Slippery is the flagstone at the mansion-house door.
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Ruben's Mansion
it is not a house
in fact, it is a white mansion
placed on a one-hectare lot
surrounded by a well-manicured
garden and flowering shrubs
and fruit trees
one that everyone cannot but
always admire
when they come
and watch
Ruben's mansion
taking 2 years to finish
and 12 million pesos
in expenditures
as you go inside
the glass door opens
leading you
to a living room
twice as large
as my own house
in a remote barrio
the furniture are carved
from molave trees
shining with shellac
and glistening
with opulence
the motif of this
house
the kitchen is huge
four times as wide
as my garage
accommodating only
my second hand car
and the garage
is one that can handle
a party for the night
of ten tables and
fifty chairs and
a hundred people
one wonders
why Ruben has to make
a mansion like this
sheer taste perhaps
or his money
simply searching for something
to buy and spend
looking for some
vents
did he remember
how as a child
the family was shamed
because visitors
from Bohol
in 1970 could not
be accommodated
and they all murmured
how poor they were?
it must be traumatic
for Ruben
as a child
and it must be some
trauma
that molded his dream
to build a mansion
like this?
(or am i just
jealous
of his ambition)
i need not ask some
more
his lips are sealed
he is dead
and he has no way
explaining
a sensitive matter as building
a mansion
while the rest still
thrives on
mediocre houses and
unfinished makeshifts
and no one lives
in this house anymore
perhaps some dreams
still live here
dreams unfulfilled
and once fulfilled
these dreams now
refuse to die
a mansion is still a house
and when no one lives there
need i say
that it is never a home
and after this party
tendered in the name of Ruben
we all go home
and then think for once
i must build a home
and for the meantime forget about a mansion
or just a house.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pace The Beach
This house, this place I call a mansion,
Was rippled with disgust as the rains turned;
Cupboards vibrating, pots dismounting,
The earth was shattering in the hoses.
Quite close we ran into discomforts,
Astonishingly above the horizon the rain came.
It had shared a slight triumph so glaring,
Confirming character of a walled dispute.
My house is a mansion so early and polite,
To pace the beach is my command.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Deserted House
Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide.
Careless tenants they!
All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.
Close the door; the shutters close;
Or through the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.
Come away: no more of mirth
Is here or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.
Come away: for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell;
But in a city glorious -
A great and distant city -have bought
A mansion incorruptible.
Would they could have stayed with us!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Other Houses
My house builds other houses,
Opening fires and closing the clothes;
Make it exist beyond the shadows,
Surprise us with its expectant earnings.
My mansion manufactures a person of health,
From health to journeys of fires.
The suffering causes more to exceed us,
Like the same puzzle recurring for the better.
My house warns our belongings,
It surprises us once in a while.
After the hill, is a mansion of love,
Hills are like the mountains of our journey.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Postcard From The Volcano
Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;
And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;
And least will guess that with our bones
We left much more, left what still is
The look of things, left what we felt
At what we saw. The spring clouds blow
Above the shuttered mansion house,
Beyond our gate and the windy sky
Cries out a literate despair.
We knew for long the mansion's look
And what we said of it became
A part of what it is ... Children,
Still weaving budded aureoles,
Will speak our speech and never know,
Will say of the mansion that it seems
As if he that lived there left behind
A spirit storming in blank walls,
A dirty house in a gutted world,
A tatter of shadows peaked to white,
Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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23feb14 The Day After: This House
an earthquake here
like that this house
will fall judgement day
I have made my choices
but where really
is your house built?
a house
built
on sand?
or a house built
on the rock mass?
better a tin shack
in heaven
or a mansion in hell?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The House With Many Doors
the house i love is a house
with many doors
the usual house you have
a front door and the back door
when one enters and there is nothing
to hide, one simply takes the back door
and be gone to the woods,
i can be imaginative at times
one door must open to the earth
another door must open to
the sky
and now, i must find a way
how to grow wings
or if destiny is too cruel
i must grow sharper claws
for digging the rocks of this
earth
now you must know that i have
many choices
up or
down.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Building
"Build me a house," said the Master,
"But not on the shifting sand,
Mid the wreck and roar of tempests,
A house that will firmly stand.
"I will bring thee windows of agates,
And gates of carbuncles bright,
And thy fairest courts and portals
Shall be filled with love and light.
"Thou shalt build with fadeless rubies,
All fashioned around the throne,
A house that shall last forever,
With Christ as the cornerstone.
