Thompson's Lunch Room Grand Central Station

Related poetry:

1. Dinner in a Quick Lunch Room Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn, Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars; Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars Fantastically alive with subtle scorn; Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters, Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere; Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear, A screaming fife, […]...
2. Empty Room The clock disserts on punctuation, syntax. The clock’s voice, thin and dry, asserts, repeats. The clock insists: a lecturer demonstrating, Loudly, with finger raised, when the class has gone. But time flows through the room, light flows through the room Like someone picking flowers, like someone whistling Without a tune, like talk in front of […]...
3. Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel Light spreads darkly downwards from the high Clusters of lights over empty chairs That face each other, coloured differently. Through open doors, the dining-room declares A larger loneliness of knives and glass And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads An unsold evening paper. Hours pass, And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds, […]...
4. In The Baggage Room At Greyhound I In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal Sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart Worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in the night-time red downtown heaven Staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering these thoughts were not eternity, nor the poverty […]...
5. The room you know how it is with the room The door is frequently locked As i pass a white sigh Is pushed out from under As i bend to retrieve it The wood quivers with a woman’s breath There is a ruffle of crying Through the keyhole i am able To glimpse a red dress Clawing […]...
6. Floorless Room, The I Wish that my Room had a Floor! I don’t so Much Care for a Door, But this Crawling Around Without Touching the Ground Is Getting to be Quite a Bore!...
7. 'Twas comfort in her Dying Room ‘Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock Diversion from the Dying Theme To hear the children play But wrong the more That these could live And this of ours must die....
8. Messy Room Whosever room this is should be ashamed! His underwear is hanging on the lamp. His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair, And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp. His workbook is wedged in the window, His sweater’s been thrown on the floor. His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV, And […]...
9. Room 7: The Coco-Fiend I look at no one, me; I pass them on the stair; Shadows! I don’t see; Shadows! everywhere. Haunting, taunting, staring, glaring, Shadows! I don’t care. Once my room I gain Then my life begins. Shut the door on pain; How the Devil grins! Grin with might and main; Grin and grin in vain; Here’s […]...
10. Autobiography At An Air-Station Delay, well, travellers must expect Delay. For how long? No one seems to know. With all the luggage weighed, the tickets checked, It can’t be long… We amble too and fro, Sit in steel chairs, buy cigarettes and sweets And tea, unfold the papers. Ought we to smile, Perhaps make friends? No: in the race […]...
11. Gray Room Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the silver Of the straw-paper, And pick At your pale white gown; Or lift one of the green beads Of your necklace, To let it fall; Or gaze at your green fan Printed with the red branches of a red willow; Or, with one […]...
12. The Family Monkey We bought an electric monkey, experimenting rather Recklessly with funds carefully gathered since Grandfather’s time for the purchase of a steam monkey. We had either, by this time, the choice of an electric Or gas monkey. The steam monkey is no longer being made, said the monkey Merchant. But the family always planned on a […]...
13. Ballad of Another Ophelia Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard, Lamps in a wash of rain! Oh the wet walk of my brown hen through the stackyard, Oh tears on the window pane! Nothing now will ripen the bright green apples, Full of disappointment and of rain, Brackish they will taste, of tears, when the yellow […]...
14. In Winter in my Room In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm Pink, lank and warm But as he was a worm And worms presume Not quite with him at home Secured him by a string To something neighboring And went along. A Trifle afterward A thing occurred I’d not believe it if I heard But state […]...
15. The Room It is an old story, the way it happens Sometimes in winter, sometimes not. The listener falls to sleep, The doors to the closets of his unhappiness open And into his room the misfortunes come Death by daybreak, death by nightfall, Their wooden wings bruising the air, Their shadows the spilled milk the world cries […]...
16. The Upstairs Room It must have been in March the rug wore through. Now the day passes and I stare At warped pine boards my father’s father nailed, At the twisted grain. Exposed, where emptiness allows, Are the wormholes of eighty years; four generations’ shoes Stumble and scrape and fall To the floor my father stained, The new […]...
17. Room Ghost Though elegance I ill afford, My living-room is green and gold; The former tenant was a lord Who died of drinking, I am told. I fancy he was rather bored; I don’t think he was over old. And where on books I dully browse, And gaze in rapture at the sea, My predecessor world carouse […]...
18. Of Three Or Four In The Room Out of three or four in the room One is always standing at the window. Forced to see the injustice amongst the thorns, The fires on the hills. And people who left whole Are brought home in the evening, like small change. Out of three or four in the room One is always standing at […]...
19. Grand-Pa's Whim While for me gapes the greedy grave It don’t make sense That I should have a crazy crave To paint our fence. Yet that is what I aim to do, Though dim my sight: Jest paint them aged pickets blue, Or green or white. Jest squat serenely in the sun Wi’ brush an’ paint, An’ […]...
20. A Hole In The Floor for Rene Magritte The carpenter’s made a hole In the parlor floor, and I’m standing Staring down into it now At four o’clock in the evening, As Schliemann stood when his shovel Knocked on the crowns of Troy. A clean-cut sawdust sparkles On the grey, shaggy laths, And here is a cluster of shavings >From […]...
21. The Painted Ceiling My Grandpapa lives in a wonderful house With a great many windows and doors, There are stairs that go up, and stairs that go down, And such beautiful, slippery floors. But of all of the rooms, even mother’s and mine, And the bookroom, and parlour and all, I like the green dining-room so much the […]...
