Touching You Again
touching you again
would be like
making love in a church
on a weekday.
sunlight sifting through
the stained glass windows
throwing colored shadows
on the empty pews,
the smell of burnt candlewax,
closed hymnals.
and stone silence.
a cold brass offering plate
waiting for your heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Small Glimpses Of Holiness
i can remember being a kid,
and going to church on Sunday....
can remember the way the sunlight
danced through the stained glass
windows, the smell of the old
hymnals, the way the hard bench
hurt my back....
can remember singing the old hymns...
(sometimes they come to me
in my sleep....)
but i cant remember any particular sermon!
it's funny what we equate with God,
and holiness... and what we dont!
just as easy i can remember being alone
in the woods, watching sunlight pour
through the pines, listening to the gurgling
of the creek.... and the way the earth felt
beneath my bare feet.....
or the first time i ever made love
to a girl... in the front seat of an
old Rambler.... moonlight sifting through
the trees... and the barking of a dog.
or sleeping in a cave, on the run, and the
damp darkness like a womb enveloping
me... with only the sound of a nearby
waterfall piercing the stillness....
or standing by my mother's grave...
watching a part of myself go back
to the dust...
or the sound of my children's voices
when they just needed assurance....
small glimpses of holiness drifting
through an old man's mind... on the way
back home.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Day in Late Spring
The fog is lifting and the foghorn silent
On the point of Portland Bill
The lighthouse light extinguished
Only seagulls now are shrill
This late day in early spring
Time passes slow, as in the Islands church
Light through stained glass windows
Sends shadows through the crypt
And from the candles, tallow weeps
The smell of incense and dusty hymn books
Scratched pews and threadbare seats,
In this sailors ancient graveyard
Daffodils and fog wet grasses
Grow against long uncared for headstones
A tantilising harmony of joy and grief
As once again the fog comes down
The foghorn once silent, now reverberates
Mist now creeps amongst the gravestones
Meandering like a thief.
poem by Andrew Shiston
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Forgotten Church
Here stands the church
suddenly illuminated but usually ignored.
It's tucked away in the corner of the market place.
I see the spire, imagine the pews
look up at its stained glass windows
and hear the choir boys.
I relish the sound of church bells,
they calm me and the emptiness
of the market place on Sundays.
The trader's stands are packed away,
leaving bits of litter floating along
in the sunshine.
Here are the cobbles
where heels break from shoes
and women wobble.
No brightly coloured thongs hang
from rails now
or fancy petticoats.
No wafting scent of cooked chicken
or men's voices shouting
'ripe bananas'.
Here, in the heart of Romford,
the little church has always been
with its warm heart beating,
softly,
forgotten,
as people pass it by.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Face Of Christ
It stood alone, this old Church of grey,
tombstones scattered around in disarray.
Naming Squires and skivvies who’d lived and died
in this Hamlet, and now lay side by side.
Within, sun shafts sneak between the pews,
onto needlepoint hassocks, sewn in blues.
And as my feet slowly creep down the aisle,
the fair face of Christ on me doth smile.
From a stained glass window, arms raised, to bless
those, who find their way to this address.
He’s in radiant garments of colours bright
looking new and fresh still, in the day’s sunlight.
I see fading flowers, vases all needing renewal,
a rickety boiler, but minus its fuel.
Worn Altar cloth, of once Royal hues,
and by the door the week’s Parish News.
Such silence, all is serene and calm.,
in this bleak place, and there’s a Psalm
Carved out in stone, and in a wall well set,
sung often here, accompanied by a soft motet.
A Yew tree’s branches hang over iron gates,
the roof shows old chipped and mellowed slates,
Such sad decay lies all around, and yet
the Church lives on through each new sunset.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Goodbye....
i must write you with a heavy heart
this heart of stone
blank, numb, gray, rough,
silent,
i write this at dusk,
there are yet no birds flying in the twilight skies
some boats are still there
but only shadows
i want to be completely stoned
to bleed, and be broken,
to be hurt by you once again
in this masochism
last night, you spread your legs, you hang yourself in bed
crucified in the ecstasy
of our love on concealed identities
no one sees us, no one knows us,
except
the angry God.
this morning, i see strangled bedsheets, off white,
empty glasses on the floor, stained carpets,
half open windows looking into the vast blue ocean
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Its Cold Outside Of Your Heart
The harder I try
Seems the further I fall
The deeper my love seems to be
And I know that i
Never doubted at all
That someone was waiting for me
Then out of the blue
It was over
And how did you think I would survive
Cos its cold outside
Yes its cold outside of your heart
Cos its cold outside
Yes its cold outside of your heart
I never thought it could happen to me
Like the one that gets you
That you just dont see
And now I dont want to be free
I thought it was always to be
That someone was waiting for me
The longer the shadows
Become in my life
The colder the breeze seems to be
The days roll on by
Still I cant quite believe
That someones not waiting for me
The flame of desire
Is still burning
The warmth of your body close to mine
Cos its cold outside
Yes its cold outside of your heart
Cos its cold outside
Yes its cold outside of your heart
Its a big world to face all alone
And Im begging you now just to come on home
Cos i, I dont want to be free
I thought it was always to be
That someone was waiting for me
You know that its you I need
You see I refuse to believe
That someones not waiting for me
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Curfew
I.
