Everybody has their own way of tapping into their realness.
quote by Sandra Bernhard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Moon Light
Marry me under this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of my happiness.
Your eyes are glowing like you see an angel in this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of your happiness.
Tears falling in this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of our happiness.
You smile in this moon light.
I smile in this moonlight
The only realness of tonight,
is our smiles of happiness on our wedding day.
poem by Aylissa Ramirez
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Before Or After... Alzheimers
Dementia’s realness with no lifeline,
The burning desires spills its ashes
On reality thru the twilight years.
Memories struggle against the power
Of the black hole of nothing,
That claw at your struggle
To hold memories in a box.
A box of time zones black and white,
Now spilt out in fragments
In disarray
All around your feet,
Tapping to the memento of the rocking chair.
I of your blood, who love you so,
Cannot let you go to the shuffle rooms of an
Old peoples home.
Your glazed eyes see thru me,
Am I not real, a ghost
A shell of myself? I feel you know.
Breakfast time approaches
“Mum your tablets”
You exude repetition
“Before or after? ”
“After mum, after.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Musical Feet
My shuffling feet, shuffle forward,
Tapping out a rhythm of a beat.
Taking time to get it right.
Hand tapping thigh,
The pace not a race.
Body vibrates, booming Bass,
Hairs prickle the neck,
Touches roots of the soul.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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My Pesky Pecker
Each morning I'm awakened
by my annoying little friend.
As long as he has wood
he will be at it once again.
'Woody' has been with me now
for days beyond recall.
A Persistent little Pecker,
the little bugger gives his all.
For a month now he's been tapping
on the tree outside my den.
On weekends its annoying
cause I like to sleep till Ten.
I so wish someone would eat him,
perhaps the neighbor's cat,
and end his constant tapping
by putting paid to that.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Me the instrument
Music is in my mind
Iam full of glee
My fingers tapping the table
While my palms beat as a drum
My lips pucker and being to whistle
Iam really feeling this souful strum
My feet tapping the floor
It is really fun
Allowing my body to be an instrument
As I gaze at sun
For there is music on the inside
A harmonic hum
If I gave this instrument a name
Iam not quiet sure what it would be
Therefore to keep things simple and
From becoming complicate
I shall simply term this authentic instrument as Me
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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I search for the realness, the real feeling of a subject, all the texture around it... I always want to see the third dimension of something... I want to come alive with the object.
quote by Andrew Wyeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writing Day
She far watching me as I write
tapping these lines
ignoring side glances
It's now close to seven at night
and we have yet
to start breakfast cooking
My blinders are on kettle cold
only tepid thing
about us being
her first poet I am told
second artist
reassuring novice
But she likes to watch me working
comfort claiming
my mistress accepting
Today for grace a day writing
pulse permissive
as her shoulder tapping's
copyright Randy Resh 2008
poem by Randy Resh
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First 4 Stanzas of MY VERSION of 'The Raven' by E. A. Poe
Once upon a bright spring morning, while I pondered about the heat,
Over many a splendid and soothing volume of forgotten sound,
While I nodded, nearly speechless, suddenly there came a knocking.
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my house all around.
' 'Tis some visitor, ' I whispered, 'tapping at my house all around-
Only this, 'twas all I found.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the sparkling April,
And each separate blooming flower circled the room round.
Eagerly, I wished for more- I had to try to find
A dog of some sort that could hunt- maybe something like a hound-
For the rare and radiant maiden so she could have a hound-
Nothing else that I had found.
And the vibrant, vibrating uncertain rustling of each blue curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic elation never felt before;
So that now, to still the fast beats of my heart, I stood saying
' 'Tis some visitor trying to come in at my door weighing a pound-
Some late visitor trying to come on at my door weighing a pound-
This it is, it was all I found.'
Presently my soul grew in strength; hesitating for a short time,
'Sir, ' said I, 'or Madam, truly you have great reason for being profound;
But the fact that you are here, and so gently you came knocking
And so faintly did I hear you, tapping at my house all around.
That I knew you would be here' - here I opened the door weighing a pound-
An angel there, with beautiful seraph sound.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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There's a place for all types of country music as long as there is honesty and realness and a real human experience for the fans.
quote by Wynonna Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down All The Days
Christy brown a clown around town
Now hes a man of renown from dingle to down
I type with me toes
Suck stout through me nose
And where its gonna end
God only knows
Down all the days
The tap-tap-tapping
Of the typewriter pays
The gentle rattling
Of the drays
Down all the days
I have often had to depend upon
The kindness of strangers
But Ive never been asked
And I never replied
If I supported glasgow rangers
Down all the days
The tap-tap-tapping
Of the typewriter pays
The gentle rattling
Of the drays
Down all the days
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being Unreal
Imagination is not real.