22. On The Disadvantages Of Central Heating cold nights on the farm, a sock-shod Stove-warmed flatiron slid under The covers, mornings a damascene- Sealed bizarrerie of fernwork decades ago now Waking in northwest London, tea Brought up steaming, a Peak Frean Biscuit alongside to be nibbled As blue gas leaps up singing decades ago now Damp sheets in Dorset, fog-hung Habitat of […]...
23. Apples of Hesperides Glinting golden through the trees, Apples of Hesperides! Through the moon-pierced warp of night Shoot pale shafts of yellow light, Swaying to the kissing breeze Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming, Apples of Hesperides! Far and lofty yet they glimmer, Apples of Hesperides! Blinded by their radiant shimmer, Pushing forward just for these; Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred, Poor duped […]...
24. A Day At Union Station Departure At last, I’m leaving the familiar roof! I’m undeterred by rain and wind. This presentation should be quite a feather In my cap. Eager, I clutch my ticket. I’m going places. Not letting any grass Grow, not under these clever feet! Pigeons We admire one another’s tiny coral feet. Coooooo, coooooo under the roof. […]...
25. The Room Through that window-all else being extinct Except itself and me-I saw the struggle Of darkness against darkness. Within the room It turned and turned, dived downward. Then I saw How order might-if chaos wished-become: And saw the darkness crush upon itself, Contracting powerfully; it was as if It killed itself, slowly: and with much pain. […]...
26. Lobster For Lunch His face was like a lobster red, His legs were white as mayonnaise: “I’ve had a jolly lunch,” he said, That Englishman of pleasant ways. “Thy do us well at our hotel: In England food is dull these days.” “We had a big langouste for lunch. I almost ate the whole of it. And now […]...
27. Filling Station Oh, but it is dirty! this little filling station, Oil-soaked, oil-permeated To a disturbing, over-all Black translucency. Be careful with that match! Father wears a dirty, Oil-soaked monkey suit That cuts him under the arms, And several quick and saucy And greasy sons assist him (it’s a family filling station), All quite thoroughly dirty. Do […]...
28. Size circumscribes it has no room Size circumscribes it has no room For petty furniture The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture Repudiates it, all the more Because intrinsic size Ignores the possibility Of Calumnies or Flies....
29. The sunshine seeks my little room The sunshine seeks my little room To tell me Paris streets are gay; That children cry the lily bloom All up and down the leafy way; That half the town is mad with May, With flame of flag and boom of bell: For Carnival is King to-day; So pen and page, awhile farewell....
30. Dream Song 92: Room 231: the fourth week Something black somewhere in the vistas of his heart. Tulips from Tates teazed Henry in the mood To be a tulip and desire no more But water, but light, but air. Yet his nerves rattled blackly, unsubdued, & suffocation called, dream-whiskey’d pour Sirening. Rosy there Too fly my Phil & Ellen roses, pal. Flesh-coloured men […]...
31. Echoes in an empty room The strident sounds of silence echo In a darkened room, a beggar’s tomb Of emptied space and barrenness, a Shameful waste, a bitter sadness. It violates all sense of being strips aside All causal meaning bound inside the shrinking Wrap that clings to surfaces debased, Insulates the tiny tap of time, a skulking Soulless mirthless […]...
32. Time Stands Still over Govandi Station A kite flutters, On a high tension wire – Against a stark blue sky. Beggar and old mother huddle On Govandi Railway Station – The dirtiest station in the universe. He shows her a plastic watch, Smiles, “See I have time,” She, old, gnarled, wrinkled, Looks through beady eyes, “I have no need for time.” […]...
33. My Room I think the things I own and love Acquire a sense of me, That gives them value far above The worth that others see. My chattels are of me a part: This chair on which I sit Would break its overstuffed old heart If I made junk of it. To humble needs with which I […]...
34. In The Waiting Room In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo To keep her dentist’s appointment And sat and waited for her In the dentist’s waiting room. It was winter. It got dark Early. The waiting room Was full of grown-up people, Arctics and overcoats, Lamps and magazines. My aunt was inside What seemed like a long time […]...
35. It's Grand It’s grand to be a squatter And sit upon a post, And watch your little ewes and lambs A-giving up the ghost. It’s grand to be a “cockie” With wife and kids to keep, And find an all-wise Providence Has mustered all your sheep. It’s grand to be a Western man, With shovel in your […]...
36. Grand-Père And so when he reached my bed The General made a stand: “My brave young fellow,” he said, “I would shake your hand.” So I lifted my arm, the right, With never a hand at all; Only a stump, a sight Fit to appal. “Well, well. Now that’s too bad! That’s sorrowful luck,” he said; […]...
37. Ageing Schoolmaster And now another autumn morning finds me With chalk dust on my sleeve and in my breath, Preoccupied with vague, habitual speculation On the huge inevitability of death. Not wholly wretched, yet knowing absolutely That I shall never reacquaint myself with joy, I sniff the smell of ink and chalk and my mortality And think […]...
38. Low Tide on Grand Pré The sun goes down, and over all These barren reaches by the tide Such unelusive glories fall, I almost dream they yet will bide Until the coming of the tide. And yet I know that not for us, By any ecstasy of dream, He lingers to keep luminous A little while the grievous stream, Which […]...
39. The Song Of Wandering Aengus I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. […]...
40. June Sick Room The birds’ shrill fluting Beats on the pink blind, Pierces the pink blind At whose edge fumble the sun’s Fingers till one obtrudes And stirs the thick motes. The room is a close box of pink warmth. The minutes click. A man picks across the street With a metal-pointed stick. Three clocks drop each twelve […]...