En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Kiss Me, Death!

kiss me, death...
i have followed the trail
of your perfume for too long.
my body aches from sleeping on rocks,
and my feet no longer have a vision!
the wind whips between these ancient trees,
that smile with the silent ache of longing.
and this small fire i've built is just that,
i leave no trace or thought.
and the stars that crumble to dust
in my hands already know,
only the crows wait for dawn.
i am the lover whose face you've forgotten,
the body of your desire!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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God, I Am Weary

tired...
and frustrated,
walking through
endless sands...
no path ahead,
and the wind removes
all traces behind.

god, i am weary...
this body is worn,
these eyes fade.
and the songs i sing
in the desert night,
haunt the distance with sadness.

Lover, where are you?
i've forgotten your face!
even the smell of your perfume,
fades in the darkness.

the trees are weeping,
even the moon sheds a tear.
as the small fire i built
fades down to embers!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (Your Lover)

i am the broken branch,
blown by the wind.
the key left in the door,
of the empty house.
i am the creek spilled over,
the frog on the bank.
the pot stained by time,
half filled with water.
the young woman giving birth,
and the nurse by her side.
the box of canned goods,
left on the porch.
i am the body naked,
sleeping on the silent bed.
the son killed in the war,
the picture on the wall.
i am the softness of the moth,
long left the body.
i am the kiss of lovers,
at the risk of loss.
i am the body of words,
sent without hope or destination.
i am the hand you thought wind,
blowing the hair from your face.
i am try inspite of,
i am hunger expressed.
the tongue round your heart,
the tear that comes unannounced!
i am the face of the lonely,
and the feet of the pilgrim.
i am your lover,
clothed in rain and mud!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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To a GItana Dancing

Because you are fair as souls of the lost are fair,
And your eyelids laugh with desire, and your laughing feet
Are winged with desire, and your hands are wanton, and sweet
Is the promise of love in your lips, and the rose in your hair
Sweet, unfaded, a promise sweet to be sought,
And the maze you tread is as old as the world is old,
Therefore you hold me, body and soul, in your hold,
And time, as you dance, is not, and the world is as nought.
You dance, and I know the desire of all flesh, and the pain
Of all longing of body for body; you beckon, repel,
Entreat, and entice, and bewilder, and build up the spell,
Link by link, with deliberate steps, of a flower-soft chain.
You laugh, and I know the despair, and you smile, and I know
The delight of your love, and the flower in your hair is a star.
It brightens, I follow; it fades, and I see it afar;
You pause: I awake; have I dreamt? was it longer ago
Than a dream that I saw you smile? for you turn, you turn,
As a startled beast in the toils: it is you that entreat,
Desperate, hating the coils that have fastened your feet,
The desire you desired that has come; and your lips now yearn,
And your hands now ache, and your feet faint for love.
Longing has taken hold even on you,
You, the witch of desire; and you pause, and anew
Your stillness moves, and you pause, and your hands move.
Time, as you dance, is as nought, and the moments seem
Swift as eternity; time is at end, for you close
Eyes and lips and hands in sudden repose;
You smile: was it all no longer ago than a dream?

poem by Arthur Symons
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The Death Papers.... (Part Two)

i, the body
of earth and wind,
cry for the mountains,
the valleys, and rivers.
i am man,
the warrior naked,
muscled dark and lean.
with eyes borrowed from the hawk,
and hands that turn the ground.
i bear the feet of time determined,
the marks of the whip scar my back.
with hardened phallus,
and panting breath,
i follow the trail of the wolves.
i am woman,
the warrior naked,
long hair swept by the wind.
with eyes borrowed from the owl,
and hands skilled in healing.
i bear the feet of time determined,
the scar of the chains on my wrists.
breasts born with fire,
garden wet with hungry birth,
i am the trail the wolves follow!

