Through the doors of perception Down the corridors of uncertainty Into the room of self doubt Opens the window of opportunity.
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A Window Of Opportunity
In every life occasionally
a window opens before us,
a window of opportunity.
It may not be a window to money,
but a window to more friends.
When we pass through it could lead us
to friends in many lands.
So the next time a window opens
just walk on through
you’ll never know
what lies beyond it there.
It could open
to the greatest treasure there,
love and friendship
just for you.
poem by David Harris
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In my house
You enter a room to see a park
You close a door only to be led to another stairway
Leading you to another room with nothing but windows
You close a window the rest remains open
You close the windows and another door
In that park in the room where you just entered
Opens
Then you are confused about the roof that opens
To a river to the rocks where another door opens
To a wall with trees and birds and butterflies
This is weird you say, this is really weird
Then from the garage comes a wind that blows
Its horn like a car
I have just arrived offering you an explanation
For all these mess, these uncertainties, these self-made
confusions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Hands Are Stronger Now
she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.
She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.
How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?
Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.
Life is over.
Game is over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Under Cover of Night
To slip into your shadow under cover of night.
To follow your footsteps, your shadow at the window.
That shadow at the window is you and no one else;
it's you.
Do not open that window behind whose curtains you're moving.
Shut your eyes.
I'd like to shut them with my lips.
But the window opens and the breeze, the breeze
which strangely balances flame and flag surrounds my escape
with its cloak.
The window opens: it's not you.
I knew it all along.
poem by Robert Desnos
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Imagination
opens doors to make room for
communication
haiku by Jonathan Robin (11 May 2008)
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Opportunity
Opportunity, it is said,
knocks but once.
Opportunity, sometimes
knocks a few times.
The gospel truth is,
Opportunity's frequency is erratic.
Opportunity is a windfall,
in true truth a one-off affair.
This explicitly explains why
To the wise the plausible option,
is to grab the first opportunity.
Striking when iron is hot
Sparing oneself the guilt
Of not grasping an opportunity,
When it itself, presents.
Opportunity to the fool,
knocks when requested.
It is there to be clasped,
when really required.
No doubt missed opportunity,
is the facet of a fool.
Be wise, act rationally
Be guided by the reasoning
The time- tested saying
‘opportunity, knocks but once'.
poem by Emmanuel Oduro
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Doors of Perception
The doors of perception of heaven and hell
should always stay slightly ajar,
nine lives need we not to distill truth whose bell
can clearly be heard from afar.
The doors of perception, of second-sight, close
before who would tolerance bar,
but whatever beliefs one looks into, each shows
awareness that life’s on a par
with the spring of the salmon as upstream they swell
though ‘retour à la source’ scales can scar.
Successful soul’s progress sheds superfluous shell
as earthworm evolves into star.
(21 April 1989)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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In Uncertainty We Live
IN UNCERTAINTY WE LIVE
In uncertainty we live,
And in uncertainty we will die-
Uncertainty is with us
In all our loves and hopes,
Nothing can escape
The ‘not knowing’ which will always be with us-
Uncertain we are born
And uncertain we will die-
God help me contend with the Uncertainty
With greater wisdom and courage.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Love's Jewel Is Easy To Find
Love is a friend inside your heart
Love's a wonder the start,
A pleasure to give
Love is to believe,
The way to live
Love is not for those
Who love to hate,
Love is beauty as is a rose
Love opens heaven's gate,
Love opens many doors
Love from the heart and it's yours
Love's jewel is easy to find,
Love's the soother of the mind.
Love is riches for the kind
Love is for lovers who often fight
Love will always hold them tight,
If you think you've been left out
God will always love you there is no doubt.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Window To Your Heart
One door closes another one opens
But i have lost my keys though
I know through the window
Now i am in
Where do i begin
I know where to start
Right in your heart
Now i am here there is no way out
But here is where i belong no shadow of a doubt
Opening A New Window
come to my room
let us open a new window
that opens to another window
look at my face
and hold the side of my body
i will caress your hair with my hands
hold your body softly as a wind holds a feather
my fingers shall travel from the tips of your hair
down to the last tips of the toes of your feet
let us be happy, let us try opening another window
let us see the other windows hidden from our eyes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Taken
The window opens to consider dreams,
Offering a Wight to emerge in totality;
The nightmare commences at the table
Of food and drink, only to be like the future.
