En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Empty....

birds of prey
picked the shell like flesh
from my bones till
they were bare...

and that which had echoed
the pounding waves,
and had held the wind...
bare bones, and empty...

no longer an echo,
no longer a cup...
the sound, the waves, the wind...
all empty!

from emptiness we come,
to emptiness we return!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Emptiness Comes

EMPTINESS COMES

Emptiness comes-
There is nothing to say
Nothing to write-

But Nothing is for me only nothing
It is not the goal and the meaning-

Egolessness belongs to saints of a certain kind
I am not a saint-

Emptiness disappears with the writing
Words and meanings come-

I suppose one will be empty forever
When one is alive
What can Emptiness give?

I have written against the Emptiness
And am less empty now for now-

Thank God I no longer feel empty now-

poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Dark Dreams

I'm in the dark
And I'm lost
In my mind, screaming
Through the empty
Space, filled with no light
All I hear is my echo

I listen and hear the echo
Of silent breaking through the dark
Nothingness that consumes any light
That I don't see, in this lost
Place of empty
Dreaming, in which I scream

Soon as it stops, the screaming
High painful cry, and the echo
Fades, leaving me again in the empty
Hallow thoughts of my dark
Sleep, and wander through my mind lost
Of what I had, it was my light

What I had was like a warm light
That held me from the bitter screaming
Of the cold, it found me when I was lost
It covered me like a blanket, and echoed
Through my soul, with it I was never in the dark
And never left empty

Now, in my sleep, I am empty
The warm blanket of hte light
No longer holds me, but exposes me to the dark
And painful piercing screams
Of my own voice echoing
In my nightmares of what I've lost

I am lost
In the emptiness
Of my own pain, that echoes
Through me, and all I want again is the light
For it I scream
In my dreams, but all I get in the dark

I dream of the dark and I'm lost
My screaming is only heard by the empty
Space in my mind, where light shined, but there is only echo.

poem by Nicole Hiebing
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To A Friend That I Have Only Felt

if i shall not hear the sound of the wind again
i shall think of the shell

i shall imagine the flesh that once was there
the taste of my own tongue

i shall for a while remember but i cannot assure you
till when

for i am but a shell myself and time shall wrap me too
with emptiness

i shall be carried by the winds too and my tongue shall
not remember the taste of flesh the taste of water

and my skin shall not feel any coldness of the wind
my eyes cannot see what light has been in that previous darkness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stages Of Discovery

soon the walls are no longer working,
the stairs are not worth the climb,
the skin no longer holds this flesh,
at first, you are naked and beautiful,
then you become those ugly bones,
and then you are gone
the place is without any mist
there is no air, and then
what irony is this, we are both complete
and happier, in this newly found
emptiness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Old Prison

The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind's mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.

O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.

Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.

Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-

They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now cries
through this flute of stone.

poem by Judith Wright
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What For? ...

The vast emptiness, which engulfs me,
Is so persistently painful,
If I gorge,
Until overindulgence,
Greed and hatred for myself.
I still - feel empty,
Hollow,
Hollow to the core,
Shallow, hatred and empty - even more.
For food, I know - won't fill my void,
Just detract from my emotional emptiness.
Inside, I'm as barren as the Kalahari,
With an ache as persistent as time,
And a pain as sordid as childbirth,
And a mind as twisted as mine.
In my world, I'm no longer playing,
Just an observer, wishing for more,
In my head, I'm no longer needed,
And my existence - I wonder,
What for?

poem by Karen Sinclair
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Upon The Wind And Waves

Andy tooks us down upon the keyside
To board the silver boat
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Daniel he harrelted the boat
And directed her well
Across the Wind and Waves
And Johnny took us on the boat
He held the sails, he tied the ropes
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Desiree she watched the ocean
Fair Upon the wind and Waves

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon The Wind And Waves

Andy tooks us down upon the keyside
To board the silver boat
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Daniel he harrelted the boat
And directed her well
Across the Wind and Waves
And Johnny took us on the boat
He held the sails, he tied the ropes
Upon the Wind and Waves
And Desiree she watched the ocean
Fair Upon the wind and Waves

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ocean

Here comes the ocean
And the waves down by the sea
Here comes the ocean
And the waves where have they been
Silver and black lit night, heres to a stealers night
An empty splendid castle
Glowering alone at night, the princess has had a fight
Madness seeks out a lover
And here come the waves
Down by the shore
Washing the soul of the body
That comes form the depth of the sea
Here comes the ocean
And the waves down by the sea
Here comes the ocean
And the waves where have they been
Dont swim tonight my love, the tide is out my love
Malcolms curse haunts our family
Odious loud and rich, ruler of filthy seas
Revel in heavens justice
And here come the waves
And save for a scream
Theres much like a song to be heard
In the wind that blows by the sea
Like the wind
Here come the waves
Here come the waves
Here come the waves
Here come the waves

song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emptiness Is Both An Illusion And An Irony

emptiness is always an illusion
which carries with it an irony.

