Cleaning a blot with blotted fingers maketh a greater.
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No Greater Love
The angels can sing, but they don't know it all.
Heaven may have, streets made of gold,
But they don't have you like I have you to hold.
And like a prayer, you're everywhere!
That's how I know there's
No greater love!
When it's just you and me
That's how it's meant to be, and I know
There's no greater love!
We'll always be together,
On both sides of forever, I know
There's no greater love!
Ohhh Oh Oh
The touch of your fingers, on my skin,
I want to lay down beside you again.
The taste of your lips, pressed against mine,
Lost in this moment, way beyond time.
And like a prayer, you're everywhere!
That's how I know there's
No greater love!
When it's just you and me,
That's how it's meant to be, and I know
There's no greater love!
We'll always be together,
On both sides of forever I know
There's no greater love!
I would lay down my life for you,
And you would do the same for me,
I know it's true.
With every breath I breathe,
Baby, I believe,
There's no greater love!
When it's just you and me,
That's how it's meant to be and I know
There's no greater love!
We'll always be together,
On both sides of forever, I know
There's no greater love!
No greater love.
song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
quote by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is the mind that maketh good or ill, That maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
quote by Michel de Montaigne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is the mind that maketh good or ill, that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.
quote by Edmund Spenser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.
I always clean before the cleaning lady comes. If not, when I come home, I can't find anything. Cleaning ladies are always hiding things you leave out.
quote by Celia Cruz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Artist Only
I'm painting, I'm painting again.
I'm painting, I'm painting again.
I'm cleaning, I'm cleaning again.
I'm cleaning, I'm cleaning my brain.
Pretty soon now, I will be bitter.
Pretty soon now, will be a quitter.
Pretty soon now, I will be bitter.
You can't see it 'til it's finished
I don't have to prove...that I am creative!
I dont' have to prove...that I am creative!
All my pictures are confused
And now I'm going to take me to you
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Artists Only
Im painting, Im painting again.
Im painting, Im painting again.
Im cleaning, Im cleaning again.
Im cleaning, Im cleaning my brain.
Pretty soon now, I will be bitter.
Pretty soon now, will be a quitter.
Pretty soon now, I will be bitter.
You cant see it til its finished
I dont have to prove...that I am creative!
I dont have to prove...that I am creative!
All my pictures are confused
And now Im going to take me to you.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5: 31a.m.
i am again listening to the sound
of the cock crowing
the silence of the jalousie window
still closed from the morning light
the faint sound of the radio in
the kitched where the housemaid does
the cooking and the cleaning
the sound of the broom
cleaning the garage and the sliding
of the rags wiping the car
the little brown dog arrives
from a kitchen door that just opened
letting it in and here it comes
as i write this
licking my lap and wagging
its short tail
i am feeling like i am the master
of my world and i am not letting
it go like some sand slipping
through my fingers
i will take a bite of my own day
like the way i take the slice
of the sweet papaya
laid on a glass table
beside a toasted sandwich
a slice of bacon and a hot
black brewed coffee.
inside a chocolate porcelain cup.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Just Wants To Be
Its not that she walked away,
Her world got smaller.
All the usual places, the same destinations,
Only somethings changed.
Its not that she wasnt rewarded
With pomegranate afternoons
And mingus, chet baker and chess.
Its not the stampede and fortune
Of prim affectations
Shes off on a right and she knows now
Its greater than the whole
Of the past
Its greater
And now she knows.
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be.
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be.
Its not that the transparency
Of earlier incarnations
Now were back on, were enriched
And loaded
With beautiful vulnerability
And now she knows.
Now is greater
And she knows that.
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be.
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be.
Now is greater
Now is greater
And she knows that
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be.
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be.
Its not like the angels
Could truly look down
Stir up the trappings
And light on the ground.
Remind us of what, when,
Why or who?
The hows up to us, me and you
And now is greater than the whole
Of the past
Is greater and now she knows that.
Now she knows.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.
quote by George Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clot It Off
Slot it in!
Blot it out! !
Clot it off;
Slot, blot, clot, allot, balklot, lot, plot!
But, with the sweet muse of love.
Slot it in and,
Start to draw now!
Blot it out and,
Find a way through!