Our windows are now shut, doors too,
Clanging is heard like that of a magnet,
The murderers are near to the soul,
Wondering of hard pain and their suffering.
This eye is my window and shadow
To be observed by the poltergeist in history;
Towards a great island they seem to travel,
Islands of morbidity lie like liars in the dust.
poem by Naveed Akram
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When The Lord Closes The Door
(kinky friedman & jeff shelby)
When i find myself alone in my house and in my head
And i blow the candles out and i take myself to bed
And i'm old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
When sleep closes my eyes and sends me searching for you
And i'm feelin' blue as the sky without your love to carry me through
And i'm weak enough to be afraid but strong enough to let it show.
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
Baby i'm a gypsy boy, i'll ride the night until
I come to you like moonlight through your raggle-taggle window sill.
When you find yourself alone in your house and in your head
And you blow the candles out and you take yourself to bed
And you're old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Lord Closes The Door (He Opens A Little Window)
(kinky friedman & jeff shelby)
When I find myself alone in my house and in my head
And I blow the candles out and I take myself to bed
And Im old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
When sleep closes my eyes and sends me searching for you
And Im feelin blue as the sky without your love to carry me through
And Im weak enough to be afraid but strong enough to let it show.
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
Baby Im a gypsy boy, Ill ride the night until
I come to you like moonlight through your raggle-taggle window sill.
When you find yourself alone in your house and in your head
And you blow the candles out and you take yourself to bed
And youre old enough to realize, ah, young enough to know
When the lord closes the door, he opens a little window.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A narrative is like a room on whose walls a number of false doors have been painted; while within the narrative, we have many apparent choices of exit, but when the author leads us to one particular door, we know it is the right one because it opens.
quote by John Updike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We must open the doors of opportunity. But we must also equip our people to walk through those doors.
quote by Lyndon B. Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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No place for a courting-candle
A girl’s voice laughing softly
cuts through the night
and enters by the room’s window
and wide awake
I (six year old child) sneak out
to find the source of the excitement.
Gardiël studies with Martin
that boards with us
and both are matriculating
because he complains
that his eyes burn
from the old paraffin lamp
that gives light
at their farm house
where there’s no electricity.
A bright electric lamp
burns in the room
hanging ten centimetres
beneath the ceiling
and big moths
fly dark brown around it
caught in flight paths.
Another table lamp
throws a bright yellow glow
that brings heat in the chilly
highveld winter.
I see them through the window
drinking coffee and eating rusks,
before both of them
again turn pages in books
and crawl into the shelter of a bush
to stay hidden from them
and suddenly somebody moves
next to me
and I see her bend
to pickup small stones
that she throws lightly
against the room’s window.
The window opens wide
and I hear them talking softly
without hearing what they say
and the girl again laughs
before she walks to the front door
that opens noiselessly.
l’Envoi
It must have been only ten minutes
before uncle Hendrik (Gardiël’s dad)
comes running along,
open the garden gate with might
almost run the front door
out of its sockets
and with a walking stick in his hand
(that is stronger than a broom)
smashes out the light in the roof,
the table lamp
and the window
in Martin’s room
and I hear lashes
with thudding sounds
fall on both boys
and the girl
screaming hysterically
while she
also get lashed
and he shouts in anger
that this is no place
for a courting-candle.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Amazing Unknown
doors and windows dipped in dark
closing tight you sleep alone
when you sleep opens window other
another you just moving free from you
whether desert or jungle
whether graveyard or womb
your high ankles never touch the soil
swimming deep in moonlit waves
Ocean tranquils your immense burns
beauty placid fills your veins nerves
the blue above smiles
invites the journey with clouds
the shore
mangroves
long long stretched their mysterious depth
unrest your passion
diving desperate to embrace uncertain
fly with wind wings you spread
cities unknown of forgotten past
countryside-inn of unknown janapadas
opens window another
to brief you cosmic abyss
fly you cry you laugh your unchanted aura
when you sleep
always curious I can't follow
the journey
you alone
the journey
the glide...!
Pranab k c
Edited on 06/10/2012
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Wait
`
I wait.
The waiting room is bare.
The window blinds are shut
and the door opens only in one direction.
Remember to leave it ajar
when you return.
I wait.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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