when i look at it, as its content shows,
it has nothing

bare hands, opening fingers,
an empty transparent ball, it can

tell your future, it can dig your
past,

thinking that it is spacious, i went
inside it, pierce myself though it

only to find that that are so many
crowding elements in there and they

are choking me and you who is looking
outside it, thinks that nothing is happening

but then the struggle is horrible, quick
and even deadly, so many hang themselves in

empty air, and lose their lives, because
you cannot see the body of breathing,

when you learn to live with it however,
you become full, emptiness is its irony,

its antithesis, for how can you ever be full
if you have never known how to empty yourself?

the face of emptiness is a mist, and you touch
it, you will hold a forest, so many black birds,

myriad exotic orchids, so many blending sounds of
trees screaming, of creeks flowing of waterfalls

cascading that you can relate to the locks of
your hair and the hairs of your armpits,

inside it is too personal to be told, outside it
are so many denials with the faces of the people

that you have loved before, and then you decide
to stay at a distance, you are like a tree

dark as a shadow, counting the hours
when the sun finally fades away.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Here Again...!

in this evolving emptiness
that's gaurded by the galaxies
sleep slips into regular folds
of this body and settles
in its intriguing contours
and the day too wakes up into
blinding emptiness
all more out of habit
i deliberately create nothingness
to negate this embryonic
meaninglessness that smarts
through the routine eyeballs
in sleep as well wakefulness
do you hear the rattling of bones
in the empty sack that gets moved
about by the everyday business of life?

08sep2009
20.40hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Ocean

1969 live version
--------------------------------------------
Here comes the ocean
And the waves down by the shore
Here comes the ocean
And the waves down by the sea
Earth is a hollow hair bought of a bigger head
It nearly drives me crazy
I am a lazy son
I never get things down
...(unknown)
But here comes the waves
Down by the shore
Washing the eye of the land
That has been down by the sea
Down by the sea
Down by the sea
Down by the sea
Here comes the ocean and the waves
Down by the shore
Here comes the ocean and the waves
Down by the sea
(incense or in sex or insects) for evil thoughts, thought of by selfish men
It nearly drives me crazy
I am a lazy son
I never get things done
...(unknown)
Here comes the waves down by the shore
Washing the eye of the land that has been down by the sea
Down by the sea
Here come the waves
Here come the waves
Here come the waves
Peel slowly and see version
---------------------------------------------
Here comes the ocean
And the waves
Down by the sea
Here comes the ocean
And the waves
Where have they been?
Silver and black with night
Heres to a summers night
An empty splendid castle
Glowering alone at night
The princess has had a fright
Madness seeks out the lover
And here come the waves down by the shore
Washing the soul of the body
That comes from the depths of the sea
Here comes the ocean
And the waves down by the sea
Here comes the ocean
And the waves, where have they been
Dont swim tonight my love
The tide is out my love
Malcoms curse haunts our family
Oh yes, loud in which, ruler of filthy seas, revelling heavans justice
And here come the waves
And save for a scream
Theres much like a song
To be heard, in the wind, that blows by the sea.
Like the wind
Here come the waves,
Here come the waves,
Here come the waves

song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Could It Be The Wind? (For Dave)

is it then the wind,
that rattles the pane?
causing the candle to flicker,
the curtains to walk?

could it be the wind,
making shapes of shadow?
and that long shaking moan
you feel in your bones?

the wind that whispers
in voices almost remembered.
that tugs at the door
to your forbidden room?

that taste of blackness
from an empty cup?
could it be the wind,
or something more?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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9

if you leave
leave at once
for i have nothing
to say,

others ask
what to say when someone
you love says
about leaving?

i say
go, go, find what is lacking
find that which must complete you
and if you are empty still
do not come back to me
for i am empty too

how can emptiness fill another
emptiness?
mine will always be an invitation
i care
but once refused
there is no where
where you can find me
i am also gone
searching what you have been searching
but now it
shall not be you
i'll have someone else
who can fill
my own emptiness