and now,
i, the body
lay down my cross,
seed in the furrow,
sunlight waiting
for darkness's goodbye kiss.
for i, the body,
am earth and wind....
mountains, valleys,
and rivers cry for me!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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To Face The Storm

i am he who plowed and who swept,
that held your tears in trembling hands.
that carved your voice into the willow,
that whispered to stars in your name.
i am she whose back twas arched,
who brought you from the land unknown.
who suckled your hunger and filled you with awe,
who held your hand on walks of amazement.
and i am the tint and the hue of change,
the anvil and the forge....
that brought you from the shores of webbed feet,
to the ache inside the howl of the moon.
i am the lover that took your longing,
and entered your secret garden...
i am the wind that blew the curtains,
the sweat that glistened on your body.
now i am the urn, the casket, and the flowers,
words spoken in silent mourning...
but whose soul lies in perfect rest,
and whose is left to face the storm?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Experience Of You

i have progressed
in the satisfaction of my desire

i started with the flesh
oh! it was memorable
your lips and tongue satiated me for years
your firm body & supple breasts were so useful
and i had it to the full

but it did not end there
of course
what i had later were the bones
and sockets of your eyes
and dried veins of you once
beautiful body

it is terrible to think
about this reality!

i remained to be your lover
the faithful and consistent one

and what remained of you was dust
and i ask myself
was i that foolish to stay longer here
and love dust
all my life?

and then the wind came and blew you away
scattered whatever were you
on the trees and the seas

and what i have of you is nothing
i can use my imagination to make you stay
but i have become so mad and fickle

i must forget you
but i cannot

i nurture the spot where those dusts stayed once
i am empty
i am incomplete
and this is the end of the story

i wish upon death
one night to come
and get me at once.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Kiss I Left

i love you.....
words seem hollow
after so much time...

time lived together,
two souls wrapped in one spirit...
two hearts that cannot beat

without the other...
train wrecks, stars collide,
and yet the light remains...

and the dust of worlds destroyed
forms the beginning again and again...
who are you without me?

who am i without you?
night cannot be without day....
this fire returns from ashes....

the simple brush of hands,
eyes meeting whisper
the secrets of cosmos......

wind softly blowing the shutter closed,
yet the window is always open!
the kiss i left on your eyelids

as you slept.... the smile
your dreaming left on my longing....
small indentions in the pillow....

the first fire in the ancient cave
that remains after time has gone!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Only You Can Decide...

perhaps then we were lovers
in ancient Greece...
perhaps you were the one who danced
in the cave when i discovered fire!
were we born just outside the garden,
in a land long forgotten?
were we primitive wolves,
mating in the moonlight?
perhaps you were the dry land
that split from my ocean.
perhaps your cry of passion,
exploded stars into dust!
perhaps i was gravity lost,
and you were the moon....
perhaps you were the spoken word,
and i took the form.
perhaps you were war,
and i came running in madness.
perhaps i am death,
and you are the grave...

we come panting across lifetimes,
tongues hung down dripping blood.
we tear down the sky,
we become the wind.
the body of the howling,
and the aching voice of need...
searching for each other,
again, and again....

do you love me? if not slay me!
my destiny demands fulfillment.
i am the tongue and the nail,
you the wetness and the fire.
be our language forgotten,
then wear my stillness.
be it crown or cross,
only you can decide!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lover Lover Lover

I asked my father,
I said, father change my name.
The one Im using now its covered up
With fear and filth and cowardice and shame.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
He said, I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Then let me start again, I cried,
Please let me start again,
I want a face thats fair this time,
I want a spirit that is calm.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
I never never turned aside, he said,
I never walked away.
It was you who built the temple,
It was you who covered up my face.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
And may the spirit of this song,
May it rise up pure and free.
May it be a shield for you,
A shield against the enemy.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.

song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weltschmerz

my hands are always small
enough to cover
a weeping face, my body too frail
to stay at the corner of one
hospital where one by one
the friends of friends are dying...

my heart too tiny for grief,
the universe is grief, and the stars are too small to appease the tears of rain...

my feet are always not enough
for the thorns
the rocks

my brain is a tiny speck of dust
to the howling storm of misunderstanding

i wish i had enough space to scatter whatever i have
till i am finished with this
struggle for emptiness...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reincarnation

Somewhere
I think of you
Somewhere
I remember you

You are with me like the wind
From a faraway land and I know it is you
The way you kiss me still makes me quiver
Wind-lips touching my cheeks my neck
Wind hands caressing my arms my hands my chest
Wind-body hushing pressing against my body today

There is a sense of longing about two
Past bodies,
Two past warm bodies pressing to
Past warmth and past time somewhere
Only that it is too hard to remember the details
Of that past love, past the season, only that it is hard
To remember why that love died untimely

Now we are here, I am in this present body of a writer
For some reason you read me in your present body of a reader

You are telling me that something in my poem catches
The eye of your soul and you begin to remember
This is him, this is him, he was there with me before

Your way of telling me without seeing me is a feeling too
We were there before we were together we just can’t remember the details.