Clot it off and,
Be free with your mind;
But, with the sweet muse of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I See You in Your Fingers
I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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That Sadness In Your State
an autobiography appears life a blurred picture
you are lost in the tracks of the past
greatness is never spotted
because you have considered each as a mere folder
another item, just like any other number that slides from your fingers
then something bites you
the pain makes you jerk, and you begin to watch carefully the tip of
your thumb,
this hurts, who is this? who are you?
and you know the person well,
the one that hurt you makes you remember a name
the face sticks in your brain
somehow, you remember, he is the greater one which you did not mind
and now you claim
we were together in that same school of thought
and i believe you,
why do you have to be like that? when there is no scream there is no one.
when you do not hear the jump into the storm from the ship of prolonged
blot of dark blue color, or that scarlet of bloody discrimination
from the rest of the oppressing humanity
then
that is the only time that you begin to mind
that there is someone out there and he is calling for help
why do you think of help only when you are dying yourself?
why do you begin to think of caring when you are hurt yourself?
you only feel, when the pain starts to take its house in you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Is These All About?
at 9: 18 p.m.
the head gets the pain
another relief
swallowed
finally you go back
to where you
started
page one
when you said
you do not miss her
page two and three
empty
pages more pages
until you reach
that page where you cried
dried tears at the middle
of the blotted letters
you quickly run your fingers
close the notebook
you stand by the window
at par with the moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Men Cleaning Women Cannot Abide
My wife said she was going out to shop,
I knew she'd be gone for hours,
So I cleaned the house from bottom to top,
Then went out and bought her some flowers.
On arriving home she asked what's that smell,
I boasted I had just cleaned the house,
With what she said it's like something from Hell,
It stinks like a hundred dead grouse.
By doing the cleaning I thought you'd be flattered,
She said exactly what have you cleaned,
That really left my giant ego shattered,
How dare she leave me feeling demeaned?
The house is filthy what did you use,
I replied the same stuff as you,
She said it's my intelligence you're trying to abuse,
I'll now have to start cleaning anew.
What have you done to my kitchen floor?
You've got it full of stellar streaks,
The worktops are scratched like an old barn door,
My mop bucket's now full of leaks.
The toilet is filthy I said no it's not,
She said look at the state of the pan,
You've left enough stains to play dot to dot,
As for cleaning you're now on a ban.
She'll be so impressed she'll be singing,
That's what I honestly thought,
Now she's saying I've got the house minging,
Remember good cleaners cannot be bought.
I walked away totally deluded and sad,
It's moan if we don't then moan if we do,
If they had a self- cleaning house they'd still go mad,
I'm going down to the pub for a brew.
The moral of my story affects far more than me,
It's a problem that is truly worldwide,
It's a sexist thing I'm sure all males would agree,
‘' Men Cleaning, Women Cannot Abide ‘'
‘' They think we do it deliberately''
Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Ballade Of Worldly Wealth
Money taketh town and wall,
Fort and ramp without a blow;
Money moves the merchants all,
While the tides shall ebb and flow;
Money maketh Evil show
Like the Good, and Truth like lies:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.
Money maketh festival,
Wine she buys, and beds can strow;
Round the necks of captains tall,
Money wins them chains to throw,
Marches soldiers to and fro,
Gaineth ladies with sweet eyes:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.
Money wins the priest his stall;
Money mitres buys, I trow,
Red hats for the Cardinal,
Abbeys for the novice low;
Money maketh sin as snow,
Place of penitence supplies:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.
poem by Andrew Lang
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For I Cannot, In Truth, But Still Care....
it is easier to let things be,
leave others as they are, and just
be the best that i am, amidst,
the chaos, the fire that burns
the city, the children whose shouts
for help fades like a ship that sinks
swallowed in one instant by the
ocean house of tidal waves,
it is easier to see how suffering
munches the innocence of
the crowd, and tell yourself, who cares?
they deserve their fates, i have mine,
i am alone, and happier
but it cannot be, i am part of this suffering
these grunts and rants,
i am part of the picture
and when the whole picture is blotted
out by one stroke of
my indifference, i am, too
blotted just the same.
and so, i must, i can,
i do care.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There Is No Greater Love
Isham jones / marty symes
There is no greater love
Than what I feel for you
No greater love, no heart so true
There is no greater thrill
Than what you bring to me
No sweeter song
Than what you sing to me
Youre the sweetest thing
I have ever known
And to think that you are mine alone
There is no greater love
In all the world, its true
No greater love
Than what I feel for you
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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