Solemnly, mournfully,
Dealing its dole,
The Curfew Bell
Is beginning to toll.
Cover the embers,
And put out the light;
Toil comes with the morning,
And rest with the night.
Dark grow the windows,
And quenched is the fire;
Sound fades into silence,--
All footsteps retire.
No voice in the chambers,
No sound in the hall!
Sleep and oblivion
Reign over all!
II.
The book is completed,
And closed, like the day;
And the hand that has written it
Lays it away.
Dim grow its fancies;
Forgotten they lie;
Like coals in the ashes,
They darken and die.
Song sinks into silence,
The story is told,
The windows are darkened,
The hearth-stone is cold.
Darker and darker
The black shadows fall;
Sleep and oblivion
Reign over all.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Human Statement!
i dont do churches
with stained glass windows
and pews, and copper plates
held by hands beckoning salvation...
my church is lined by trees,
with great rolling hills,
wild animals roam freely,
birds fly overhead!
i dont do dogma,
hellfire and damnation....
we speak compassion
with silent voices!
our prayers are hands,
reaching out to help,
with eyes that see sameness,
and hearts that have ears....
knowing that we are what
we do and have done....
there is no coincidence,
nothing happens by chance.
if you want to know that
God is real, if you want
to see God...
look in the eyes
of another human being!
the path to salvation,
the path to being human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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American Flags Burning
melted down candles,
boots by the door...
the taste of stone walls
lingers in my mouth.
sunlight sifting through
blinds faded by time...
the sound of birds
breaks the deep stillness.
American flags burning,
an old deserted station...
a rusted Ford up on blocks.
the weight of the waiting,
at the foot of the mountains.
the smell of coffee,
and church bells ringing.
time coiled like a viper,
the hammer, and the truth...
they're cracking eggs at the mission,
a lone sign laying beside the road:
'we are the 99%'...
a police car eases by.
melted down candles...
smoke rising from a vacant house.
American flags burning,
and the body count goes higher!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Children In Bloom
Children in bloom cooking in the sun
Waiting for a room of our own
Leave my sister alone
She don't deserve this
She is a flower and I am a flower and
We are all alone
I gotta get out on my own
I gotta get up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting my bones
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home
All these wasted dreams
Just waiting for the sun to open up my heart to anyone
Bring me some rain
Because I'm dying and I can't get this damn thing closed again
I gotta get out on my own
I gotta get up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting my bones
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home
Where's the funhouse this year?
The fairground's deserted and the skies don't seem as near
But Nicole's my oldest friend
But the altar is empty and she'll never be a little girl again
I gotta get out on my own
I gotta get up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting my bones
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home
I can't find my way home
song performed by by Counting Crows from Recovering The Satellites
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The long Good-bye
Nevermore I shall smell the sweet scents of summer
Or shall I walk through citystreets
The house is empty, the windows closed
My love, farewell, I will miss you most
poem by Gabrielle Stahlie
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The Eyes Are Windows
The eyes are windows of the heart
Wherein transparency will show
A myriad feelings to impart
From where in sadness, tears do flow.
The eyes will say contents of heart
The speech two lovers freely speak,
For Silence eloquently starts
Romance in muted communique.
The eyes are windows of all cares,
Display the sad and wearied soul;
Distant looks and empty stares
Reveal a man who is not whole.
His weak attempts to somehow hide
What's clearly felt and seen-
Will showcase all the stuff inside
Deep secrets of where love had been.
The eyes are windows too of kindness
Touching looks that give embrace,
Blessing one words of forgiveness
Of bitter hurts there is no trace.
The eyes of Love are open windows,
Giving joy, shared happiness;
Reaching forth to let one know
It always seeks to bless with goodness.
-----
(Written May 4,2009 Tarlac City Philippines)
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Stone Cold
Every night I have the same old dream
bout you and me and whats in between
So many changes, so many lies
Try to run, try to hide
>from everything that I feel inside
But I cant escape you or your frozen eyes...
Searching in the darkness
Fading out of sight
Love was here and gone like a thief in the night...
Stone cold...
And I thought I knew you so well
Stone cold
Cant break away from your spell
Another dark and empty night
If I was wrong I wanna make it right
But you are so distant, so far away
Your words like ice fall on the ground
Breaking the silence without a sound
Oh familiar strangers with nothing to say
Searching in the darkness
Fading out of sight
Love was here and gone like a thief in the night...