"It shall be a royal mansion,
A fair and beautiful thing,
It will be the presence-chamber
Of thy Saviour, Lord and King.
"Thy house shall he bound with pinions
To mansions of rest above,
But grace shall forge all the fetters
With the links and cords of love.
"Thou shalt he free in this mansion
From sorrow and pain of heart,
For the peace of God shall enter,
And never again depart."
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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House To Rent
This house to rent, was plain the sign
A structure built for man
But God’s prepared a place divine
Before my life began
A house beyond man’s wildest dream
Garden beyond compare
Where water from a living stream
Births endless fruit to share
Yet this from God is no reward
But gift to house a king
Purchased through blood of Christ my Lord
Who’s endless praise I’ll sing
Yet rent a house, I must a while
Although it may sound dumb
Still deep inside I can but smile
For that which soon will come
A promise few can understand
A mansion to endure
But those who’ll dwell The promised Land
Will verify it sure
God’s real-estate is purpose built
Eternally to stay
Unlike as this we build on silt
That sure to fall one day
Eternity draws ever nigh
This house I’ll soon vacate
But till Christ’s cloud fills up the sky
Who knows how long I’ll wait
Within this rented house on sand
Behind it’s wooden door
Through faith prepared through love I’ll stand
Awaiting Christ once more
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Lilian Stewart
I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins,
Born in a cottage near the grist-mill,
Reared in the mansion there on the hill,
With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate.
How proud my mother was of the mansion!
How proud of father's rise in the world!
And how my father loved and watched us,
And guarded our happiness.
But I believe the house was a curse,
For father's fortune was little beside it;
And when my husband found he had married
A girl who was really poor,
He taunted me with the spires,
And called the house a fraud on the world,
A treacherous lure to young men, raising hopes
Of a dowry not to be had;
And a man while selling his vote
Should get enough from the people's betrayal
To wall the whole of his family in.
He vexed my life till I went back home
And lived like an old maid till I died,
Keeping house for father.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Feel Like Talking
“There is a talk about you at the house,
Sit down for it is not a tale but a sad pity;
Your master is a liar, and you have no goal,
So happen like a lad of distress to gain pity,
Like the one lodged in the throat.”
At this snatch was a key to discussion,
For the master was a scoundrel always;
The master refused the lad and so innocence
Arrives, with queer things, queer ways,
Like the pity of a lifetime at the house.
“Flit out of doors so that you arrive,
Feeling able as you do, like a fine lad”;
The keys turn the door to alleviate the suffering
And then knowledge arrives to mock,
Feeling the fire of the mansion and everything.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Stranger In My Own House
(a capella: she said: boy, your luck is running out...she make me feel like a stranger...in my own house)
I come stumbling in at a quarter to three
To the sound of my own dog growlin at me
Im scared to move or turn on a light
Youve got me creepin around in the dark
Like a thief in the night
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got no place to live
I never feel at home
I walk into the kitchen to see whats there
Im tired and Im hungry but the cupboards bare
Ive been working all day and all night too
I cant believe this is all I have to come back to
I guess Ill take a look upstairs, in the danger zone
I wonder what Im doing here
When I never feel at home
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im a stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
I see the do not disturb sign on my bedroom door
What is this sheet and pillow laying on the floor
I wore out my welcome
I hear you loud and clear
Its time to get a few things straight around here
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got a place to live but I never feel at home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
With a woman like you Im better off alone
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im just a stranger in my own house
Oh, honey Im home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
You got a lion on your hands girl, not a mouse!
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
Well, somebodys got to go...
Stranger
Stranger
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mansion On The Hill
Tonight down here in the valley
Im lonesome and o how I feel
As I sit here alone in my cabin
I can see your mansion on the hill
Do you recall when we parted
The story to me you revealed
You said you could live without loving
In your loveless mansion on the hill
Ive waited all through the years love
To give you a heart true and real
Cause I know youre living in sorrow
In your loveless mansion on the hill
The light shine bright from yer window
The trees stand so silent and still
I know youre alone with your pride dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Biocentrism....
this is the house
we are in it
we recognize each other
because we are inside
this house
this house is
time and space
there is something outside this house
we cannot see it
there is a door
that will open soon
when the right time comes
when we step outside
this door
then we are outside this house of time and space
soon when we find ourselves there
it will be different.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Mansion On The Hill
Hank williams
Tonight down here in the valley
Im lonesome and oh, how I feel
As I sit here alone in your cabin
I can see your mansion on the hill
Do you remember when we parted?