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Meditation Poem 1 - Emptiness of the Mind

emptiness of the mind
a realm bigger than this head can hold
bigger than dead could hold
it is when you are absorbed in
the blossoming of a night flower
every second it scents time like heaven

emptiness of the mind
it is when your mind fills a huge boulder
like a soul, sprawled over the universe
taking in all with solid stoicism
a desire frozen by coldness
harder to break than rock

emptiness of the mind
it is when your mind cast a bigger mystery
than the black hole
so vast and empty you realise the zen of things
that there are things surviving on emptiness,
just being empty

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Thunderous Snow!

thunderous snow,
born o'er dark silent mountains;
the final prayer,

the last turn of the plow.
air frozen and heavy,
the wind shakes the bones,

the bare trees wait,
naked, and obedient.
time come and gone,

the memory of a kiss fades
into the deep stillness,
and the sleep of the soul.

cries of passion lost,
in the darkness so deep,
that ending and beginning are one!

the hunter stares,
his shadow twisted by moonlight,
the faint taste of flesh,

dried blood on his lips.
a few flurries, a drumbeat,
the wolf howls, no sound!

stillness wraps around fire,
the fields pray empty prayers.
thunderous snow,

love, and cosmos!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lone Traveler

Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A pack of wolves running through the forest
Chasing down crying little rabbit looking for a hole
Doesn’t know that every damn hole is full of corns

Lone howl under the great blue night sky
The moon shines like there is no other night
To make the curve she had to follow the relenting howl
As time runs in circle, the night goes faster than before

Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A child walks down the street of the city of angels
Knows no bond to depend on, no rope to hang on
He raised his hand for a dime, he’s only got reservation in heaven

Can you catch the notes floating with the sound
Within the cold air that freezes your bones and brain
With the snow that falls like storm,
And nothing but the white emptiness before your soul

And I’m walking with my bare two feet, listening carefully
To the sound of cars driving on the streets at night
To the sound of babies crying out their heart
To the sound of waves washing the shore, the sound of loneliness
To the sound of traveling stars, the sound of the universe

poem by Alexander Foald
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On Seeing You...

On Seeing You...

The body that so far felt
Like a hollow shell
Thrown on the beach
By a vagrant child
The body that so far felt
Like an empty piece of severed bamboo
Fallen on an untread forest path
No longer felt hollow or empty
The shell vibrated with the roar of the sea
The bamboo set ripples of mystic music on the waves

Strangely enough, even the half-moon
Sprayed brightness on the dark niches
Your joy resonated in my heart
Sealing all the crevices and pushed the body
Towards the one loved…

Ah, the stuff dreams are made of

13 May 2011
Evening

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Four Poetic Points For The Neighborhood To Ponder

i

it is that particular moment
when your tongue tastes the skin of the wind
and it shall tell you too about its long
and unfinished journey

it is this intimacy with the hands of the wind
the talk that both of you do more often under the moon

ii

it is when you sit on the floor
your back rests on the wall
it is this intimacy of self-talking upon itself
when the wall begins to respond
when the floor finally makes its comments

iii

the neighborhood begins to doubt you
but you have no doubt about yourself or the floor's sincerity
or the door's indulgence
or the intimacy with the wind and the wall
which offers you a buffer between emptiness and
chaos

eventually everything has come
smooth and natural
well folded like the waves
well covered like the mist on the tree tops

iv

what you have to serve to all these inquisitors
is an empty glass upon an imaginary tray
which they still have to figure out
why you are serving them the perfect drops of silence
for all their thirsts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Head, Perhaps Of An Angel

limestone, with traces of polychromy, c. 1250

Point Dume was the point,
he said, but we never came close,
no matter how far we walked the shale
broken from California.

Someone's garden
had slipped, hanging itself by a vine
from the cliffs of some new Babylon
past Malibu.

Drowning the words,
the wind didn't fling back in our faces,
the Pacific washed up a shell:
around an alabastron

of salt water for the dead,
seaweed rustled its papers, drying them out,
until it died. Waves kept crashing
into the heart

of each shell
I held to my ear like a phone,
but they were just the waves of my blood.
And through it all

I heard him say,
how could it be nine months ago
his grandson had taken his own life,
somewhere back east?

He was fifteen.
O Pacific, what good is our grief?
Something screamed at the sandy child
who poured seawater

into a hole.
Child, you'll never empty the ocean,
Augustine said. How can I believe?
The wet fist of a wave

dissolved in sand.
Like a saint, a seagull flapped down the beach
in search of something raw—an angel
with an empty pail?

No, a teenage boy,
hands big as a man's, held a sea slug
quaking like an aspic. Under a rock, another
drew into its body

a creature
larger than itself. Live, said Death,
to child and childless alike, indifferently.
I am coming.

poem by Debora Greger
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