Every closed eye is not sleeping, and every open eye is not seeing.
quote by Bill Cosby
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Closed Door
sometimes we want to enter
a door
a closed door that does not open
no matter how hard we
knock
we try being courteous and gentle
and so patient
eating every waiting time
like we are the most foolish of all fools
knocking a closed door
seducing it more often with our
pleadings
begging and even compromising
for a dance
to convince the owner of the door to
open it
but no one hears, no one cares to listen
to our pleadings,
no one likes the dance of compromises
the door is still closed
and then the last crooked thing happens
we take the axe
and break the door which is closed
forcing it open
only to find that all the people there are dead
there is nothing inside
but mystery and
grief
an unsolved crime, no more
no less.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Often Daydreaming
When my eyes are closed...
I am with thought.
If not sleeping.
When my eyes are open...
I am at times thoughtless.
And often daydreaming.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When You Wish That We Stop Thinking For A While
your life must be messy,
like your room with books scattered on the floor
dirty socks and shirts and underwears
everywhere in bed in the sink in the cabinets
open when they should have been closed
like a mouth and mind
with nothing good to say
but just the same still muttering
some words which are not necessary
for the day
which should have been
beautiful
you think that what makes the mess is this
ability to think to classify and to prefer
what must be
what should have been
the standards and some things ethical and proper
and restrained
perhaps, you think, if you stop thinking
life would have been nicer and easier to manage
like simpy being attuned to the mess
and living with what is simply there
no ifs
no buts
no 'i wish this were this and this were that'
just wallowing and sleeping when sleepy
and eating when hungry and leaving when there is nothing
worth staying
to cease thinking when you want to
and life would have been one wonderful state
wo/man is a rational animal
rationality, thinking, is its essence, and when you cease to think
even for a minute
you must suffer the consequence
no ifs
no buts
you too cease, you die, your eyes wide open
those that do not blink, like a fish you think is not sleeping
or dead
you wish you were unthinking
what you wish is after all, the death that lurks in your mind,
ask yourself, in truth, you wish for it, but you do not confront it
so, why not just live, and think some more, and just let it be
do not die,
open, open it, it is raining now, open it
do not close it, in your hand, this umbrella lies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wishing That I'd Stop Thinking For A While
your life must be messy,
like your room with books scattered on the floor
dirty socks and shirts and underwears
everywhere in bed in the sink in the cabinets
open when they should have been closed
like a mouth and mind
with nothing good to say
but just the same still muttering
some words which are not necessary
for the day
which should have been
beautiful
you think that what makes the mess is this
ability to think to classify and to prefer
what must be
what should have been
the standards and some things ethical and proper
and restrained
perhaps, you think, if you stop thinking
life would have been nicer and easier to manage
like simpy being attuned to the mess
and living with what is simply there
no ifs
no buts
no 'i wish this were this and this were that'
just wallowing and sleeping when sleepy
and eating when hungry and leaving when there is nothing
worth staying
to cease thinking when you want to
and life would have been one wonderful state
wo/man is a rational animal
rationality, thinking, is its essence, and when you cease to think
even for a minute
you must suffer the consequence
no ifs
no buts
you too cease, you die, your eyes wide open
those that do not blink, like a fish you think is not sleeping
or dead
you wish you were unthinking
what you wish is after all, the death that lurks in your mind,
ask yourself, in truth, you wish for it, but you do not confront it
so, why not just live, and think some more, and just let it be
do not die,
open, open it, it is raining now, open it
do not close it, in your hand, this umbrella lies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Behind Closed Doors
Written by new order
There is a secret place
Underneath a tree
Where if you go and haste
You will find a key
The key will open doors
And you will look inside
The things that you will see
Will open up your eyes
At any given time
On every other street
The city comes to life
Though everyones asleep
A man beats up his wife
He doesnt wanna keep
Behind closed doors
Theyre in retreat
I dont know what makes me stay
The city life just aint the same
Theres something wrong with kids today
I blame the parents anyway
Theres no hope
No one to trust
I cant cope
Its obvious
Please dont take my drugs away
Im gonna give them up someday
There is a place somewhere
That I could call a home
Id live without a care
Id never be alone
One day I will get there
I feel it in my bones
I check upon the scores
I listen to the coors
Behind closed doors
Behind closed doors
Behind closed doors
Behind closed doors
They still want more
Behind closed doors
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mind Is An Oyster
The heart, can only be as open as the mind.
The mind, the creator of my world.
Not the world, but my world.
The mind, building walls.
Walls of fear, resentment and bitterness.
The spirit is trapped.
Bouncing from heart to mind.
Like a ping pong ball.
For it is my mind that is closed.
I listened to the teachings of other closed minded teachers.
They speak of a peace, they do not have.
The preach of a love, that they still seek.
The world is my oyster.
My mind is an oyster.
To find the pearl, the shell must first open up.
It is once the mind opens, I can connect to the source.
The source that tells me I am the true treasure.
I see so many closed shells.
For their pearl is as brilliant as mine.
But through the closed shell it cannot be seen.
They do not know they are just as rich as I.
So they try to take mine, because their shell is too difficult to open.
My shell is open.
I do not want your treasure for myself,
I have my own.
I am content.
I want your shell to open,
I want you and the world to see the brilliance of yours.
For it is when the mind opens,
Your true life will begin.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My door was open part of the time, and part of the time I tried to get a nap and their voices annoyed me, and I closed it. I kept it open in summer more or less, and closed in winter.
quote by Lizzie Andrew Borden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your shop door
I looked at the sign on your shop door
it didnt say open or closed
I tried the handle because I wasnt sure.