Stone cold...
And I thought I knew you so well...
Stone cold
Cant break away from your spell...
You leave me stone cold
Searching in the darkness
Fading out of sight
Love was here and gone like a thief in the night...
Stone cold...
And I thought I knew you so well
Stone cold
Cant break away from your spell
Youre stone cold...yeah
I cant break away from your spell
Stone cold...baby
I thought I knew you so well
Youre stone cold...ice cold
Cant break away from your spell
(you put me in the deep freeze)
(oh baby dont you leave me)
(stone...cold, your leavin me cold)
Stone cold...i thought I knew you so well
Stone cold...cant break away from your spell
Repeat til fade
song performed by by Rainbow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Behind Closed Windows
Is it easier for one to gaze from windows closed
To daydream daily of wishes to come true?
Than it is for someone seen from those same windows,
Making advancements towards making their dreams...
A reality.
Although viewed to stumble to fall to get back up again,
Many times.
And embarrassed by the sight of this,
To sit for a moment in tears but to get over it...
By the one seen laughing as they stare,
To have their dreaming interrupted...
From behind closed windows,
Amused but chooses to go back,
To a daydreaming done daily.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bladerunner
Written by ricky & marty wilde
(mother? )
(mother? )
Well as the city nights grow cold
The lights jump through the shutters
And a thousand echos fill the streets
And bounce along the dirty gutters
(out there)
I know that hes waiting for me
(somewhere)
I know that hes waiting there for me
I watched her falling to the ground
And saw the glass go flying
And inside her mind the fuse blew out
But deep inside a voice was crying
(out there)
I know that hes waiting for me
(somewhere)
I know that hes waiting there
Look out for the bladerunner
I thought I heard him calling you
And now a silence fills the room
I feel my heart start beating
cos inside the shadows there he stands
Hes waiting on our final meeting
(out there)
I know that hed waited for me
(somewhere)
I know that hed waited there for me
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Defining The Kind Of Silence He Needs
it is like the silence of an empty room
not keeping anything
not holding
not gripping hands
or gnashing teeth
the windows are not closed
or the doors
to keep a hounding silence
it is a silence with still air
you hear me breathing in
and out
of my nostrils
nothing kept like grudges
nothing hidden like
some disappointments
it is the silence that heals
that gathers strength
the silence of your gratitude
the silence that rests
the silence
of the soul in solitude
the silence of peace
one that looks out
to the grandeur yet to come
one that waits patiently
the silence of
glory
godlike
humane, and seeks to understand
the one that drives
confusion away
like a bird
nesting its eggs for days
on a stable branch
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Sometimes Goes Out Of The Window
when two mouths go hungry
when there is no glass
or water
when the house is empty
or when there is nothing
to even smell
when everything are but shadows
of a bat
when the only song is the song of
an earthworm
that you can hear only in your mind
there is no use of playing
games to delay
the flight of love out of the window.
love also needs a little convenience
such as a glass of orange juice
a slice of cake
and air that enters a room
to sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Today a Windy Monday
Today a windy Monday,
brisk, businesslike north wind,
I would make a great altar
and pile it high as heaven
with washing straight off the line
shirts like roly-poly hunchback
astronauts like human kites
a sharp flapping of hemmed edges
the squawk of hens surprised
laundry baskets full of the smell
of Spring and freshness and new beginnings
laundry baskets that smell as if
a walk along the shores of love
all Your wind and air and water, and
sunlight soap, soapy sunlight making
iridescent bubbles in the washtub
the squeak of the mangle,
dripping into the sink
stained heavenly with Dolly Blue
the smell of love and motherhood
the hot iron’s steamy smell
the starch, the sharp warm ironed piles
ready for the cupboard shelves
and say, look everyone
this is a woman’s lifetime of unspoken love
see it made of the holy elements themselves
as on the first day of Creation
that is ever a woman’s life
men, worship this
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Song of Madness
Listless and empty, History revisits this winter
Slow moons on the icy river, pale and restless
Shadows jump out, from long abandoned moments
To flee the nights, painted on frozen windows
Darkness whispers his insane monologue
Waiting breathless on a nervous Christmas
Cloaked in brilliant rituals, Life turns up again
Crunching thoughts, to wake up sleeping Hope
Love and Impossibility sat around their dinner table
Passing gifts to eat out of their torrid lives
Some wrapped in tenderness, and some in secrets
Were all eaten in silence, sipping on blood-red thirst
Don't ask the dawn what she has for her new day
She cant sing, when History is still prowling
Everybody is waiting for Christmas to dance in
To slip out on Darkness, to Life and her moves
And so it goes on, Madness, Darkness, Life, and History
Walking around Love and Impossibility, and their dinner
Eating torrid lives with Hope, and waiting for Christmas moves
Fleeing nights and shadows, painted on frozen windows…
poem by Bindu Vijayan
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