Blocked
I walk slowly, letting the rain hit my face.
I try to zone out and stay in my own little world to block the coldness out.
BAM!
Coldness tries to bring me back to the other world.
BAM!
This time it takes me back.
I feel the coldness again and the sounds of yelling.
I plug in my headphones and try to go back, but the coldness is to strong and makes me
STAY
poem by Christina J. Williams
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She Brought Them All Kindly To Her Grave
of course i know what coldness is
apart from something that is cool
when mother died her hands were extremely cold
for my hold
i let them go
there was no sadness
there was that happiness of letting her rest
and giving myself a little space
for tomorrow
when coldness comes again in an empty room
with open windows
i know not what panic shall be
my hands are extremely cold these days
when i kiss them
my lips become frozen
they break like glasses
i cannot speak
there is no way that my tongue shall give in to
words
it cannot face coldness in the mirror
of my face
since you ask and you demand an explanation i open my hands
and i let your hands touch them
i cannot speak i am afraid i will be cruel
you must hold these extreme coldness for a long time
so you can all let them go
like white birds against a dark sky
so you can also experience what happiness
i had when i let go off
mama's fears
when mama closed her eyes
because what was important she knew
need not be said anymore
she brought them all kindly to her grave
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Earth And Myself...
as i lay my body
upon the grass
coldness seeps
in my garment
then to my skin
penetrating my
body
into the recesses
of my brain
it is the logic
and emotion conjoining
like twins
there is this coldness
that i allow
somehow
from the earth
to my spine
to my heart
it comforts me
that we are still connected
the warmth of my flesh
and blood
into the silence and
coldness of
this Earth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The coldness of a friend and the coldness of linen -- they never lasted long.
Symbiosis
you are the glass
and on your open mouth
i am the water
i will fill every space
of your body
do not feel my coldness
you do not deserve it.
keep the thirst
i shall quench it.
do not be carried away
by my coldness
do not spill me
i need you as vessel
of my directionless fluidity.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coming Back....
pressing the orange.
it is not you that feels the pain
or the
pressure.
someone else does it for you
as you watch
when he twists his fingers and his face
but you
have other things to see
with the gladness of your
heart.
she sings a song early this morning
after she bathes herself
in extreme coldness
and i wonder why she did not use the hot shower.
it is the coldness of the morning
that makes her sing
as i still put myself under the thick cover
of a thick blanket.
this denial.
early shall she move out.
no word is wasted.
do not ask the meaning of moving out
it can be painful
reinvent the word, coming back, redefine it.
who knows?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Trying...
if your coldness at dawn
cannot tackle the
morning sunshine
try some amount of
time convincing yourself
that you also know
how to outstrip that coldness
that you also know
how to win sometimes
that your love for sunshine
is a prize that you have to win
because if you do not
then who will?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Poem For A Cold Woman....
gradually i feel the coldness of
your touch
your words are sour
the change is noticeable
i do not beg for affection
i do not force myself in your coldness
you need the warmth of the sun
i am not the sun
you must need someone
other than my begging which i do not have for now
i know where to go
i go home
and my home is myself
you have become a stranger
an alien port where my boat cannot dock
perhaps
this is what goodbye is all about
a ripe fruit
which is not for my picking
it is now all yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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09. Do not stand at my grave and weep
when i am dead, i am dead
the world goes out of me and i out of it
there is nothing anymore in between
do not stand at my grave then and weep
for these ears will not hear, and these eyes will not see
and there will be only coldness in between
if you really love and care, show it all to me now if you can
for when i am dead, i am dead
the world goes out of me and i out of it
these ears will not hear and these eyes will not see
there is only coldness in between
warm me up if you can now when i am still alive
for tomorrow the sun may never rise again
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Hells not hot its cold
Cold why is my heart so cold in the inferno of mans sins.
My heart has gone black, in this frozen pillar of ice.
My heart can’t beat anymore, in this place where love dies.
My heart isn’t strong anymore, weekend by these everlasting frozen tears.
My heart isn’t alive, where the dead are still breathing.
Coldness is what I feel, coldness is what God made to match my heart.
poem by Beating Tree
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It was a winter bringing despair
It was a winter bringing despair
when the black frost kills wherever it falls
with a killing coldness in the air
and even the doves stop their intimate calls,
where water in streams freeze into ice,
the grass of the veldt rather turn brown than yellow
and old men live out their last fantasies of vice
before the winds of death starts to blow
A time when people put their children early to bed,
where even the chimney fire doesn’t bring heat
while few words among people are said
and coldness creeps up through icy feet.
Yet it was a time of love and making love
while couples did fit into each other like a well made glove.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Little Disturbed
at 2: 01 in the morning
you switch on the light
a little bit dim
not to hurt your eyes
and you get out of bed
naked
you open the door
towards the kitchen
and get a glass of water
you drink
you want to satisfy thirst
wetting your tongue
and gargling the coldness
swallowing it gently
feeling this creeping
coldness to your
throat down
to your abdomen
something is burning
inside
and the water is
not killing it
you sit and think
a while and stare
at the light
there is nothing there
except the glare
now you wonder
sleep is still nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reflection
I gazed into a mirror, what did I see
A stranger's face staring back at me
I reached out to touch his stony face
Alas...
All I felt was icy coldness of the glass
'Know thyself'
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Song Of Winter
Cool cool winter,
The air is dewy fresh,
In the morning
sweet the sun rays.