Thats why im here inside
Well that and the fact I want some sweats
my dad often goes to the Cafe
and they look at him when ever he eats
he takes a packed lunch
he sits on the seats
there was this one time when he got a punch
it was because he wasnt allowed to buy
they threw him out they give him a black eye
they spat on him and I never knew why.
I looked at the sign on your shop door
it didnt say open or closed
I tried the handle because I wasnt sure.
That cafe he entered was open
and he was not there when the window was broken
he just needed somewhere to sit on a rainy noon
an accent like his?
The roads were his only room.
They're tools? Knives, falks and spoons
His? a shovel, a graft, to dig out the root which so many hold onto.
I pass your shop every day thinking,
'Open or closed to enter I dont know if I want to'.
poem by Daniel McCann
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A clever, imagination, humorous request can open closed doors and closed minds.
quote by Percy Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We will have a border that is open for business, open for tourism, open for legitimate travelers; but that is closed to terrorists and drug pushers and smugglers and others who seek to break the law.
quote by Paul Cellucci
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Window
if you are closed today
and i cannot open you
because you are definite
on a holiday
or plain protestation
i open another one
i have this key and
i can open this anytime
and then like a bird
i fly down there
to the tunnel of the cave
where no light
at the end
is visible
inward i can find
some more of what
outside has to offer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Secret Place
i only have the key to that door.
i can open it anytime and stay there for a while
away from the crowd
away from the daily occurrences
it is a closed door
conference with myself where i talk and listen at the same time
it is dark but it is peaceful
it is small but everything in me is there: whole and intact
i only have the key
and i am not opening
or when i open it
i keep it closed that way
it is sacred
as sacred as my secret
it is holy
as holy as my soul
it is a mystery
for all the things that i worship
it is mine
and you are not welcome.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every Aspect Of It!
Just because you do not see me driving,
Do not assume I am not licensed to drive.
Or that I do not 'think'...
Because I do not look the part.
You don't see half the things I do and have done.
Nor are you on my agenda.
And folks who focus their sights on others...
Are the first who find these times we live,
Difficult to adjust.
Even though they feel they 'must'...
Demand understanding,
Without participating in the development of it.
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
With claims they don't know what is going on!
And rush they do to prevent,
The circumstances of truth.
Coming to bombard and overwhelm.
With the consequences of their ignorance.
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
Yet conflict they are quick to define...
Instead of using their minds to take time,
Comprehending remedies.
To set aside a strategy...
To stop the havoc that has begun,
Happening in their own lives.
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
And this kind of mindset today,
Is reflected on a massive scale.
People into minding the business of others...
Have found their business in shambles.
Every aspect of it!
With shock and disbelief,
As a return for their 'investment'!
You know the kind...?
The ears closed, mouth open types!
The ones who rush to cover their butts,
With implusive mindless decisions!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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L8,2212
There is a door which you open
you enter, and then it closes you
behind you
forever,
there is no force here,
but only volition,
you enter it
with all the warnings,
that the
possibility that it will close forever
has been told to you
over and over
again,
somehow, you do not make it a problem
you like a closed door, and you hate it
when it opens,
you love it when it is closed forever,
the room is nice
there is a certain loveliness
in there,
it has shiny floors,
it has a bright ceiling,
the lights are lovely,
like stars
in an open dark sky
the air is fresh,
the walls are comfortable
who wants to take an exit?
no one.not you.
when the door knows this, it will open
forever,
it decides to open for you
and it will tell you to go out and be
an outsider again and
be gone
for good,
you insist that you own this room now,
that a closed door is not a serious matter
and there is no way that you have to
go out
or be ousted,
the door has a stair with strong hands
and it will drag you out
it will pull your hair and drag your body
like hell
the door has learned its lesson
when the room is not a prison to someone else
there is no use keeping him there forever
for in truth the reason of the door's
existence
is to make you feel the prison and to suffer
and you know your lesson too well
there is no prison to a mind that is an open window
there is no suffering
to a lover of suffering
you see, it takes a little reverse psychology
for closed doors to open
for men to know that suffering is not suffering
at all
when one loves is tripping
when one thinks
otherwise
when one loves whatever happens
when one accepts
the one that is there and not look for something
that is always missing
why go for the unreachable?
why suffer for long?
life is life, and death is death
you are here, grab this here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Door
Behind the door what happens
behind the door what's hidden
till you keep the door closed
you are not exposed
Elseone cannot peep in
Elseone cannot step in
other side of closed door
you live behind secured.
If you want door of others
to open for you
keep your door open for
who needs you.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lullaby, Oh, Lullaby!
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Flowers are closed and lambs are sleeping;
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Stars are up, the moon is peeping;
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
While the birds are silence keeping,
(Lullaby, oh, lullaby!)
Sleep, my baby, fall a-sleeping,
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Oh, mother...[O, mamă...]
Oh, mother, dearest mother, although you passed away,
Through all the leaves that tremble, you call me every day;
Above your holy grave, the autumn gentle breeze
Shakes off the withered boughs of the acacia trees,
Which seem to hum along with your forgotten voice...
You will be sleeping always, they always will rejoice.
The day I die, my darling, for me, please, do not cry
Instead, break from the lime tree a twig scratching the sky
And put it in the ground, somewhere beside my head,
Then wet it at the roots with all the tears you'll shed;
And when it grows, its shadow will be just like a veil...
I shall be sleeping always, its shadow will prevail.
But if we die together – it's possible, who knows? –
They shouldn't put our bodies in graveyards to repose,
But let them dig a hollow somewhere, on open land,
And in a single coffin to put us, hand in hand;
For ever you will settle your head upon my chest...
We shall be sleeping always, the open land will rest.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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