know me as Lord
But I like, the surfer without a board

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

board,  surfer.

Author: Christos Andreas Kourtis
Date: 07/03/2020

є 1159551

The Notice Board

This board is not on the wall. It rests on a worktable against a wall. It's almost the length of the table, perhaps a foot short. On top of the board its wooden frame makes a shelf ideal for photographs or cards to balance precariously, photographs and cards too precious to pin. Today there are five, yes they change from day to day, and today (from left to right) there's an original drawing in walnut ink of a winter field, a photo of two children looking from a cliff top towards a peninsula's end, a card called Autumn Spey from a lithograph by Angie Lewin, an invitation to a gallery opening, and a What's On brochure вАУ from another gallery вАУ showing some unusual tapestry.

The Notice Board is 100 x 60 cm. The wooden frame is slight, probably home-made, but well-made, with a dark brown hessian surface. Not that you can see much of the surface as it is covered with stuff: photographs, images, poems, pictures, cards, quotations, a prayer, an origami bird, a doctor's prescription, a piece of tapestry, an invitation, an address, lists galore, a cheque or two, a diagram (of a knot), a concert program. Not everything can be seen directly as many items are shared by a single pin and hidden four, even six, notices deep. Every so often the items are unpinned and consigned to a folder and filed, and so the process of choosing and pinning starts over again. This can happen after a holiday, returning uncluttered by days walking the cliff paths with only the quiet sea to gaze at and the cottage blissfully free of things known, things owned. So when back at the desk, in front of the notice board, it seems right to be beginning again.

Mozart's Linz Symphony is playing quietly in the background. It's that time of day when music is sometimes allowed to frame work at this desk and blot out the going home noise of buses in the city street moving away from the stop three floors below. Linz, the capital of Upper Austria and now a large industrial city straddling the banks of the Danube, once gave its name to Linzertorte, a cake of jam, cloves, cinnamon, and almonds, and this remarkable symphony by Mozart. The composer had only just married his Constanza and wrote to his long suffering father:

When we reached the gates of Linz. . . , we found a servant waiting there to drive us to Count Thun's, at whose house we are now staying. I really cannot tell you what kindnesses the family are showering on us. On Tuesday, November 4, I am giving a concert in the theatre here and, as I have not a single symphony with me, I am writing a new one at break-neck speed, which must be finished by that time. Well, I must close, because I really must set to work.

And set to work he did. He had just 4 days to compose, write the parts (though Constanza helped), and rehearse an orchestra. Such is life for the working composer, even today. Maybe not a summons from a beneficent Count, but a phone-call from a producer with a deadline. It is the film or TV score to be composed at break-neck speed. And it can be done, believe me. It may not be sublime as Mozart, but it gets done: there are ways and means.

But this is today's background, and as these words are written the gracious siciliano of the Symphony No. 36 plays away. Such a tender confection.

Looking up at the notice board where does one start? Each pinned piece is a divertissement, an aide memoire to times, events, places, and people. It is a mixture of the colourful, the curious, the necessary, the unusual, the nostalgic, and the personally precious. These things are the qualifications required to occupy a place on this board.

But now Haydn takes over the musical background, Symphony No. 88. No descriptive name here, just his wonderful music: his first symphony to score trumpets and timpani, and with more than a touch of Turkish in the Minuetto and Finale.

So close your eyes now (let's listen to Haydn for a while), then slowly open them and choose from the notice board what first catches your attention.

It's a coloured sketch of flowers on an A5 sheet of cartridge paper. It is outlined delicately in pen, coloured variously with pastels, green, orange, purple, red. The vase is a glass bowl. It's set on a window-sill and there's the frame of a window faintly rendered. There's no artifice in the arrangement. These are flowers from a garden, picked and now firmly thrust into the bowl. Immediately the long, quiet east-facing room comes alive to colour. It's in shade now the sun has moved since midday when the flowers arrived after a journey of 40 miles in a hot car wrapped in moist newspaper and silver foil. It is a special gift and its beauty remains vivid for days. When visitors visited gentle comments are made on their fresh colours.