Almost darkness,
Foggy wind does blow,
In this winter,
Life does run slow.
Mist appeares all day,
Hide the sun rays,
In this winter,
Very well you can tress.
Wear we warm cloths,
In this season,
Shivering coldness,
Is the reason.
In this coldness,
Under sun we bake,
Many veggies do grow,
And take fruits and cake.
poem by Uttam Biswas
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Lookout Rock
The Timber Wolf's a wary beast,
As cautious as can be
And this young wolf was mighty pleased
At all that he could see...
His lookout rock gave him full view
Of front, back, left and right,
Conserving strength helped him get through,
That suited him just right...
Not many humans could survive
The coldness in the air,
Fur coats are fine, but who can thrive
With coldness everywhere?
Sometimes the days are twilight times,
The sun's a distant friend,
It's then each wolf more wisely climbs,
Its safety to defend...
The Timber Wolf endures it all,
It lives from day-to-day
And few ignore its mountain call,
Although most stay away...
But those who see it roaming wild,
Stand still and stare direct,
As if by beauty they're beguiled
And show it some respect...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Lookout Rock'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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We Walk Naked In The Rain
we walk in the rain, we walk naked in the rain
we like the shower in nude, we like the droppings of rain in our nudity
dripping in our curving naked bodies, in eroticism
to all the waters slowly crawling around us to all the dainty showers from above us
the droplets the heavy rain, the coldness dripping in our chins, our lips, pelvis, legs and
toes
and the warmth now enclosed between us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When the sunlight meets meets the sea waves
MY HOLY PLACE:
There is a place
East Coast of South Africa
It provides me with love
It is the end of winter and the beginning of the new summer
The sunshine and the sea- water reflect the light
When I look at that sea is like the a highly polished floor
There are tiny waves that cause my eyes to be drowned and drowsy when I look at the sea
That gives me ultimate love and comfort
The shines over my back and gives me warmth over the coldness
I don’t care what anybody can say
I was born without love for any human being
I am in love with the natural environment
Don’t kiss me – the sun will kiss me
Don’t bother me about the love the new horizon will shine over my eyes
That will make me to feel the love
Don’t say I am beautiful the –seaside is even more attractive
Don’t promise me money that will grab hold of the coldness
The money wills not sooth me, just like the sea, sky and the waves do.
This is not funny; do you think it is funny?
I feel shame of you – if you feel funny
How I miss the ultimate love of the sea environment
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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Change my mood! Oxytocin, Adrenalin and the rest!
The drizzle of yet to shower rain,
The breeze of yet to blow wind,
The coldness of eternal spring,
The elasticity in the coils of spring,
Hormones run in arteries and veins.
When the Shower changes into a storm,
When the breeze changes into tornado,
When the coldness changes into fire,
When the suppleness changes into rigidity,
One exits and others enter fiercely.
when we like someone, we forgive them,
when we hate someone, we torture them,
When we are praised, we adore them,
When we are questioned, we doubt them.
As our moods change, the hormone change or,
the hormone changes, our mood changes?
The more the love hormone, we are happy,
The more the fly or fight hormone,
we are sad and bold.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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An Assurance When The Rain Seems Not To Stop
in the coldness of this
old and traditional bond
like a chain of steel in the
coldest day of November
we are mature enough
to disregard what repels us
we do not clash about
these corrosive walls
head-on we shall die our
heads like broken balls
our hearts giving in to the
cancer of indifference
we are in this rain and
we stay we know that like
all seasons nothing stays that
long drought or flood
there is that moment of
subsidy, that subservience
of least resistance that
patience of insistence
takes time but it will
always come, surely
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not No More
You say go ahead walk out the door. I do that so what are you mad at. What didn't you think i could do it alone, or on my own. Well guess i proved you wrong. This is where my heart belonged. So you can only imagine the pain. You could of told me to stay, and it would of been okay. Twisting everything i say. And still i miss you in a weird kind of way. I still love you to till this day. But that doesn't help any more. No, no, not no more. No not no more. Getting drunk, getting stoned, washing it all away, in blue Cleveland shot glass, and a bowl so tiny. for personal use only. having a good time losing my mined. Its not fine. Just stay away. I'm time bomb i could explode at any moment. Counting down the days. The sun slowly fades. The coldness starts to burn my skin. But i still feel nothing. Hated, by my own obligations. Another bad invitation. Spin the constellation. Remap everything. False claims, bullsh*t games. You cant hurt me no, no, not no more, no not no more.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Brother Joe Zam
finally brother joe zam
the legal researcher from Dipolog has made it at last, to
Las Vegas, now with cousins, all struggling to make both ends meet
on a down economy, what a wrong timing, i think, something's wrong
with the weather up there, and he's not smiling and groping with the coldness
of the melting snow
but there is no coming back now, wife and daughter are there
all for the mighty dollar, and the motto is always, as before
no retreat no surrender
tightening belts and taking all the efforts
knowing what hardwork is from a to z, from
the beginning to the day till the beginning of another day
no one knows what a legal researcher can do but i know, i know,
it will be onward Chicago, and there will be plenty of work to choose:
gardening, gasoline boy, apple picker, nursing aide, hotel boy,
caregiver, and whatever
another wife perhaps, another coldness within, and as always and ever
shall be
away from home, and the last choices:
a) homesickness
b) broken home
he can take b) .
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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