A word and a stone once thrown away cannot be returned.
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A word about to be spoken is like a stone that is ready to be thrown.
A stone thrown at the right time is better than a stone thrown at the wrong time.
The Stone
there is something about the stone
that i have been complaining
for not being able to understand
its choice to be silent
and hard
and numb and uncommitted
when it is thrown in the river
it makes no sound of protest
when it is ground
it does not scream
when the rain comes it seems
to be contented with being wet
just the same when the sun shines
and heats it
it makes no bother
until some naughty boy takes a stone
and hits my head
and when i begin to bleed
seeing the very stone used
staring at me without guilt
for any responsibility at all
on the ground
that i begin to understand all these things
what a stone is, how come that a stone shall always be
a stone
no matter what.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A World View From The Wounded And The Oppressed
i have a stone
in my hand
i do not have to polish it
since i have to throw it against the world
The world is a big face
The stone is thrown straight to its pair of eyes
That is why it is blind
it is deaf
and i do not have to throw another stone
to perfect
its indifference
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'The Word
Word of love and the Word made flesh
Word incarnate forever blessed
Word of life and the Word of light
Word of power and Word of might.
Word that was spoken, Word of the Lord
Word of the Law and the Word of God
Word of peace and Word eternal
Word of truth and last Word of all.
Word of wisdom and the Word of healing
Word from heaven, a Word so appealing
Word fulfilling the Word of prophecy
Word of the Spirit and Word of destiny.
Word of exhortation and Word of grace
Word of encouragement and Word of faith
Word of promise and a Word of insight
Word from the beginning and Word of delight.
Word of knowledge and a Word of boldness
Word of peace and the Word of righteousness
Word of the covenant and Word of love
Word of the Father from heaven above.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
The Word
Find the word, understand the word,
Depend on the word;
The word is heaven and space, the word the earth,
The word the universe.
The word is in our ears, the word is on our tongues,
The word the idol.
The word is the holy book, the word is harmony,
The word is music.
The word is magic, the word the Guru.
The word is the body, the word is the spirit, the word is being,
The word Not-being.
The word is man, the word is woman,
The Worshipped Great.
The word is the seen and unseen, the word is the existent
And the non-existent.
Know the word, says Kabir,
The word is All-powerful.
Little Stone
Poor little stone
sat there so alone
No-one listens to your pain
They dont care that you're stuck out in the rain
Everyone just walks past
Uncaring, their sympathy for anything doesnt last
Im sorry little stone
You feel so hated dont you?
But cheer up, no need to be blue
Sure they can all kick you around
Let them think they're not hurting you because you make no sound
Dont worry little stone
One day one of these people will help, and you will be thrown
And then you'll be that bit closer to home
poem by Rachel BaByBeAr Anderson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stones Under My Feet
sometimes the stones amaze me
as i tread upon them
they hurt and they look at me
as though asking questions
what is it that hurts you most?
i like to answer but they are all too numb i think
to understand any word that i say
sometimes i like to hurt them in retaliation
but i know i wouldn't work
there is no way that they will say they get hurt
there is nowhere
where i can hurt any stone that i throw to the sea
a stone is gone but not forever
as though it has its own feet and comes back to me
asking the question again: what is it that hurts you most?
i know this vengeance
there is no way that i will tell them
my secret too is like a stone and it will come back to you
without any word, still, silent, sagacious.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Name
There's a word for it
And words don't mean a thing
There's name for it
And names make all the difference in the world
Some things can never be spoken
Some things cannot be pronounced
That word does not exist in any language
It will never be uttered by a human mouth
Let x make a statement
Let breath pass through those cracked lips
That man was my hero
And now that word has been taken from us
Some things can never be spoken
Some things cannot be pronounced
That word does not exist in any language
It will never be uttered by a human mouth
Give me back my name
Give me back my name
Something has been changed in my life
Something has been changed in my life
Something must be returned to us
Something must me returned to us
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Me Back My Name
There's a word for it
And words don't mean a thing
There's name for it
And names make all the difference in the world
Some things can never be spoken
Some things cannot be pronounced
That word does not exist in any language
It will never be uttered by a human mouth
Let X make a statement
Let breath pass through those cracked lips
That man was my hero
And now that word has been taken from us
Some things can never be spoken
Some things cannot be pronounced
That word does not exist in any language
It will never be uttered by a human mouth
Give me back my name
Give me back my name
Something has been changed in my life
Something has been changed in my life
Something must be returned to us
Something must me returned to us
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Einstein, Nicholas, My Fantastic Wife And Our Dog On The Beach At Home
a stone
a relative stone
a meteoric stone
a Newtonian stone
a photoelectric stone
a stone from Manhattan
a thermodynamic stone
one stone
a son
in my life
in my wife
a sun
alone
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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Penetration And Trust
I
Sleek as a lizard at round of a stone,
The look of her heart slipped out and in.
Sweet on her lord her soft eyes shone,
As innocents clear of a shade of sin.
II
He laid a finger under her chin,
His arm for her girdle at waist was thrown:
Now, what will happen and who will win,
With me in the fight and my lady lone?
III
He clasped her, clasping a shape of stone;
Was fire on her eyes till they let him in.
Her breast to a God of the daybeams shone,
And never a corner for serpent sin.