The story to me you revealed
You said you could live without love, dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
Ive waited all through the years. love
To give you a heart true and real
Cos I know you are living in sorrow
In your loveless mansion on the hill
The light shines bright from your window
The trees stand so silent and still
I know youre alone with your pride, dear
In your loveless mansion on the hill
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This house is war
Amazing voices sing in praise
Of God every morning and night, yet,
This house is war.
We share wonderful jokes, laugh,
Tease one another, yet,
This house is bitter.
We pretend to love; contribute our widows
Might when it is a fellows day,
Yet, our mind habour great evil plots…
I am saddened by this stinking pretense,
I am burdened by this hypocrisy.
The roof have holes, the floor is sticky
And slippery,
Smiles are contrived, friendship is betrayed.
Foods delicious have poison in them,
The hunting team preys on each other; the
Hunter has become the hunted.
We cue to fight one course yet, we
Pour causes on selves.
Some have left this house for peace,
Some lay their lives to expose the
Rottenness of this house, some watch
The house like a movie with the
End unknown.
Some fold their hands and wait…
…waiting for the collapse of this
House.
©2002
poem by Akachukwu Chukwuemeka
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Mansion In The Slums
Id much rather have a caravan in the hills
Than a mansion in the slums
The taste of success only lasts you
Half an hour or less
But it loves you when it comes
And you laugh at yourself
While youre bleeding to death
Id much rather have a trampoline in my front room
Than an isolation tank
I wish I was a million miles away
From the managers door
There is trouble at the bank
You laugh at yourself
As you go deep into debt
Laugh at yourself
While hes breathing down your neck
Who can stop me
With money in my pocket
Sometimes I get it free
The best of both worlds
Id much rather have a caravan in the hills
Id much rather have a mansion ... in the hills
Than a mansion in the slums
Yeah Id much rather ...
What I mean is, would you mind if I had it all
Ill take it when it comes
And you laugh at yourself
While youre bleeding to death
And somebody else is always
Breathing down your neck
Laugh at yourself
While hes hanging over your head
The best of both worlds
Itll soon be over
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Successful Mind
You dress the mind with success,
It labours night and day, opening.
We close it due to some sort of activity,
Offering a bright future so wild.
The dress of the body is beautiful,
Inside we house our learned manner.
It is a mansion of repute, of utter pleasure,
For the people around us will their way.
The mind houses superhuman traits,
Which we use as much as we can.
The mind and body arouse a point,
That point is our home, the one mansion.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Whit Mansion
Big white mansion
Top of the road
Latest fashion
Happy, don't U know?
Here I am in New York, yeah
See the girl bold and fair ("Yo, Anita!") {Martin sample}
What's in your backpack 2day?
Will it take my blues away?
That's OK, "U gotta run..."
Huh, check it, I don't need U 2 have some fun
Comin' from the land of snow
I guess I'm kinda used 2 cold
But one day I'll have a big white mansion
At the top of the road
I'm gonna wear the latest fashion
I'm gonna be happy, don't U know?
I could use a new guitar
Sing a tune at Chazz' bar
Maybe meet a debutante
Be a toy, do what she want (Tell me what U wanna do?)
9 o'clock, see John K.
"But U don't rock, come another day" (When?)
Come another day
Spirit so low reachin' up 4 ground (Reachin' up 4 ground)
One day I'm gonna make it in this lonely town
Then I'll live in a big white mansion
At the top of the road
I'm gonna wear the latest fashion
Then I'll be happy, don't U know?
Hey there, what's your name? (What's your name, cutie?)
And can U tell me how 2 play the game? ("I am a winner") (Listen 2 this)
Do I really have 2 cut my hair? (No)
Now, that's a cross I could never bear (How 'bout them publishing
rights?)
Sell my publishing? What a laugh! (Ha ha)
I don't know Bo, but I do know math (I do know math)
Back 2 Minneapolis, there U go
U can't find your house underneath the snow
Cuz U're livin' in a big white mansion (Oh yes)
At the top of the road
U're wearin' the latest fashion
Tryin' 2 be happy, don't U know? (Tryin' 2 be happy, happy)
Big white, big white mansion (Big white mansion)
At the top of the road
U and me wearin' Versace, Gucci (Latest fashion)
Hoochies, they all wanna do me (Happy, don't U know?)
But am I really happy?
Big white mansion
Yeah, maybe one day
("Yo, Anita!") {Martin sample}
("Yo, check out that ass!")
(c) 1996 Emancipation Music - ASCAP
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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