At night when the room is only lit by a standard lamp standing by a pale yellow settee the flowers sleep in the darkness, holding a vivid memory of a day of colour and light. A recording of the Schumann quartets plays passionately during the вАШclose to the end of summer' evenings. Hands are held, and between movements there is an occasional exploratory kiss. Such was their collective fear of passion overcoming other endeavours. . .

In the early morning time when she slept in the room next door oblivious to his wakefulness he would enter the long studio room with its four windows to find the first sunlight patterning the floor. The flowers were wide-awake, their perfume rich in the still morningtime. He would stand entranced to see such beauty brought from her city garden; the first of many gifts he would come to treasure. His sketch was an amateur's, but four summers past it continued to give much joy and dear memories. It had something of the solemnity of Mozart's siciliano, and if an image could be said to have a right tempo, it had a right tempo, a gracefulness roughly hewn perhaps, but full of grace.

board,  notice.

Author: Nigel Morgan
Date: 21/02/2020

є 1154232

A Foggy Window Drawing Board

Breathing life onto a cold clear surface
Is what God can do, I think.
Mixing a swirling crescendo
Of silhouettes upon a backdrop
Of cars, streets, trees, people.

Exhale quickly, and draw quicker
Life disappears before you finish
Into the quagmire, the muck of the bend
Temporary distraction for a transitory

Inhale quietly, don't steal the heat
Perspiration, steam, and fog
Cover up each picture like
Time-worn scabs,

But when the fog fades
The imprints stare back at you
A lumpy mesh of creation
Without soul, without release
Stuck in the drawing board.

board,  drawing,  foggy,  window.

Author: Ian Webber
Date: 16/02/2020

є 1063251

Bed board open door

I have this new beginning
To this end
I've been writing
To this wall
I've been fighting
To hold up
And now all
The biting
All the loose pen
Is holding up
Some lighting
In my mind
I see that the backboard
Has always been
A closed door
Waiting for something
Waiting for more
And it's strange
I've known you
All along
And you've never
Really gone
And now
You're hear
Slowly cracking
Down the door
That I only
Knew before
As a dark space
A bad place
That hid
Behind my head
Now your lying
In my bed
And instead
Of deceit
And picking off
My meat
You tuck
Me soft
To sleep
And kiss
My broken
I finally have realized
That you are full
Of no lies
No disguise
And now I'm glad to say
You are all mine

bed,  board,  door,  open.

Author: Hannah Elisabeth Johnston
Date: 26/11/2019

є 1047490

Board games

Can I take a vacation
To a place you dont really stay in
To the place where your thoughts reside
To a place that's much like mine

So can I take a vacation
I promise I won't be long
Ill take a peak into your thoughts
To see what you have been taught

Because what we've learned mustn't be the same
Considering you treat me like I am a game
A board you've been around quite a few times
One you win because of cheats and lies
But see you won't come out on top again
Because now I have more twists and bends
I've gotten stronger quicker faster
And I'll probably leave you in the dust
Because I've caught on to your lies and now you lack lust
So goodluck to the next girl you decide play
Because I'm sure she'll catch on and I know she won't stay

board,  games.

Author: Alicia Major
Date: 11/11/2019

є 1032289

The Board of Education ...

Old Man Kennedy's ghost haunts these -
Hallways just as always
Forever seeking a student without a pass,
Prima facie evidence for a swat on the ass
Though his likeness today is sealed in portrait glass,
He continually peers into each door window -
To monitor the class
His dress shoes still echo throughout this -
Former place of learning
Seeking the naughty with unquenchable yearning*...

board,  education.

Author: Randolph L Wilson
Date: 28/10/2019

є 1023898

The board meeting.

Oh look
Big chair
CEO walks in
Followed by peasants
Bowing and scraping
Licking his bum
Bet you
He will sit in the big chair
20 mins already
I am board
He saYs
He sorry
Open ears
And fucker sat in that there chair
He asks how are we today?

I cracked
More of a wipe lash
Now just fuck off out

Big bump
Little bump
A city that's falling
If the CEO
Up the top
Is not falling to
Try do try
To hold his hand
Stop him hitting the ground
Hold him
And blow his mind
For down here
We are what you are a man
For whats is me normal
That's not normal
Normal service will be resumed
The light
Was here
Then was not
Water Fall.

board,  meeting.

Author: Paul Hardwick
Date: 21/10/2019