IV
Tranced she stood, with a chattering chin;
Her shrunken form at his feet was thrown:
At home to the death my lord shall win,
When it is no tyrant who leaves me lone!
poem by George Meredith
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The Ship That Never Returned
On a summer's day while the waves were rippling, with a quiet and a gentle breeze;
A ship set sail with a cargo laden for a port beyond the sea.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
There were sad farewells, there were friends forsaken, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said a feeble lad to his aged mother, I must cross that deep blue sea,
For I hear of a land in the far off country, where there's health and strength for me.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
'Tis a gleam of hope and a maze of danger, and our fate is still to learn,
And a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said this feeble lad to his aged mother, as he kissed his weeping wife,
"Just one more purse of that golden treasure, it will last us all through life.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
"Then we'll live in peace and joy together and enjoy all I have earned."
So they sent him forth with a smile and blessing on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Hunters
Six men went hunting, but only four returned.
Two, in fact, hadn't returned.
Oknov, Kozlov, Stryuchkov and Motylkov returned home safely, but Shirokov and Kablukov perished on the hunt.
OKNOV went around very upset the whole day and wouldn't even talk to anyone. Kozlov walked round behind Oknov with great persistence, badgering him with all manner of questions, by which means he drove Oknov to a point of extreme irritation.
KOZLOV: Do you fancy a smoke?
OKNOV: No!
KOZLOV: Do you want me to bring you that thing over there?
OKNOV: No!
KOZLOV: Perhaps you'd like me to tell you a funny story?
OKNOV: No!
KOZLOV: Well, do you want a drink? I've got some tea and cognac here.
OKNOV: Not content with just having smashed you over the skull with this stone, I'll rip your leg off as well.
STRYUCHKOV AND MOTYLKOV: What are you doing? What are you doing?
KOZLOV: Pick me up from the ground.
MOTYLKOV: Don't you get excited now, that wound will heal.
KOZLOV: And where's Oknov?
OKNOV (Ripping off Kozlov's leg): I'm right here.
KOZLOV: Oh, my gosh golly!
STRYUCHKOV AND MOTYLKOV: Seems he's ripped the leg off him as well!
OKNOV: Ripped it off and thrown it over there!
STRYUCHKOV: That's atrocious!
OKNOV: Wha-at?
STRYUCHKOV: ...ocious...
OKNOV: What's that?
STRYUCHKOV: N-n... n-n... nothing.
KOZLOV: How am I going to get home?
MOTYLKOV: Don't worry, we'll fix a wooden leg on you!
STRYUCHKOV: What are you like at standing on one leg?
KOZLOV: I can do it, but I'm no great shakes at it.
STRYUCHKOV: That's all right, we'll support you.
OKNOV: Let me get at him.
STRYUCHKOV: Hey, no. You'd better go away!
OKNOV: No, let me through! ... Let me!... Let... That's what I wanted to do.
STRYUCHKOV AND MOTYLKOV: How horrible!
OKNOV: Ha, ha, ha.
MOTYLKOV: But where is Kozlov?
STRYUCHKOV: He's crawled off into the bushes!
MOTYLKOV: Kozlov, are you there?
KOZLOV: Glug-glug!
MOTYLKOV: Now look what's become of him!
STRYUCHKOV: What's to be done with him?
MOTYLKOV: Well, we can't do a thing with him, now. In my view, we'd better just strangle him. Kozlov! Hey, Kozlov! Can you hear me?
KOZLOV: O-oh, yes, but only just barely.
MOTYLKOV: Don't you upset yourself mate, we're just going to strangle you. Wait a minute, now! . . . There, there, there we are.
STRYUCHKOV: Here we are, and again! That's the way, yes! Come on, a bit more . . . Now, that's that!
MOTYLKOV: That's that, then!
OKNOV: Lord have mercy on him!
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good,
They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home.
Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone ya when you're walkin' 'long the street.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to keep your seat.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' on the floor.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' to the door.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
They'll stone ya when you're at the breakfast table.
They'll stone ya when you are young and able.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to make a buck.
They'll stone ya and then they'll say, "good luck."
Tell ya what, i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you and say that it's the end.
Then they'll stone you and then they'll come back again.
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car.
They'll stone you when you're playing your guitar.
Yes, but i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Night She Reads My Poems
one night she reads some of my poems
those that speak about leaving
images of sunset and dusk
a bird flying away from the cage
a stone thrown to space like one tennis ball
at night
something that is gone away
for good
she feels each line and well
every metaphor she understands
and she asks me if i have something to tell her
i smile and like Robert i play nice and then i utter the most
philosophical word in the entire history of humanity:
'nothing'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Stone That You Love
you are unique
for having loved a stone
how did the stone
entice you?
are you seduced by
its silence?
are you tempted by
its solitude?
you take the pain
poking the stone to
your heart
and you bleed
you rub the stone
in the skin of your body
hoping that someday
the stone may have
feelings and
love you
but this is all useless
the stone is a stone is a stone
and there is no love
in its blank stare
there is no softness in its
belly
i ponder upon this
and come to think of it
you and the stone
are the same
on this hardheadedness
this futility
this numbness
this suffering without end
the stone can never give
a part of its cracks
it will never part with its
dust
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LVII: Used
There’s no word ‘used’ with loneliness
There’s no word ‘used’ with boredom
There’s no word ‘used’ with pain
There’s no word ‘used’ with rejection
There’s no word ‘used’ with ignorance
There’s no word ‘used’ with guilty
There’s no word ‘used’ with sacrifice
There’s no word ‘used’ with problem
There’s no word ‘used’ with slavery
There’s no word ‘used’ with piracy
There’s no word ‘used’ with power
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A coward always hides behind someone else after he has thrown a stone.
No Longer Adrift
No longer adrift, I have returned;
Returned to the place of my birth,
The origin of my love's declaration.
I have returned to the sweetfullness
Of timelessness, on nature's breast
Yearned and in mourning, as since scorned.
But I still have my faith, I still have my love,
For the voices they speak to me, through your words.
poem by Harriet James
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