Romance is not actual.
Make up conceals realness.
Being real will be boring.
(17.01.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Good fiction must be entertaining, but what makes fiction special - and True - is that the realness of a novel allows it to carry a larger message.
quote by Jerry B. Jenkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Dog And Me
When life goes a stray and your poor old dog can’t sing the blues any more. You just have to start tapping with your left foot to the old southern tune. Life is like a road country road winding among the mountains. We want to get there but where never in hurry and when get there its most amazing thing you ever see. So you sit atop a mountain you and your dog a foot a tapping to the old songs of the south. You dog and your dog just look at each other with joy. There is nothing great than life, a man and his dog. So you sit upon a millions of stars gazing at life greatest wonders. I started to my play fiddle and you look at your dog. Your dog looks back and starts tapping his left foot again. A man his dog and life down past the mason Dixie line. So that old dog started howling and at the mid night train. It came rolling around the bend at a quarter to four. The sound of the whistle made my dog start doing the 2 step with old mis.jhonson. The dog and mis.jhonson danced all night to the whistle of southern train bound for Kentucky. I and mis.jhonson got married. So they live happy with their dog in the hills of the appalachaims. every time the train comes rolling around they smile and enbrance there love.
poem by Joe Hirsch
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I think it need realness, you should speak on thing that you know about, that you being from, that you experienced or that you been around, you know. I think you need a good hook, good beats and good lyrics.
quote by Obie Trice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Street
In our street, the main street
Running thro' the town,
You see a lot of busy folk
Going up and down:
Bag men and basket men,
Men with loads of hay,
Buying things and selling things
And carting things away.
The butcher is a funny man,
He calls me Dandy Dick;
The baker is a cross man,
I think he's often sick;
The fruiterer's a nice man,
He gives me apples, too;
The grocer says, "Good morning, boy,
What can I do for you?"
Of all the men in our street
I like the cobbler best,
Tapping, tapping at his last
Without a minute's rest;
Talking all the time he taps,
Driving in the nails,
Smiling with his old grey eyes -
(Hush) ... telling fairy tales.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Fast thoughts
Siren
Rumble of traffic
Rustle of wind
Singing of birds
Noise of the tv
Cracking and creaking of conservatory
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rattle of paper
Thoughts
What will this time bring?
What is the phone rings?
Why can't I rid of this hung-over feeling?
What are they doing
And what is he thinking?
Should I feel guilty for sitting and sinking?
Should I be working?
For test that are lurking
What should I wear for work when I'm flirting?
Should I be flirting?
Working my shirt
And being their shine when I know that they hurt?
The sight of my phone
The look of my nails
The book in the background
The newspaper tails
The siren inside
The rumble of words
The rustle of fear
The screaming of thoughts
The need to be free
The cracking and tapping of anxiety
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rustle of paper
Thoughts
Feeling unhealthy
Fearing the stealthy
Working right now
To one day be wealthy
Making a million
Or giving up bread
The siren of nothing
So loud in my head
Should I get up
And make myself stand?
Make use of this book
This pen in my hand?
Instead I will sit
For a minute of two
And be glad that one day
I'll have nothing to do.
poem by Peggy Pollock
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Less Than You Think
Your mind's a machine
It's deadly and dull
It's never been still and its will
Has never been free
Lightly tapping
A high-pitched drum
As your spine starts to shine
You shiver at your soul
A fist so clear and climbing
Punches a hole
In the sky
So you can see
For yourself
If you don't believe me
There's so much less
To this than you think
It's almost gone
The night is dissolving
In a cup God lifts
To toast the lightning
Lightly tapping
It's high-pitched and it hums
Your spine starts to shine
And you shiver at your soul
A fist so clear and climbing
Punches a hole
In the sky
So you can see
For yourself
If you don't believe me
There's so much less
To this than you think
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Purity And Faith
I want to perfect my purity
But faith can keep it too.
To create stars of wizardry
Requires healing to ensue.
Gracious solemnity finds us,
We want pure men to be solemn
And so wisdom shall ensue.
I want you to learn with realness,
I desire the perfect answer.
poem by Naveed Akram
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What They Wish Others To Believe
No one can dismiss truth.
Although the realness of it...
Is often diminished.
By those unaccustomed,
To face and confront reality.
Without a masking done that fits,
And publicly seen as an accepted image.
No one can dismiss truth.
Or accuse someone else,
Of producing to create a fakeness they live...
To hide behind what they wish others to believe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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