Today you are the thought that touches me like the wind-mind
So gently, a thought comes to my brain, a feminine thought claiming
A right that was there before, and which today vehemently denies.

The present seals it with birth.
Locked.
Another death is needed to open it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ache, Ache, Ache

Stay calm
Put your mask of indifferent
Stay in control
You have gone through the worse

Stand tall
Throw the pain to the wall
Spread the smile
Even to deceive a little longer

Before it consumes you
And ache, ache, ache
Before it defeat you
With ache, ache, ache
Whisper you to break
For ache, ache, ache
Pushing you to the world
Full ache, ache, ache

Keep moving
Your body needs the adrenaline
Keep struggling
You don't want to end here

Glare angrily
It's better than being a hopeless
Act strongly
Do not let it weakens your will

Because it starts throbbing
An ache, ache, ache
Because you don't need pity
Though ache, ache, ache
They waiting you to fall
By ache, ache, ache
And wish you to slowly die
In ache, ache, ache

Focus on your duty
Forget other unnecessary mind
Carry your burden
Even you have to endure it forever

Brace the inevitable
Never let anything get you down
Give up is losing
Whatever left for you to own

But it keeps reminding you
Till ache, ache, ache
But it rounds you to the corner
To ache, ache, ache
You don't know where comes
This ache, ache, ache
And how to stop or numb
The ache, ache, ache

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Just Before Dawn....

i've been too long in the valley of death,
too long in the prisons, too long at the wheel.
too close to the blade, too far from the fire,
too long defined by lonliness and grief.

they say there's a wind,
that comes from a forbidden place.
that strips leaves from the trees,
and causes mountains to shudder.

they say there's a god,
whose name we cant say.
who walks naked in the instant,
just before dawn.

and they say there's a lover,
who smells like me.
who tastes like my hunger,
whose voice i know.

yes, and they say there's a time,
when the wars will cease.
when the hungry will be fed,
and someone will care.

and i pray there's a hand,
and eyes that shine...
that darkness will undress me,
and name the light!

that small kindnesses will turn,
the ancient potter's wheel.
and make me a cup,
held close by your heart.

if i dance tonight beneath trees that weep,
know that tomorrow i'll burn,
know that my lips wait still...
know that i am alive...

as words fall like leaves...
the cross i lay down,
is but a shovel, but a pen...
the page i write upon...

you, simply you!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Evening Song Of Senlin

from Senlin: A Biography

It is moonlight. Alone in the silence
I ascend my stairs once more,
While waves, remote in a pale blue starlight,
Crash on a white sand shore.
It is moonlight. The garden is silent.
I stand in my room alone.
Across my wall, from the far-off moon,
A rain of fire is thrown . . .
There are houses hanging above the stars,
And stars hung under a sea:
And a wind from the long blue vault of time
Waves my curtain for me . . .
I wait in the dark once more,
Swung between space and space:
Before my mirror I lift my hands
And face my remembered face.
Is it I who stand in a question here,
Asking to know my name? . . .
It is I, yet I know not whither I go,
Nor why, nor whence I came.
It is I, who awoke at dawn
And arose and descended the stair,
Conceiving a god in the eye of the sun,—
In a woman's hands and hair.
It is I whose flesh is gray with the stones
I builded into a wall:
With a mournful melody in my brain
Of a tune I cannot recall . . .
There are roses to kiss: and mouths to kiss;
And the sharp-pained shadow of death.
I remember a rain-drop on my cheek,—
A wind like a fragrant breath . . .
And the star I laugh on tilts through heaven;
And the heavens are dark and steep . . .
I will forget these things once more
In the silence of sleep.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Hears, And Knows!

if the life of loving comes in seasons,
how long will the snow lay on the ground?
i have begun to understand
the whisperings of the crows.....
can fell the ghostly embrace
of bare limbed trees...
the frozen kiss just before death!

the smoldering fire, just outside the body,
thunder out of time, maybe just memory...
only the deep stillness hears,
.............and knows!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Come Dance!

lover, come dance!
i have grown weary
of fireflies and spiders.
the bark of the tree tastes like need,
and the howling has a face.
i am mad with desire,
in the tooth of the wind!
the dust on my feet only memory!
the key is gone, but the lock is broken,
the shadows have agreed to leave.
the hawk rises to taste the sky,
rough hands born to caress.
lonliness doesnt even build a good fire,
the waves lap at the shore!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Black Box

it is there, i know, it has always been there,
and will always be there, even if i shy away from
its darkness, always, i find myself taking the steps
towards its oblong door, i promise myself, and
keep more promises,
attuned, the promises do not mean a thing,
and now i am inside this black box again,
the walls are silent like the starless sky,
the floors are ready to receive me back
to their feet, i lie on the bed of desire,
on the mattress of emptiness, i spit, and i spit
on my face, it does not matter now,
there is no trace of sleep, there is only the stare,
but i do not have the fear anymore,
the confrontation is serious, i sin, and i must
sin responsibly. i hug my own body, and i kiss
my face, the mirror that faces me understands
all these, and now, it smiles, and goes back
to the silence that accepts. I have dues to pay.
My pocket is ready to empty its body.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Feeling

Spotted with woman's blood
I feel her smell around
Eyes starring at abyss - disappointed
- Why death and rape connect me - with it...
Her arms - pointed with long sharpens
Her face - maltreated - crooked with deadly grimace
Where should we hide
Leave stuff...How I wanted it...
No, nobody can remember eyes... - massacred...
- Face has to disappeared
No, nobody can find it... earth...cold...
- Swallowing young beauty
I felt you - connected with this body in ecstasy
I wanted - your every move sight body
You burnt me - nothing couldn't stop me
I felt close to you
You're standing next to me
You're dancing with your hands and body
My desire is growing...kiss...love sewer...
My desire is growing...sharpens...kiss...blood...love sewer...
Usual unpower Too proud - I made bloody thoughts
Jealousy - Contempt for usual creature
Feeling - is growing
Thoughts - unfinished war - pain - murder
I'm tearing you madness screw
I'm connected you with death...

song performed by by Yattering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Temple Is Not A Temple Of Selfishness

this is my body
this is my temple
this is where my spirit lives
in flesh and bones

this is my face
this is my skin
these are my feelings
these are my hopes and aspirations

now touch me
now let your fingers run over my skin
let me feel you too
like i am no longer an island
a body of water
a river a sea where boats always sail away from me
where birds just pass and fly by
destined for another place to another shore to another bush

this is my body this is desire this is hunger and thirst and longing
feed me with your body
satisfy my thirst
fill my longings with your longings too

let your river chain my body
let your sea fill my land let your skies be above to wrap me
to shelter me to fill me also with more stars and moons and suns

let me not be all alone like a space without anything without a flicker
let me become a universe glowing and hushing and lushing with life

this is my body this is your body too
let us breathe let us touch let us push through

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Beggars

It is the beggars who possess the earth.
Kings on their throne have but a narrow girth
Of some poor known dominion; these possess
All the unknown, and that vast happiness
Of the uncertainty of human things.
Wandering on eternal wanderings,
They know the world; and tasting but the bread
Of charity, know man; and, strangely led
By some vague, certain, and appointed hand,
Know fate; and being lonely, understand
Some little of the thing without a name
That sits by the roadside and talks with them,
When they are silent; for the soul is shy
If more than its own shadow loiter by.
They and the birds are old acquaintances,
Knowing the dawn together; theirs it is
To settle on the dusty land like crows,
The ragged vagabonds of the air; who knows
How they too shall be fed, day after day,
And surer than the birds, for are not they
The prodigal sons of God, our piteous
Aliens, outcast and accusing us?
Do they not ask of us their own, and wait,
Humbly, among the dogs about the gate,
While we are feasting? They will wait till night:
Who shall wait longer? Dim, shadowy, white,
The highway calls; they follow till it ends,
And all the way they walk among their friends,
Sun, wind, and rain, their tearful sister rain,
Their brother wind. Forest and hill and plain
Know them and are forgotten. Grey and old,
Their feet begin to linger, brown arms fold
The heavy peace of earth about their heart,
And soon, and without trouble, they depart
On the last journey. As the beggar lies,
With naked face, remembering the skies,
I think he only wonders: Shall I find
A good road still, a hayrick to my mind,
A tavern now and then upon the road?
He has been earth's guest; he goes; the old abode
Drops to the old horizon, the old way
Of yesterday and every yesterday.
We, heavy laden, miserably proud
Because our hands ache and our backs are bowed
With dusty treasures, have so much to quit:
He, nothing, nor the memory of it.
O, the one happiness, when, out of breath,
Our feet slip, and we stumble upon death!

poem by Arthur Symons
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